Building a Harem in a Noble House-Chapter 87: Meredith Weston

Meredith leaned on a wall with a claymore at her side in the vast, echoing training hall of the Order of Paladins’ Podrian facility, her tall frame casting a long shadow across the polished stone floor. The air smelled of sweat and oiled leather, mingled with the faint incense from the altar at the far end, where ceremonial incense flickered in honor of the paladins fallen. Around her, a batch of recruits dressed in their fine tunics embroidered with family crests stood in groups, their laughter sharp and cutting as they glanced her way.

"Look at her, standing around like she owns the place," sneered one of them, a slender youth from House Everwinter, his voice dripping with that haughty tone all too familiar to Meredith. "As if a common orphan could ever grasp the true mantle of a Paladin."

His companions chuckled, a chorus of privileged amusement. Another, a girl from House Odelium with porcelain skin and curls pinned with jeweled combs, tilted her head mockingly. "She doesn’t even belong to any House. What is she even doing here? Commoners like her shouldn’t be here with us."

Meredith gripped the hilt of her training claymore a little tighter, her knuckles whitening beneath her callused skin. She didn’t respond... she never did. She’d learned years ago that her words would only fuel their fire. Deep inside, though, her mind churned. Why did they always do this? She had spent countless nights in her private residence, lying on her narrow cot with Colonel Charcoal curled at her feet, pondering the reasons.

Was it her height? At six-two, she loomed over even the male recruits, her presence intimidating before she ever opened her mouth. Colonel Charcoal did say that men tend to dislike women they can’t physically intimidate–and that certain women will do anything to impress those same weak men.

Or perhaps it was her strength? She could outlift them, outfight them in sparring sessions, her body toned and well-muscled from a lifetime of fighting and training. They’d called her a brute behind her back, as if power were a flaw rather than a virtue for a Paladin. It wasn’t like she was a muscle-headed Barbarian or anything... She still had some softness to her body!

It also could’ve been the fact that she was a Paladin recruit at all. Most women were expected to be mages. Many women from Noble House were put through training at the Order of Paladins for no other reason than it looked good on their record. It was an odd, aristocratic version of a resume booster for noblewomen.

Deep down, Meredith knew the truth. It wasn’t any of those things, not really. It was her. She was standoffish and distant, a wall of propriety and reserve that kept them at arm’s length. She had never tried to be their friend, never sought out their favor like the other kiss-ups asking the trainees, and never once thought about degrading herself to make them laugh.

And why would she? These people simply didn’t appeal to her. Their shallow conversations, their two-faced "friendships"... It was hollow; games played by the wealthy to perpetuate their status quo. Meredith didn’t have a place in that world, nor did she want one.

It made sense why she’d feel that way, given the life she’d lived up to this point. She had grown up in the orphanage on the outskirts of Podros, a gray stone building overrun with children who were small and sweet-faced, the kind that tugged at heartstrings and found homes quickly. Meredith had been different from the start. Tall even as a little girl, stocky and awkward, her limbs too long for her body, her features plain and unremarkable. No one wanted the girl who towered over the matrons by age ten, who tripped over her own feet during playtime. She wasn’t "cute," not with her serious green eyes and straight silver hair that refused to curl prettily. Adoption days came and went, families passing her by for the dimpled toddlers or the wide-eyed infants.

By the time she was eighteen, she was alone, truly adrift in a world that seemed to value fragility over fortitude. Like most kids who knew they weren’t going to get adopted, she’d begun training and adventuring on the side to start making money. The plan worked because even though she’d finally "graduated" from the orphanage, she’d made enough to buy herself a small apartment a few blocks away from the Order of Paladins. It wasn’t palatial or anything, but it was enough for her and Colonel Charcoal.

"Ugh, she’s no fun. What a boring bitch," the Everwinter girl had said, joining the group of wealthier recruits she was trying to impress.

The recruits’ taunts finally petered out, their attention shifting to some new gossip about a rival house’s scandal or something. The group shot her one last disdainful glance before turning away, and Meredith exhaled slowly, releasing the tension from her shoulders. She placed her training blade back in the weapons rack at the center of the room before gathering her belongings from her locker–a leather satchel in which she kept her belongings.

As she slung the satchel over her shoulder and made for the arched doors, a voice boomed through the hall, commanding silence. It was Master Thorne, the leading Paladin instructor, a grizzled veteran with a beard like iron wool and eyes that pierced like lance points. He stood on the raised dais, a scroll in hand, his presence alone enough to quell the murmurs.

"Recruits!" he called, his tone demanding complete attention. "Attend! The Paladin Exams approach swiftly–fewer than three moons from this day. You will each receive a flier detailing the trials upon exit from these sacred halls. Study it well."

Meredith paused mid-stride, her heart thudding against her ribs like a war drum. The Exams. This was it, the culmination of every grueling dawn patrol, every midnight vigil, every bruise and blister earned in this hall. She had poured her brief adult life into this dream, rising before the sun to drill forms, reciting creeds until her voice grew hoarse. One chance. That’s what they always said. Fail the Exams, and the path to Paladin-hood was closed forever, relegating her to the fringes as a mere guard or sellsword. Nervousness coiled in her gut, a cold serpent twisting tighter with each word from Master Thorne.

He unrolled the scroll further, his voice steady as granite. "And mark this well: no recruit among you may sit for the Exams without a sponsor. A Noble House must vouch for your character and commitment. Without such endorsement, your efforts are for naught."