Two of Baron Cymmer’s daughters lounged in one of the fields by the manor. Birds chirped in the trees nearby, one loud and proud in the oak above them. Tall grass bowed to the strength of the breeze as it passed by. A beautiful summer day. 

Efa, the second eldest, relaxed against the oak’s rough bark with her sketchbook in her lap and charcoal blackening her fingers. She sketched the field as the breeze blew, then the tree towering high above her with sprawling branches and dancing leaves. Her sketchbook was filled with rough markings on the pages from previous days just like this one. 

Her attention eventually turned to Blodeuwedd, the youngest of the baron’s daughters, who sat in front of her. 

With quiet strokes, Efa mimicked the tight curls of her sister’s strawberry-blonde hair. The charcoal would not translate the beauty in colors, but Efa‘s sister held a bright appeal for men. 

The youngest daughter’s cheeks curved with soft and supple skin. She inherited her father’s light hair and silver eyes. Her body curved like her late mother with little cleavage and a small ass that rounded well but dropped a bit low. Something Efa caught her sister frowning at in comparison to Maeryn’s and Teigan’s fuller forms. Like her sisters and mother, her plump arms and thighs rounded proportional to her without excess and tucked into the sleeves of her white tunic dress without tailoring. 

“Are you drawing me, Efa?” Blodeuwedd smiled at her sister, face crinkling in happy little lines. Her eyes sparkled like the silver spoons on the dinner table. 

Efa nodded and turned the page to show the beginning of a silhouette, the hair and face outlined. 

“You always make me look beautiful.” Blodeuwedd hefted herself off the grass and shook the dirt off her skirt. “We should return before Father sends for us.” 

A nasty thing when their father had to summon his daughters rather than them be there as soon as he thinks of them. 

Efa followed slowly, never enjoying the end of her small freedom. 

Maeryn, the eldest and spitting image of their mother, met them at the side gate. Her hair unfurled down her back in gentle, dark blonde waves. She kept her hands neatly folded in front and wordlessly turned away at their approach to lead them inside. 

“Efa, Dew, get cleaned up. Scouts reported that the knight from a month ago is returning shortly.” Maeryn waved them down the corridor to their rooms before heading off to find Teigan, the third daughter.

Dew changed into a dark red dress that hung in the back of her closet. 

This would be the first time a knight returned from the Fae realm. Many passed through, promising to return with heads in exchange for gold and fame. None ever returned. 

Dew could not understand her father’s hatred for the Fae. She’s heard the stories but no Fae have been sighted within the barony since… ever. The king sent a warning some years ago about the consequences of angering them. Her father ignored it and burned the parchment with a candle. 

She shook the thoughts from her head. She would never be granted the luxury to understand her father. His cruelty, a core of his personality. The Fae, another victim of his temper. 

One of her hands traced the ridged flesh of chalk white and fleshy pink along her right arm before slipping the long sleeve up to her shoulder. The sight of scrunched skin repelled even the kindest of eyes.

Her maid laced up the back wordlessly, used to the defacement that Dew bore since childhood. She stepped away and disappeared to her other tasks.

Efa waited in the hallway, hands red from washing the charcoal away and a fresh, gray dress on. 

“Let’s go find, Maeryn,” Dew tried to assure her sister with a smile. 

Efa refused to lift her gray-green eyes from the floor. Her hand clutched Dew tightly. 

Maeryn and Teigan met them in the hall, faces pale. 

“The knight has brought four heads,” Teigan hissed under her breath as her sisters joined the huddle. 

“Hush.” Maeryn waved her sisters back behind her as the knight entered the hall. 

Efa clutched Dew’s arm, the grasp cutting her blood flow. Her sister did not try to dislodge her. 

“You returned!” The baron bounded into the room, light blonde hair flopping at the movement and a feral grin splitting his cheeks wide. “And what have you brought us?”

“Four heads,” the knight responded with a cocky grin. 

Baron Cymmer reached out with a meaty hand to slap the knight’s shoulder and tug him close. 

“Lift them up!” Dew’s father chuckled as the knight complied. 

Dew noticed the blood staining his iron vambrace, dried like rust. His sword no doubt would look the same if not sheathed on his back. Black stands stuck to his forehead. Sweat rolled down his sunburnt cheeks from the summer day she enjoyed not too long ago with Efa. 

Four heads, as promised, dangled from his hand by thin, white strands of hair. Their jaws slacked open, eyes left wide in terror at their death. One out of the four appeared smaller. The cheeks were chubbier than the chiseled features of the other three. 

She held her bile and averted her eyes to the floor. The steady dripping of blood pounded in her ears. 

“Let us leave,” Maeryn pushed Dew for the exit. 

Efa having not let go of Dew’s arm followed. 

The baron hardly noticed their quick and abrupt exit. He laughed gleefully, filling the hall with the noise and it echoed down the corridors. 

Dew could hardly recall her father’s behavior from before her mother’s affair became exposed. She could remember the betrayal at the discovery, having been in the room at the time. A pain quickly followed the confession with boiling water on her skin. 

The maid assured her it had been an accident, the baron meant to throw the water at his wife, not his daughter, but the baron overhearing this quickly scolded the maid and informed all the servants that Dew was a bastard. 

She would have no one to tend her from now on and receive scraps only. She didn’t remember exactly when she’d been allowed back at the dinner table, but it had been years and Maeryn had to teach her proper manners before their father could beat her for the insolence. 

While never confirmed, Dew suspected her father wanting to suddenly hide the affair when the first offer for Maeryn’s hand came and leverage his daughters in trade agreements. Four would be better than three.  It didn’t help that as Dew grew, it became more and more apparent of her true lineage. To call the daughter of his image a bastard would be downright insane. 

Her sisters never spoke of how he acted before and she wondered if he’d been so cruel all along. 

Maeryn always hushed those thoughts quickly and Efa refused to utter a word since she was ten. Even if their father threatened to beat her, even if he did beat her, she refused to speak or sing as she once had. 

Teigan, a year older than Dew, could only recall a small memory of her playing in the meadow with both their father and mother. It sounded like a good memory, but so faded, Dew wondered if any of what Teigan remembered to be true. 

Perhaps he had sadistic tendencies and that’s why her mother turned to the comforts of another. Maybe that’s why she hanged herself after Dew’s sixth name day.