The days that followed blurred together like brushstrokes in a winter landscape, delicate but cold. Liesel was slowly being transformed: polished like a gemstone taken from a riverbed, her edges smoothed, her shine coaxed forth with patient discipline and subtle control. Every morning began with language and etiquette lessons, followed by meals where she had to remember which fork was for fish, which spoon for broth. She had dresses now, too many to count and servants who did her hair, bathed her, spoke in hushed tones when they thought she couldn't hear.
But none of it felt like hers.
She felt more like a doll in a grand game. Or a fox trapped in velvet ribbon.
Otto began appearing more frequently, never too often, never too long. Just enough to remind her that he was watching.
At first, it was in the margins of her days. A brief glance in the corridor. A comment as he passed through the study where she practiced piano. The way his eyes roamed the room before finally settling on her, unreadable but constant.
Then came the visits.
"Archduke Otto would like to oversee your recitation," Elsa said one morning, entirely unaware of the discomfort her words summoned. "He says he finds your progress remarkable. You should be flattered."
Flattered. Liesel wasn't sure she had ever felt more frightened.
He arrived just before noon, dressed in deep sapphire velvet, embroidered in silver, the crest of House von Adalbrecht over his heart. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth, calculated like everything else about him.
"A curious mind is a dangerous one," Otto said with a faint smile as he sat in the high-backed chair beside Elsa. "But a tamed mind… now, that can shape empires."
Liesel stood stiffly beside her writing desk, her quill still damp with ink, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
"Lady Isolde," he said, with the same slow tone that made her skin tighten. "What do you know of bloodlines?"
She blinked. "Blood…lines, my lord?"
"Lineage," he clarified, gesturing for her to sit. "Legacy. What makes a family powerful."
Liesel glanced at Elsa, who only smiled and nodded.
"It's... names," Liesel said slowly, the words feeling like foreign coins on her tongue. "Titles. Land. Wealth. Influence."
Otto leaned forward. "Yes. But more than that. It is about control. Discipline. It is about understanding the game. Do you know what happens to wild things when placed in a palace?"
"They run," Liesel answered, not knowing why.
Otto's smile widened, just slightly. "They're either hunted or they're taught to bite on command."
Elsa chuckled. "You sound like one of your military tutors again, Otto. Let the girl breathe. She's still so young."
"Indeed," he said. "So very young."
Liesel could feel his gaze on her like frostbite. It wasn't overtly cruel. That was the trick of it. He said nothing unkind. He offered praise at all the right moments — praised her penmanship, the softness of her voice, the way her spine straightened when she spoke.
And yet… every word was a blade wrapped in satin.
"You are obedient," he told her one afternoon, during a history lesson she hadn't known he'd attend. "But I wonder… can you remain obedient when it matters most? When something in you wants to rebel?"
Liesel clenched her fists beneath the table. "I… I will try."
He smiled again, but this time there was no warmth in it. "Trying is for those who can afford to fail."
The silence that followed felt like a verdict.
That night, she dreamed of wolves.
They moved silently through a crimson field, where snow fell in soft spirals, staining itself red as it touched the earth. Their eyes glowed like coals in the dark, and their fur was blacker than pitch. One wolf broke from the pack and approached her, not snarling, not attacking. Simply watching.
When she awoke, her hands were trembling.
Elsa remained her one constant, kind, nurturing, ever convinced that Otto's interest was a blessing.
"He sees greatness in you," Elsa said once, as she braided Liesel's hair by the fire. "He rarely shows interest in anyone. You must be very special to him."
Liesel didn't know how to say that Otto's praise felt like a collar. That his compliments tasted like iron. That sometimes, when he entered a room, she felt like prey, trapped, motionless, hoping not to be seen.
Instead, she said nothing.
"Your accent is nearly gone," Elsa continued. "And your penmanship! The tutors can't stop talking about you."
Liesel forced a smile. "Thank you."
Elsa cupped her cheek gently. "You are becoming a true lady of the court. And one day, you will thank Otto for seeing your potential before anyone else."
But at what cost? Liesel wanted to ask.
One afternoon, Otto called for her privately.
Elsa had gone to meet with the estate's steward, and Liesel, escorted by two silent guards, found herself walking down a corridor she hadn't yet explored all marble and stained glass and echoes.
The door she was led to opened into a conservatory filled with roses, red, white, and a rare midnight violet that bloomed in the shadows.
Otto stood beside a white marble fountain, a hawk perched on his leather glove.
"Come," he said, not turning.
She approached cautiously.
"This bird," he said, stroking its feathers, "was bred to hunt at night. It can spot a mouse in darkness from fifty feet."
Liesel nodded, unsure.
"Do you know why I like hawks?"
"No, my lord."
"They see everything. But they don't act unless commanded."
He let the hawk fly free, and it soared upward, its wings slicing the air.
"I want you to read this," he said, handing her a scroll sealed with black wax.
Liesel broke the seal and scanned the lines, a dense passage from the Book of Lineage, filled with archaic laws about noble marriages and titles.
"Tell me what it means," he said.
She hesitated. "It's about legitimacy… of bloodlines. It says if a noble takes a spouse from lesser stock, they must be cleansed by the Sanctum and renamed."
Otto smiled. "And if they are not?"
"They can never ascend," she said, voice quiet. "And their children may be barred from inheritance."
Otto stepped closer. "Do you understand now… why you must become more than Liesel Maren?"
She looked up at him, throat tight.
"Yes."
"You are being reforged," he said. "Not for my amusement. For your survival."
That night, Liesel sat by her window, watching the moon rise over the snow-dusted pines.
The fortress was quiet, unnervingly so. Even the wind seemed hushed, as though holding its breath.
She pressed her hand to the glass, eyes searching the darkness beyond the walls.
Somewhere, deep in the trees, a wolf howled.
And for a moment, she did not feel afraid.
She felt… seen.