Diligent.

Meek.

Vilya knew well what was expected of a daughter of Yarrow. To keep her eyes lowered, her words soft, her hands committed in their work. And if it meant keeping their father appeased and her sister safe, then it was worth each swallowed word, each night spent in the too-low light fulfilling orders to fill her father's purse.

She thought her course was steady. Simple.

Until their once-sequestered city is opened to outsiders. Until an alliance is sought, with the promise of much needed goods and trade.

And the only thing the Marzon ask in return...

A bride to solidify the agreement.

And when she learns of her father's intention to give her younger sister to these strangers...

She knows she would risk anything to spare her.

---

"And what is it you are suggesting?" he asked at last, his voice low and dangerous. "That I rescind my house from accepting the honour it is due?"

Vilya did not blink. Did not hesitate. He had asked for her eyes and she gave them, open and earnest.

She would lose her sister regardless. Would not be there to help shield her, to teach her what she would need to know to navigate their world. She was the elder of the two. And it was her privilege and her duty to do what she could to protect the younger, the more vulnerable.

Her right to claim, regardless of what it might mean for her instead.

She could not know what would happen to Linora. To herself.

But there would be hope for better things. And that...

That would have to be enough.

"Give me instead."