For as long as time-as stories have been told-daughters have paid for the sins of their fathers. And, well, my story wasn't much different. My father's sin, it was gluttony. The man drank away everything we owned. I was his only daughter, the eldest child, and his freedom from a dangerous debt. It would be a simple exchange, you see, one currency in the place of another. He'd stolen from a powerful man, a king. A man who was so cruel he reveled in breaking me down to nothing.

I was his plaything. His toy. His affectionately called little fox. And what was worse¿? I loved it. I loved how this man tried to ruin me. He thought my gilded cage would protect me, but it didn't. His queen wanted me gone, six feet under, and never to be heard from again. But I refused to be destroyed at the hands of the royals, the same privileged class that used me as entertainment, no matter how much I enjoyed his twisted affections.

It was the sins of my father that had put me in this position. But it was theirs that would help me destroy them.