When I reached the cabin, the sun's rays no longer reached the forest floor. A dim light illuminated from the lantern hanging from its usual spot beside the front door.

  “Pfft. Peanut look at that. They do care.” Better late then never, I guess.

  Without the sun to warm the air, the early evening chill caught me by surprise. Rubbing my arms did nothing to chase off the chill from my arms. I regretted running off with Peanut in short-sleeves.

  My arm trembled as I reached out for the lantern's thin metal handle and lifted it from its small rusty hook. I should grab a cloak, no, I'm not ready to face them yet. First Peanut, then myself.

  Little master inside. Peanut alone to barn. She pulled hard on the reins, forcing me to let go. She didn't need them anyway, it was just an old habit from when before we could communicate.

  I tightened my grip on the handle so the lantern wouldn't slip from my shaking hand. My knuckles slowly lost their color leaving pale white skin behind.

  “Peanut, let's go.”

  But Peanut didn’t move. She planted her hooves near the cabin and motioned with her head toward the door, defiantly snorting.

  Little master, go inside. She stomped her foot.

  “Peanut, knock it off. To the barn with you!” I wanted to clean her up. We've done this ritual every night since I learned to care for her. What's making her so resistant now?

  Little master cold. Peanut not.

  I sighed. She was right. I couldn’t deny the fact that I was shivering, but I have no desire to go inside.

  “Peanut, I'm angry with Fern and my mother. I don't want to go inside, yet.” Peanut might be simple sometimes, but she can understand a lot. “It’s just the wind. If I’m in the barn, I’ll warm up, promise.”

  Peanut turned and walked with, taking care to stay a few steps behind me. She didn't respond, but judging by her snorting and heavy footsteps, she didn't agree with me.

  Inside the barn, I dropped the reins in the straw. They dragged across the floor as Peanut headed into her stall while I hung the lantern on the hook by the door. The barn wasn’t much warmer than outside but it sheltered me from the wind. My shivering gradually stopped.

  First things first, I grabbed a handful of the soft hay from the far corner of the barn. The dry stalks poked my forearms and my chest through my clothes, sharper than usual because of my cold skin. The sweet, grassy smell distracted filled my nose with its pleasant aroma. My stomach grumbled. I shook my head, now the smell of hay makes me hungry.

  Peanut hungry.

  “I know, Peanut, I'm working on it.”

  I dropped the hay in the corner of the stall. She eagerly shoveled the hay into her mouth as fast as her lips could allow.

  “Peanut, I forgot the bridle,” I sighed slapping my forehead. I reached to take it off but she moved her head swiftly out of reach.

  “Arg! Peanut, let me take it off.” I wasn’t mad at her, only at my own stupidity. I reached for the bridle again but Peanut pushed me away with her massive rump. I slapped it gently.

  “Come on Peanut. Let me take it off. Fern will have my hide if the bridle gets slimy,” I begged.

  Peanut stopped her ravenous munching and turned to look at me. Peanut starving. But no want big master mad at little master.

  She stood still long enough for me remove the bridle, the strap under her chin sticky, full of saliva. How she could accomplish that I would never know. I patted her neck in thanks and wiped the strap clean with my shirt. I found the work calming. The silence of the barn was broken by only the wet munching of a hungry Peanut.

  “Hey, Peanut. What do you think about me spending the night here with you in the barn?” I asked her while rubbing the bit in my shirt. I frowned at my mistake. The bit left a greenish stain on my shirt.

  Little master, dumb.

  “Thanks for the update, Peanut.”

  Peanut stopped eating and gently nudged me with her nose toward the door of the barn. I barely had enough time to grab the lantern before she had me fully outside.

  Peanut love idea. But. Her soft tone hardened, it was stern but not hateful. I didn’t like it regardless.

  Peanut horse. Little master man. She bumped my stomach softly. Little master sleep in cabin. Talk to big master.

  “Peanut, I hate that you're right.”

  It was time to confront my mother and Fern. I was done with secrets.

  ──── ? ────

  I walked up to the door of the cabin, but I hesitated before going in, gripping the rough wooden handle. Faint voices eeked their way through the thick wooden door. I pressed my ear against the cold wood.

  “My lady, I can't just rush off to Ilrunen when he's in the village!”

  “Fern! He'll kill him!”

  Fern’s voice carried well through the door. It was strange to that he addressed my mother as my lady. It was, however, my cue to break in. Time for answers.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “Who’s he?” I yelled into the one room cabin, bursting my way through the door.

  My mother and Fern jumped, startled by my sudden intrusion. Warmth immediately returned to my limbs and face. The small fire burning in the hearth warmed the small room surpringly well.

  My mother was quick to notice me.“Go change your shirt.” A dark scowl contorted her face. The warmth in my body quicky left, replaced by a chill. No. I want answers.

  I slammed the door shut. “No, Who is he?” My yelling nearly as loud as theirs, I was no longer the meek lamb keeping quiet in the shadows. I barely recognize myself.

  Fern shook his head, trying to remain calm. His face slowly bloomed into a shade of brilliant red. “Listen to your mother, lad. This isn’t a good time to rebel.”

  I stomped over to the table, sat on its edge and crossed my arms. No. This is my time to rebel, Fern. “First, what's Ilrunen? Who's trying to kill who?” My words started slurring together, I rattled off my questions so quickly. “And, most importantly, which of the Ramseas is he, mother?” I glared at her trying to look as imposing as a lanky sixteen year old could be.

  My mother, she just stood there, looking at the floor. She pursed her lips, something I've never seen her do. Her hands clenched at her side.

  “Margie. Don't.” Fern took a cautious step toward my mother.

  I blinked, maybe twice, and she stood in front of me. The small woman crossed the room in a few brisk strides. In her eyes burned an anger that made my skin crawl.

  “Mother?”

  The sound of flesh hitting flesh is hard to ignore. My cheek exploded into a burning, tingling pain. The force of the blow whipped my chin to my shoulder. I reached up and felt my cheek's warmth under my fingers. Tears stung the tender flesh.

  “Mother, why?” I held my hand against my cheek.

  My mother's calm, but cold voice filled the silent cabin air. She didn't look at me, but she stared somber into the slowly dying flames. “I never want to hear that name leave your mouth with such a tone again. Do you understand me?”

  I didn't want to understand. I exhaled sharply, feeling the warmth of my breath on my arm. In the corner of my eye, Fern shuffled to stand between my mother and I. My words escaped me fueled by the fire burning within me.

  “No, I don’t understand, Lady Armagina. Care to enlighten me?” My hand flew to my mouth at the sound of her full name. In my fury, I blurted out the name I’ve only ever heard in my vision. The vision I never told my mother about.

  The shock on their faces would've made me laugh, if we weren't in this situation. My eyes darted back and forth between the two. Who would break the silence first?

  “Abel, where did you hear that name?” My mother asked, her voice tense and sharp. My stomach dropped into a pit hearing the sound of my given name. She seldomly used it. If Hera didn't call me Bel, I might not remember it at all.

  The meek lamb in me returned. Suddenly, I didn't want my answers anymore. I jumped off the table and turned toward the door. In a few strides I'd be outside, run back to Peanut, dissappear. But a heavy hand pushed me back onto the table.

  “No.” That was all Fern needed to say.

  I kicked my boots off and stared at my wiggling toes trying to piece my thoughts together. I didn't want to answer my mother's question. I don't like to think about that night at all.

  “Abel.” I bit my lip. Why is she being so free with my name all of a sudden? Does she want revenge or something for me using her name? I took a deep breath.

  Without looking up from my feet, I came clean. I told my mother about the vision, sounding like a defeated child. “I heard it in a vision of you. A man, I assumed he was a Ramseas, had you locked in a prison. He called you Lady Armagina.”

  My mother and Fern looked at me with intense curiosity. Fern did that pursing of his lips that he does when he gets nervous about something. I noticed the fire dying down from the lack of fuel to keep it going. I stood up to go grab a log for the fire, but Fern firmly placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. The way he addressed me sent a shiver down my spine.

  “No, Lord Abel, talk to your mother. Let me take care of the fire.”

  “Please don’t call me that.” I heard my voice squeak out my request. How I longed for him to call me boy or lad. That was calming, familiar, and safe. My fingernails found their way between my teeth. I gazed at Fern slowly going to work.

  He sighed and picked up a log, putting it neatly on the fire before he stoked it back to life. I nearly missed what he said. The flames cracked over the sound of his whispers. “Sorry, my Lord.”

  A small hand gently wiped the stray tear clinging to my stinging cheek. “Abel, dear, I'm sorry.” She looked away. “I shouldn't have slapped you.”

  I stayed silent, despising the sound of my own name.

  My mother sighed and dropped her arm by her side. “You need to try to stop crying so much,” she said softly. “You’re a man now.”

  I sharply inhaled and rubbed the tears out of my eyes. “But mother, if I’m a man now,” I said, “why can’t I be trusted with the truth?” I turned away from her to watch Fern with the fire before putting the rest of my thought into words. “You keeping so many secrets makes me feel like an untrustworthy child.”

  My mother gently pulled my head to look into my eyes, her soft hands firmly gripped my cheeks while tender thumbs rubbed them lovingly. “I always loved your brilliant aqua eyes you know.” She smiled despite the tears collecting on her cheeks. “But, it always pains me to look at them. You remind me so much of your father.”

  “Mother, you're changing the subject.” There were two topics I've never wanted to discuss with her, my eyes and my father. Whoever he is.

  She looked away but still held me firmly. “If you want to know the truth,” she said. “Then you too need to stop keeping secrets with me.”

  “Mother,” I said feeling my voice tremble at the underlying fear of the memory I had no issue recalling. “The vision. It, it. It scared me. The man. He. He.”

  “Go on, Abel, I can handle it.”

  “Stop calling me that!” I protested. It was meaningless to ask her to stop calling me by my own name. I took a deep breath and continued. “The man beat you trying to get you to tell him the bastard’s name. I assumed he meant me.”

  Her face twisted into a look of pain and disgust. She let me go and turned to sit down in a chair.

  “The man in your vision was probably your uncle. I was meant to be married to him, but I loved your father.” She grabbed my hand. “So, you’ve seen that your uncle is a cruel man. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants.” She sighed.

  “Despite our arranged marriage, which he demanded, your father and I continued our relationship in secret.” She wove her fingers together with mine. I felt her begin to tremble. “Later, I had a vision of a little boy that looked like him. A little later, I figured out I was with child.”

  I looked at my mother. Her face began to relax. “Mother,” I cautiously spoke. “Does that make me a Ramseas?”

  My mother let go of my hand and shook her head. “No Abel, only in blood. Your father can't publicly recognize you as his son. Officially, you are, as you’ve already deduced, a royal bastard.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Fern, he needs to go. He can't stay here.”

  “But, why not, mother?” My heart started racing. We can't just leave. “But I,” I stuttered.

  “Quiet, Abel. You're leaving.” My mother let my hand go and turned to Fern. “I'll send word with Alemania, if she suddenly leaves for Ilrunen then he'll understand.”

  Fern nodded. "Yes, my Lady." He rose from the fire and took a seat at the table.

  I sighed, more secrets.

  “But, mother, what's in Ilrunen?”

  I looked at my mother, wrinkling my nose in confusion. Fern chuckled trying to hide his face by looking toward the fire. Even then, the man smiled too loudly. My mother wasn't as amused.

  “My father and mother. If my father hasn't gone back on his word then you'll be accepted into my house.” She glared at Fern who promptly stopped smiling and looked down toward his arms on the table

  “Wait,” I paused thinking of how I wanted to ask this last question. “Mother, if I'm not a Ramseas, then what am I?”

  My mother’s face brightened with the largest smile I've seen in years. “My son, you take the name of my house.” She grabbed my hand even tighter. It slowly went numb, but I dared not to move. “Your given name is Abel Ilja.”