Noble Daughter, Noble Expectations

The halls of House Voss echoed with the faint sound of footsteps—Elara's steps, carefully measured and almost silent, as she wandered through the grand estate that had been her home for all twenty-one years of her life. To anyone else, the place would be awe-inspiring: marble floors, chandeliers that sparkled like stars, and tapestries woven with intricate stories of the Voss family's rise to power. But to Elara, it was nothing more than a gilded cage.

She passed the grand dining room, where portraits of her ancestors stared down at her with cold, lifeless eyes. The expectations of generations rested on her shoulders, and she could feel their weight pressing down harder every day.

"Elara, you are the pride of the Voss family," her father's voice echoed in her mind. His words, always spoken with pride, felt more like chains that tightened with every passing year.

For as long as she could remember, her life had been about duty. Every decision, every action was measured, calculated to maintain the family's influence in Blacksteel. Elara had always known that her father didn't see her as his daughter—she was an asset, a piece of the Voss legacy to be molded and used. She had grown accustomed to the polite, distant smiles, the carefully crafted compliments about her beauty, her grace, her intelligence. None of it felt real.

She paused outside her father's study, where the heavy oak doors were slightly ajar. Voices drifted through the crack, and she leaned in, curiosity getting the better of her.

"…she's of marrying age now," her father was saying, his voice low but firm. "The Duke's son has shown interest. A political marriage could cement our family's position for another generation."

Elara's blood ran cold. Marriage? Of course. To her father, she wasn't a person—just a pawn to be moved on a chessboard of alliances and power.

"She's too headstrong," came the icy voice of her mother, Lady Voss. "She questions too much. It makes her difficult."

Her father sighed. "She's stubborn, yes, but she will do her duty. She always has."

Elara backed away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. They had always dictated her life, but this—marriage—was different. She had known this day would come, but the reality of it hit her like a cold blade. She wasn't ready to be sold off to secure another family's wealth.

She wasn't ready to lose the little freedom she had left.

Later that evening, Elara sat by the window in her room, gazing out at the darkened city of Blacksteel. The sun had long since set, and the flickering lights of the lower districts twinkled like distant stars. She envied the people down there—the commoners who lived their lives free of the suffocating expectations of nobility. They could make their own choices, live for themselves.

For Elara, there was no such luxury.

Her hand tightened around the silk fabric of her gown, frustration bubbling up inside her. It wasn't fair. She had trained, studied, and learned everything the family had demanded of her, and for what? To be married off for the sake of power?

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was the family servant, Mari, a kind woman who had cared for Elara since she was a child. She entered, carrying a tray with a teapot and a small porcelain cup.

"Lady Elara, tea before bed," Mari said softly, placing the tray on the table beside her.

Elara nodded absently, her mind still reeling from what she had overheard.

"Is something troubling you, my lady?" Mari asked, sensing her unease.

For a moment, Elara considered confiding in Mari, telling her about the suffocating future that awaited her. But no. Mari was just another servant of the house, bound to the same rules and expectations. Elara couldn't burden her with the weight of her own rebellion.

"No," Elara said, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."

But as Mari left the room, Elara knew one thing for certain: She wasn't fine. And something had to change.