299 A Curmudgeon

The Count of Medhir's mansion stood as a magnificent sight, exuding an air of grandeur. The sprawling estate was surrounded by enchanting gardens adorned with golden grass, reminiscent of the vibrant hues of autumn. 

The atmosphere held a serene calmness as if time itself had slowed down. The picturesque scenery boasted numerous trees, their branches reaching towards the sky, and several elegant fountains that added a touch of elegance.

Two days had passed since the incident involving the marquess at the festival. Liam, the marquess, had been confined to his bed, receiving proper rest and care.

However, on the third day, an undeniable restlessness had taken hold of him. Against the concerns of his children, who worried about his condition, he insisted on rising from his bed.

"Father, please, you need more rest," advised Aaron, his eldest son.