1.7 The Breakfast

There was a change of atmosphere in the Lanchaster estate. After years of being a gloomy environment where people had to walk on eggshells and breathe quietly, the estate for the first time ever, buzzed in anticipation.

The new servant had already mentioned about the youngest lord's behavior but people were still in doubt because it was, after all, impossible for a tyrant to change overnight. But when a maid who aids the duchess ran to the kitchen and breathily ordered the head chef to prepare a meal that they knew the youngest lord favored, the people had stilled for a moment before they moved in urgency and excitement.

The garden had always been beautiful because of the duchess' meticulous care but that day it felt like the universe was with them. Roses, daffodils, carnations, and others bloomed to its fullest and permeated the air with their lovely fragrances. It was a mix of scents but they weren't overpowering.

Birds sung as the sun shone brightly on the estate. Their melody is bright and chirpy, lifting the positive atmosphere even more. The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight, as if the sun also wanted to witness the uproar.

Footfalls sounded and the servants spun just in time to see the duchess arrive the garden with her sons; all three of them.

Simone skipped towards the porch and headed to the table dressed in linen cloth styled with ribbons on the side. The second lord leaned on it and inhaled the scent of fresh baked pies and steaming breads. His eyes shone at the sight of bacon and eggs, warm soups, and other sweet pastries.

Lord Calix was quiet beside the bright duchess whose hazel eyes shone in enthusiasm and the heir listened as she chatted merrily. He walked a bit behind his mother for the duchess was focusing on the man she hooked arms with.

The servants threw all shame and eyed the youngest lord. They felt conflicted.

Here's the thing with the prophecy and the stories you would hear from people who attended the last event hosted in the Lanchaster estate. When asked about that incident, they would speak of the child who turned into a monster. But looking at the man behind the duchess, it seemed like their words were just tattletales.

The youngest lord looked at his mother with a neutral expression but they could see how tender those crimson stares were. The servants gave looks at each other, itching to whisper and gossip among themselves but looking at the faces of the masters they served, they decided against it.

Nero chugged down the glass of water that was handed to him, unbothered by the funny stares that came his way. Sue him; he was thirsty and apparently hungry. He ignored the heat on his face when he recalled the embarrassing stunt his stomach pulled just a while back.

At the corner, he could see the duchess let out a fond smile. He chose to ignore it and continued hydrating himself, quietly reveling to the warm feeling inside of him. He wasn't used to this domesticity. His parents on his past life were doctors and were too occupied to raise their only child so they hired a nanny to make sure he was fed, clothed, and every basic thing that could keep him alive.

It was easy for his own father and mother to disregard him in that way because they got married for convenience. Their clans were old money and kept practicing traditional ways to maintain wealth. They would not bat an eye even when he would accidentally bruise himself like the young child he was, and would only look to make sure that he wasn't failing school.

The only time he saw them have a proud look on their faces was when he got accepted to the medical school where they both got their degrees from. But Nero was sure that they were proud of themselves for 'raising' a son like him rather than him achieving something that they wanted and demanded him to do. This forced him to mature at an early age and become— what Linda called— an emotionally constipated breathing organism.

Nero glanced at the cutlery and picked up a knife and fork, aware of what to use as one of his classes on earth included etiquette. His families were sure of the fancy and egotistical type. Although if he were to use the standard of the novel's setting and act like an uncivilized human, people wouldn't care since it's what they expected of a villain. But then again, old habits die hard.

He lightly stabbed a piece of bacon and brought the piece of meat to his mouth. The saltiness immediately filled his taste buds and he hummed, satisfied. While chewing, a plate of stacked French toast slid to his view. Nero fluttered an eyelid at the sight of honey drizzle, powdered sugar, and fresh strawberries on and around golden dough. He then glanced at the person beside him.

"You used to enjoy these when you were just a little child, barely above my knee," the duchess reminisced with a sad yet loving smile.

Nero swallowed the chewed meat and stared at hazel eyes that shined of maternal love. He then thinks back to his own mother. It was quite laughable how he could not even remember the face of the person who gave birth to him. Nero eyed the plate of French toasts again. He wondered if it would be alright to lean on to such warmth and comfort that he was deprived of.

He quietly grabbed the cutlery again and sliced a portion of the bread, putting the soft food to his mouth once he had dabbed it on the honey and topped it with the ripe fruit.

"It's sweet," he quietly said.

Sweet it was, the servants thought as they watched the tender looks on their masters' faces.

Viridian eyes stared behind window panes, intensely watching like a hawk of the scene below him. He spun and sat back on the chair bringing his elbows to the surface of the table. Duke Veron Lanchaster had a stern expression, thick brows wrinkled in concentration.

Butler Zerlon stood firmly in front of him, casual and unafraid after decades of serving the mentioned duke; he was one of the people that stood by him when the dukedom had fallen in rank.

"Any findings?"

Butler Zerlon shook his head as he replied.

"None, Your Highness. No one had come in close contact with the youngest lord and knights who patrolled the area did not detect any suspicious movements, even auror."

Duke Veron leaned to the splat, his neck not far from the detailed cresting rail. He brought his large hands together, an emerald ring proudly shining on his ring finger. He grunted in acknowledgement for the report.

"How about the arrogant rat?"

Butler Zerlon was unfazed at the crude expression and casually answered. "He has not appeared for weeks. His last visit was the day after the First Knights venture on the east borders."

Duke Vernon raised a brow. "Is that so?" he muttered to no one in particular. He then stood up; his rob swayed at the force. His hand moved to his waist, touching the bladed weapon that shimmered like ice.

"Looks like I have to deal with this personally."