By morning, I had slipped into my usual attire—a dark shirt with the top two buttons open layered with a soft silver-lined coat that caught the sunlight as I moved and black trousers. The manor was quiet, still laced with the sleepiness of dawn, though the faint clatter of porcelain and hushed chatter from the staff hinted at the day beginning in earnest. Lyall, ever composed, trailed behind me like a silent shadow, his presence unobtrusive yet unmistakably alert.
"Is everyone already there?" I asked, my voice calm.
"Apart from Count Zachary Erkens, Baron Sebastian Oberon, and Prince Davian, everyone else is gathered," Lyall replied smoothly, his hands clasped behind his back as we turned a corner. I hummed thoughtfully, unsurprised.
"Zach and Lord Oberon did get quite drunk last night. Did you have some hangover soup prepared for them?" I asked, glancing sideways at him.
"The chef has prepared it for everyone, Master," he answered dutifully, and a small smile tugged at my lips.
