Lord Winterborne's expression revealed his disappointment, though it was clear he wouldn't press the matter further. Nobility possessed a certain pride that forbade them from begging or groveling—especially when it came to recruitment.
But it seemed the Lady didn't share that sentiment.
"So what now? You plan to find work in town?" she asked, her sapphire-blue eyes shimmering in the soft lantern light.
Michael heard a slight edge in her tone. He might've offended her by refusing their offer, but he would have to deal with the consequences. If the Lady wanted to call him ungrateful or curse him, so be it.
He'd endured far worse these past few weeks.
"Yes, my lady," he replied respectfully.
"What kind of work could a boy as young and skinny as you even manage in town? You don't look like a laborer, and you certainly don't seem well-versed in magic—even if you are an Ember mage," she retorted, her gaze sweeping his malnourished frame.
Her words, while cutting, weren't untrue. Apart from some basic chore magic, Michael knew next to nothing. His body, weakened from weeks of poor nutrition, wouldn't make it easy to find work.
"Mary… that's enough," Lord Winterborne said softly, placing a gentle hand on her arm.
She ignored him.
"What if we offered you a job?" Mary Winterborne asked, her jaw set in stubborn defiance.
"Sorry?" Michael blinked in disbelief.
She had just called him inept—yet now she was offering him a job? Keeping up with the conversation felt like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
None of it made sense.
"I'm saying we'll give you work. A roof over your head. I can't possibly let a sweet young man like you end up on the streets."
Michael was stunned. Why was she so intent on helping him? What did she stand to gain?
"Honey… give the kid a break," Lord Winterborne said with a sigh. "He clearly has his own pride. He won't accept out of stubbornness."
"Pride?" she scoffed. "You men and your damn pride. Can you eat it? Does it keep you warm at night?" Mary huffed, her eyes narrowing.
Michael swallowed hard, watching the two begin to argue. He realized, with mounting discomfort, that he might have inadvertently sparked a rift between them. All he could do was sit there, awkward and silent, waiting for it to pass.
Then—just as suddenly—their attention snapped back to him.
"Michael," Mary said, her voice softer now, almost imploring. "Why won't you accept our kindness? It's just a job and a place to stay. You'll be like one of our butlers or maids. There's no shame in that, and I promise—we'd never ask anything degrading of you."
"…Okay," Michael answered reflexively, the word slipping from his lips before he had time to reconsider.
"Okay?"
The lord and lady both froze, turning toward one another with mirrored expressions of surprise. After all that arguing, they clearly hadn't expected him to agree so easily.
In truth, Michael wasn't opposed to working for the Winterbornes—he had simply been caught off guard by the offer. As long as he could contribute, he had no issue living in the mansion.
Since they won't be wasting resources on me, they shouldn't be disappointed if I only end up with red rings, Michael reasoned.
His thoughts were interrupted by laughter at the other end of the table. When he looked up, he saw Lord and Lady Winterborne holding hands, laughing as if they'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.
"Forgive me, Michael," Lord Winterborne said, shaking his head. "It seems I mistook your values for something as shallow as pride."
He leaned forward slightly, his tone warm. "Now I see—you weren't rejecting kindness, you were rejecting charity. That's a noble distinction, especially for someone so young."
He paused, then continued, "Still, we have high hopes for you. While you'll earn your keep, I expect you to attend magic tutoring alongside Melody. That's non-negotiable."
Magic tutoring? Michael's ears perked up.
His mother had once tutored him, but her knowledge had been limited by his strength. Back then, with only a single white ring, he could barely be called a mage.
But now… things were different. He was stronger. That meant he could finally dive into real magical theory—and perhaps even apply it. The thought made his heart pound with anticipation.
"I understand. Thank you for your kindness," Michael said, standing up and bowing deeply to show his gratitude.
"Wonderful!" Mary clapped her hands, her smile so bright it seemed to illuminate the room.
Michael felt a sudden flush rise in his cheeks and quickly turned away to hide it.
"Shirley, would you take Michael to the servants' quarters and get him settled for the night?" she asked.
The young maid appeared instantly and gave a graceful curtsy. "Of course, my lady."
Michael barely had time to react before a firm pair of hands landed on his shoulders.
"Come. I'll show you around your new home," the maid said. Her tone was polite—but Michael sensed an edge beneath it.
Unable to resist her grip, he was quickly ushered toward the door, unable to get a word in.
"Oh—and Shirley," the Lord called after them, prompting her to pause.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Don't be too harsh on him. Despite his age, the boy has a sense of propriety and a strong moral compass."
"…Understood."
Michael raised an eyebrow at that, puzzled by the exchange, but Shirley resumed her pace before he could ask anything. The door clicked shut behind them.
As they entered the quiet hallway, Shirley let out a long sigh and crouched down, bringing herself to eye level with him.
"You stubborn child," she muttered, giving him a stern look. "You could've been set for life, and yet you let your ideals get in the way…"
Before Michael could respond, she exhaled again, this time softer, and reached out to ruffle his hair.
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"But I guess that's part of your charm," she said with a light laugh. "Come on, let's get you settled in for the night."
"R-Right."