"Hetty what was that about?" Mr. Carlston the Caerwyn Manor cook grunted moving his prosthetic leg. He sat on a stool, oiling the joints of his iron prosthetic. The thing creaked like an old door hinge, he would have been long buried if Baron Edrien hadn't dragged him out of that fateful dungeon.
Hetty sank into a chair with a weary sigh. "Seems the guest upstairs is the Duke's grandson. He was kidnapped, dragged here by two thugs. A small little thing."
"Doesn't explain how he broke the baroness' barrier." Carlston wiped his prosthetic leg clean. "Even that A-rank Skroothling last week couldn't scratch it."
"Either way I'm afraid today we should be on high alert. The Baroness will have her hands full and won't return until that part of the wall close to the manor is finished." Hetty nodded, biting into her bread.
Mrs. Potts, ever watchful, added as she rose, "Best you finish quickly, Hetty. I will take the first watch tonight. The Baroness left strict instructions—the children are to stay in their rooms."
Carlston groaned, pushing himself upright and catching up his cleaver. With a flick, it stretched into a broadsword gleaming under the kitchen lamps. "Then I'll join the others securing the perimeter of the manor. Mrs Potts could you reheat the supper when the Baron and Baroness return?"
"Of course dear," Mrs. Potts said crisply. "And Mr. Carlston—try and separate Aaron and Smead, you know how those two get so competitive."
The three left together, switching off the enchanted lights until the kitchen was swallowed in shadow. For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—squeak.
"I thought they'd never leave." Evie poked her head from behind the pantry door, grinning. "Finally, I can refill the shelves."
The familiar glow of her System appeared, and in a flutter of panels she exchanged her day's hard-earned gold for inconspicuous pantry staples—rice, flour, dried herbs, eggs even a little sugar, salt and pepper tucked safely into jars.
"Perfect. No one will suspect a thing." She smirked. "And with the coins I slipped into Papa's ledgers we'll have more than enough for the month."
The sound of approaching footsteps made her freeze.
"System—map!" she hissed, tapping the panel. A portal shimmered underfoot, and just as Mrs. Potts opened the kitchen door, Evie vanished.
"No one's here," Mr. Carlston muttered.
Mrs. Potts scanned the room, revolver in hand from her days as an adventurer, sharp ears straining. At last she exhaled. "Must be my Nerves. The sooner the barriers are up, the better. I don't want a repeat of what happened to young master Eleur."
They closed the door.
Evie stumbled out of into a room from the system teleportation.
"I can't believe that worked—" she whispered—only to nearly leap out of her skin when a voice cut through the dark.
"What worked?"
A candle flared to life. Lemeric sat on the bed, silver hair catching the flame.
"Oh no..." Evie's eyes darted to her System panel. "I must have... teleported here by accident."
He arched a brow. "So you can use teleportation magic with that thing?"
"Something like that it only works on places I've been to though" She crossed her arms reading through the map, then at his quest panel the latest quest still uncomplete, "Why are you awake?"
"Why are you?" he countered, raising an eyebrow. He thought it wasn't relevant tell her he was used to staying alert even at Montclair castle.
She marched over to his bedside. "I was making sure the kitchen's stocked for breakfast. Mr. Carlston always goes overboard when he has supplies—you'll see. You're in for a treat tomorrow. You should sleep or else you'll miss breakfast tomorrow, do you want me to read you a bedtime story?"
"A bedtime story?" His lips quirked, amused. "You know I'm older than you."
"Really? How old are you I'm eight!"
"I'm eleven,"
"You're a year younger than my brothers. Anyway you're my guest here so I want to make sure you're comfortable in your sleep." And also I want the 10 gold coin rewards already, she said more to herself. "Isn't the beddings comfortable enough?"
"It's alright," In fact it was better than what he had back at Montclair Castle. But he didn't know Evie had purchase these linens from the system store. Him using it has given her a lot of coins through the rebate system.
"Then how about warm milk?" she said, summoning a glass from the system store with a flourish.
He eyed it suspiciously, sniffed it, and finally drank.
"You're weird," Evie teased. "Why do you sniff everything like it's poison?"
"Because it could be poison."
She rolled her eyes. "Who here would poison you?"
"Mm. True enough." He finished the milk in one gulp, feeling reassured after remembering Evie's words about how the baron and baroness would be accountable for his safety now that he's in their territory.
The System chimed:
[System Notification]
🌟 Rebate: 230x Silver Coins
Details: For Aiding the Hero
Evie hurriedly dismissed the glowing panel and whispered to herself smiling as her hands cupped her cheeks. "Alright good night then, You'll see tomorrow you'll be in for a nice treat!"
"Tomorrow," Lemeric let the word linger. For as long as he could remember, nights meant kidnappings, assassins, shadows creeping through the corridors. He'd long stopped caring if morning ever came. But tonight—tonight he found himself waiting for dawn. If only to see if Evie was right.
The very next day, he went down to the dining hall expecting—after Evie's promise—a nobleman's spread of silver platters and quiet, polished service. He was used to having lavish breakfast and montclair castle, it was always a ceremony. Long tables draped in damask cloth gleamed with polished silver and crystal. Servants glided like shadows, refilling cups before they were empty. The air was always heavy with the scent of buttered pastries, poached pears in spiced syrup, delicate fish stews, and eggs whipped with cream until they melted on the tongue. Platters of ham glazed in honey and baskets of steaming bread sat alongside imported fruits still dewy from their journey across the sea.
His stepmother, unofficially the Duchess, presided over it all like a queen, after his grandfather refused to come to the elaborate affair. She usually guided the conversation - usually to bolster Lemeric's older brother's standing. Lords and ladies from court often lingered at these breakfasts, trading alliances over tea and sugared almonds. For Lemeric, it had always felt less like a meal and more like a battlefield fought with gossip and etiquette.
He was bracing himself of course as the Grandson of Duke of Montclair he had an image to uphold and he had to represent if not prove his noble lineage. Instead of a battlefield of elegance, the hall was alive with clamor. Not just the Baron's family or nobility, but half the garrison crammed shoulder-to-shoulder at the long tables, eating as though the kitchen had declared open war on hunger. Guards laughed with their mouths full, spoons clattering, mugs of tea being raised in toasts. Someone shouted for more butter; another waved a half-eaten sausage like a banner.
At the head of it all was the Caerwyn family, Evie still half asleep was bobbing her head. The Baron gently held her head fondly, brushing stray hair from her face.
"My sweet girl, were you up all night waiting for Papa to return?" he murmured.
Evie yawned, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a sleepy moth. Her lips parted with a soft "mmm" as Baroness Elowen pressed a spoonful of porridge to her mouth and she chewed with her eyes still close.
"Evie, you have to practice waking up early" her mother scolded gently. "Remember what the doctor said, the morning light will do you good, come finish your porridge and walk with mama in the garden."
At the far end, Eleur tossed a roll skyward. Elsan snatched it mid-air using a bit of telekenetic magic without even looking up from his book.
"Big Brother, I asked you to pass the bread, not throw it."
"Ha! You actually caught it this time!" Eleur grinned.
Sir Aaron, already halfway through his plate, thumped both boys on the head. "Eat properly. If I finish before you, you'll run drills till sundown."
"Yes, Sir!" the twins chorused, diving into their food.
Mr. Carlston happily served a fresh batch of bacon and eggs "Alright boys have your fill" he declared to the table and the whole thing vanished.
"Oi! Who's this then?" one of the guards—a broad man with crimson hair and eyes too bright for this early hour—leaned across the bench to stare at Lemeric.
Hetty bustled over. "Sir Leirin, this is Young Lord Lemeric, a guest of the manor."
"Well I'll be! You're the lad who broke the Baroness's wall, eh? Had us patching it all night!"
The room hushed, whispers darting through the crowd like mice. Lemeric steeled himself for scorn and disdain from the squad. Of course they'd be angry. At montclair he once broke his step-mother's vase and was locked up without dinner.
He should have thought better of course they wouldn't want him here. He was about to retreat but was shocked when Leirin clapped him on the back so hard he nearly toppled into the table of guards enjoying their breakfast. "Sweet Serendale you sure pack a powerful punch for a skinny little thing, thanks to you I'm five gold richer!"
Rowdy laughter broke out, spilling down the table like spilled ale.
"Hansal bet against me, that the barrier would last until sundown!"
Across the table, a weary vice-captain pinched the bridge of his nose. "Captain, please. At least stop assaulting the Baron's guest. I apologize for the captain he can act like he's drunk when he hasn't had enough sleep"
"Who're you calling drunk, I'm as awake as an owl!" Leirin barked at a vase.
"Yes Captain Owl, right this way too your new tree..." Vice Captain Hansal guided his boss outside who was loopy from a sleepless night.
Someone called, "Let's see if we can draw on the Captain's face while he sleeps!" Another shouted, "You guys go ahead—I'm getting a second bowl of Carlston's porridge!"
Amid the racket, Hetty turned to Lemeric. "My apologies, young master. It is quiet rowdy here Shall I have a tray sent to your room?"
Before he could answer, a small but insistent voice cut across the table.
"Lemeric! Over here! Come sit, sit!" Evie woken up from the chaotic laughter noticed he was there. She patted the seat beside her.
The Baronness gestured warmly. "Please join us. Forgive the chaos—we always open our hall after a night's repairs."
Lemeric sat, and before he could find his bearings, Evie was piling his plate: a steaming bowl of porridge, a slice of Carlston's bread spread with butter, a few too many meats and two freshly boiled eggs. It was no lavish noble feast—but the simplicity, the warmth of it, felt startlingly rich.
"Do you not know how to peel an egg?" Evie looked at Lemeric's reaction to the egg. "Here let me!"
Lemeric taken aback by this candor gesture could only blush and say "Thank you,"
"Evie, why are you peeling eggs for a stranger?" the Baron said a little hurt. "You didn't even share your porridge with me."
"I want some boiled egg Evie!" Elsan crowed, and with a flash of magic, the peeled egg vanished from Evie's fingers into his own.
"Elsan that's not fair!" Eleur shoved his egg at Evie. "Peel mine too Evie!"
Evie huffed, but reached for it anyway. "Can you guys not fight so early in the morning"
"You'll prick your fingers if you peel too many," Elsan warned, only half-joking.
At once Baroness Elowen fussed, taking Evie's hands into her own. "Have you pricked yourself? I knew we shouldn't have boiled so many eggs!"
Amid the scolding, laughter, and clatter, Lemeric found himself staring at the plate Evie had made for him. It wasn't silver trays or jeweled goblets but it was surprisingly warm.
And for the first time, he thought he might actually want tomorrow to come again just to experience such a rowdy breakfast.
He had grown used to this rhythm—more than used to it, if he were honest. He actually enjoyed it. Back at Montclair he had never once slept without the threat of blades in the dark, nor had he sat at a table without enduring the sharp sneers of nobles who whispered about his background. But here... in the far corner of the east he was fed until he could eat no more and had peaceful sleep.
And in the middle of it all sat Lemeric, utterly overwhelmed. His plate never once saw daylight. Evie piled food upon food with sparkling eyes, and he, too polite to decline, ate until his ribs begged for mercy. Not that declining was an option anyway—not with Baron Edrien glaring across the table like a great shaggy bear daring him to refuse his daughter's kindness.
After every meal came the same rhythm, going to the stables or the forest behind the manor with Sol who was enjoying his stay at Caerwyn, retreating to his modest guest room, browsing the dusty manor library, or sitting through the twins' chaotic mix of study and sparring. Wherever he went, Evie was there. Hovering. Pressing snacks into his hands at random hours, lighting a thousand candles in his room so he could read, bringing him warm drinks unasked, and talking endlessly about everything and nothing.
A fortnight passed when one quiet afternoon, Evie had tagged along to the library again, plopping herself down near him with no intention of reading. Lemeric's eyes strayed to the large family portrait hanging above the hearth.
The Caerwyn children were unmistakably theirs. The twins carried their mother's soft brown hair but their father's sharp eyes. Evie... Evie was a perfect balance of both. She had her mother's delicate features and striking blue eyes, but her father's ink-black hair framed them, softening into something uniquely her own. Carefree, bright—it was a face made lighter by laughter.
It reminded him, painfully, of the portrait back home. The one his stepmother had commissioned: a perfect family of blonde hair and green eyes, his father and grandfather stamped from the same golden mold. And then there was him—silver-haired, golden-eyed, out of place in his own family. The only face that matched his was the painting of a woman that hung in a secret room he would sneak too - it long since burned away in the fire along with it memories from his childhood he could no longer remember.
"What are you staring at?" Evie's voice broke into his thoughts.
"Nothing," Lemeric replied, snapping his gaze back to his book.
"Really? Because you're looking at it so intensely. Is it my nose? I told the painter to make it higher."
Lemeric blinked at her, then studied her nose—small, neat, like a button that perfectly fit her face. "Your nose looks exactly the same in the painting as it does now."
Evie gasped and covered her nose with both hands. "Don't make fun of my nose!"
"I'm not," he said truthfully—but the corner of his mouth twitched, and a faint snicker betrayed him. He had been thinking about how he'd dreaded not resembling his family, and here she was fretting about her nose resembling hers.
"You are making fun of me!" Evie grabbed a pillow and hurled it at him. Lemeric tilted his head slightly, and it missed cleanly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare dodge my punishment!"
What followed was chaos—Evie grabbing anything within reach to throw at him, and Lemeric dodging with infuriating ease.
"Say," he asked dryly between evasion thinking of a way to make her stop throwing less she tire herself, "all your names begin with E. Don't you find that strange?"
"I never really thought about it. Let's see—Papa's Edrien, Mama's Elowen, my brothers Eleur and Elsan, and me—Evie!" She recited proudly, then promptly launched a book at him.
"Is there a reason for it?"
"Maybe it's just a tradition Mama and Papa started." She shrugged, already reaching for another thing to throw at him.
The word family lodged deep in his chest. That's what they were—a family, solid and whole. And he... he was only a refugee among them, no matter how accustomed he was becoming to the warmth of this house - it was only in truth temporary.
His thoughts cost him dearly. The next book Evie lobbed smacked square into his face, and he toppled backward.
"Oh my goodness! Are you alright?!" Evie yelped, scrambling over, guilt warring with laughter in her sapphire eyes.