NOVEL NEXT Chapter 58: Viscount Lindow
Erestia.
The capital of the Kingdom of Lorendia stretched before me. From my perch in the swaying carriage, I watched the familiar spires pierce the afternoon sky, their shadows dancing across cobblestone streets that hummed with the endless rhythm of commerce and conversation.
This marked my second trip to these grounds, yet everything felt simultaneously foreign and achingly familiar. The merchant stalls that lined the main thoroughfare bore new awnings in vibrant crimson and gold, their colors more saturated than I remembered.
Nearly three years. Had it truly been so long since I last walked these streets?
Time had a peculiar way of stretching and compressing memory. That previous visit felt like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.
I had come then in the company of royalty itself: the Queen of Briaran and Princess Judith. That journey for me at least had been orchestrated for Arlos. During that momentous visit, chance had blessed me with an encounter I never could have orchestrated myself: a casual conversation with the three royal siblings of Lorendia.
But perhaps the most significant encounter from that trip hadn't been with royalty at all.
Rumia.
I smiled a little thinking about her.
At first I had foolishly dismissed her feelings as nothing more than a childhood infatuation—the kind of fleeting fancy that blooms bright and brief before withering under the harsh light of reality. How naive I had been to believe that time and distance would cool the fire I had seen burning in her eyes.
Instead, those three years had apparently served only to stoke that flame higher.
Rumia would be here anyways so I will see.
Logic dictated that she would be taking the entrance examination alongside me if she hadn't been already selected without need to pass the exam I mean.
She had been preparing, I knew, studying at another institution whose sole purpose was to ready students for the Academy's notoriously difficult entrance requirements. That was the main reason her father sent her to Erestia to begin with.
And what a future it was meant to be. The marriage arrangements had already been set in motion—a union with Count Sevrin's son that would elevate her family's position while providing the Count with valuable political connections.
I would be lying if I claimed indifference to this arrangement.
I had given my word to Rumia anyway, and I intended to honor it, regardless of the obstacles that lay ahead. Rumia would be mine, not bound to some count's son in a marriage of convenience. But achieving that goal would require more finesse than I had possessed three years ago.
The social gulf between a commoner like myself and the son of a count stretched as vast as the distance between earth and sky. Count Sevrin wielded influence that could crush my ambitions before they truly began—a single word from him could see me expelled from the Academy. Any move I made would need to be planned.
"Stop here." Isadora's crisp command cut through my brooding thoughts.
The carriage lurched to a halt with a final clatter of wheels against stone. I blinked, surprised to find we had arrived at our destination while I was lost in contemplation. Before us rose a mansion that commanded attention even among the impressive architecture of the noble quarter.
The building stood three stories tall, its facade crafted from honey-colored limestone that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun. Elaborate cornices crowned each window, while wrought iron balconies added delicate flourishes to the upper floors. Even among the other grand residences that lined this street, this particular estate projected an aura of refined power.
"We have arrived. Gather your belongings," Isadora said, already descending from the carriage.
I nodded and collected my possessions so just my huge backpack and bow.
"What is this place?" I asked, tilting my head back to take in the mansion's full height. Ivy crept up one corner of the building, its emerald tendrils creating natural patterns against the stone. Gardens visible through the iron gates showed meticulous care—perfectly trimmed hedges bordered by beds of flowers that would bloom in precise seasonal succession.
My suspicions about Isadora's connections were proving correct. Only nobility possessed the means to provide assistance with Academy admission, but this confirmation brought with it a new set of questions and concerns.
"The residence of Viscount Creon Lindow," Isadora replied. "This will be both your home and your place of employment from this day forward."
"Employment?" I raised an eyebrow, though part of me had begun to suspect something of this nature.
She nodded, her expression growing serious as she studied my face. "I have managed to secure your admission to the entrance examination, but I know you well, Harold. During the two years we spent together, I observed the kind of man you are becoming. Your pride runs deep—perhaps too deep for someone so young—and I fear you might harbor dangerous notions about the nobles you will encounter at the Academy."
She paused, allowing her words to settle between us.
"Therefore, you will serve officially as a butler in this household while maintaining your status as an Academy student. The dual role will provide you with protection and, more importantly, perspective."
"I see," I murmured, processing this unexpected development.
The assessment stung because it carried the sharp edge of truth. I did indeed possess a formidable ego—a inheritance from James Trevills. Isadora had witnessed glimpses of this pride during our time together, but she had not yet seen its full magnitude. Perhaps it was better that way.
The logic behind her arrangement was sound, even if it chafed against my instincts. A connection to Viscount Lindow would indeed provide a degree of protection that simple commoner status could never afford. The Academy attracted the children of dukes and counts, young nobles who had never known want or been denied their desires. Among such company, a lone commoner might find himself crushed beneath the weight of aristocratic displeasure.
Still, the prospect of serving as a butler rankled. The role would consume time I preferred to dedicate it to my personal pursuits. Yet what choice did I have? Isadora had already done more for me than I had any right to expect.
"Understood," I said finally, forcing acceptance into my voice.
Isadora's expression softened slightly at my acquiescence. She had expected resistance, perhaps even anger, but I mean I wasn't a brat.
"Besides," she continued, "this arrangement stems from my concern for your wellbeing. The nobles you will encounter at the Academy can be... challenging. This position will offer you insights into their world while providing you with valuable allies."
As understanding dawned, pieces of recent memory began clicking into place like the tumblers of a complex lock. The etiquette lessons she had insisted upon, the seemingly pointless exercises in proper tea service, the endless drills on household management and social protocol—none of it had been arbitrary. Isadora had been preparing me for this role from the beginning, crafting me into the perfect candidate for service in a noble house.
I felt slight irritation at her secrecy. She could have simply explained her intentions rather than allowing me to stumble through those lessons wondering at their purpose.
"Oh, you have arrived, Lady Isadora!"
The mansion's front door had burst open to reveal a middle-aged man whose entire bearing spoke of professional competence. His green hair was neatly trimmed and beginning to show distinguished threads of silver at the temples. Wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, magnifying eyes that held the sharp intelligence of someone accustomed to managing complex household affairs.
"Viscount Lindow," Isadora greeted.
"I hope I don't intrude," Isadora said, though her tone suggested she knew perfectly well that her arrival was not only expected but eagerly anticipated.
"Not at all, please enter," the Viscount replied, his voice carrying the cultured tones of court education. Then those eyes fixed upon me. "And you, young man, must be Harold."
"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Viscount Lindow," I said, offering what I hoped was an appropriately respectful bow—neither too deep as to suggest subservience, nor too shallow as to imply disrespect.
"Hmm," the Viscount mused, circling me slowly like a jeweler examining a particularly interesting gemstone. His scrutiny was thorough but not unkind, taking in everything from my travel-worn clothes to the calluses on my hands that spoke of archery practice and manual labor. "You certainly don't possess the appearance of an ordinary young man. I should have expected no less from Lady Isadora's disciple."
He chuckled then, a sound rich with genuine amusement rather than mere politeness.
"Is everything prepared for tomorrow's examination?" Isadora inquired, her question cutting straight to the practical heart of matters.
"Indeed it is," Viscount Lindow confirmed with a decisive nod. "All the necessary arrangements have been made, the proper recommendations submitted, and the fees paid. Now only Harold's success remains to complete our endeavor."
"You need not concern yourself with that particular outcome," Isadora replied. "Harold will not disappoint us."
Her faith in my abilities was the result of what she had seen in me during our two years of training.
"Then I shall trust in both your judgment and his capabilities," the Viscount said with another laugh.
"Do I need to begin my duties immediately?" I asked. The long journey had left me more exhausted than I cared to admit, and there was tomorrow's examination as well. I wanted to rest a bit and not work ariund.
The Viscount's eyebrows rose slightly, as if my question had reminded him of something he had momentarily forgotten. "Ah, that decision rests with my daughter Alicia, I'm afraid. She will be the one you serve, after all, so matters of scheduling and duties fall under her purview."
"Your daughter?" I repeated, surprised by this revelation. I had assumed I would be serving the Viscount himself, or perhaps his wife. T
"Alicia?" the Viscount called toward the mansion's interior, his voice carrying easily through the spacious halls.
"Father?"
I turned toward the sound just as its owner emerged from the mansion's shadowed interior.
She was breathtaking.
The word seemed inadequate even as it formed in my mind. Beauty was common enough among the nobility—good bloodlines and proper nutrition tended to produce pleasing results—but this young woman possessed something that transcended mere physical attractiveness. Her hair was an extraordinary shade of emerald green, not the artificial color produced by dyes and powders, but a natural hue that caught the light like polished jade. She wore it in a elegantly casual ponytail that allowed loose curls to frame her face, softening features that might otherwise have seemed too perfect to be real.
But it was her eyes that truly captured my attention. They were the same impossible shade of green as her hair, bright as spring leaves touched by morning sunlight, and filled with an intelligence that suggested depths I could only begin to imagine. Those remarkable eyes were studying me with the same frank curiosity I was directing toward her, creating a moment of mutual assessment that stretched longer than politeness typically allowed.
She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen years of age, possessed of the kind of graceful bearing that came from years of deportment lessons and court functions. Her dress was fashionably cut but not ostentatious—pale lavender silk that complemented her unusual coloring without overwhelming it. A small pendant at her throat caught the light as she moved, revealing itself to be a delicate silver butterfly with wings that seemed to flutter with each breath she took.