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“Young Duke, it is time for your lesson.”

Simmon entered carrying his usual leather valise. I did not look up.

My attention was fixed on a red bracelet resting in my palm. It was plainly made, inexpensive by any standard, yet there was something about it—a faint crimson sheen that seemed almost alive. It was likely nothing more than an illusion, but I found myself studying it longer than I intended.

Simmon noticed.

“What is that?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you so focused on anything aside from ledgers and documents.”

“It’s nothing,” I replied, slipping the bracelet back into my coat pocket.

He raised an eyebrow but, wisely, did not press further.

He began unpacking scrolls and papers from his valise, arranging them neatly for the day’s instruction.

I straightened, forcing every stray thought from my mind.

Including her.

My eyes moved over the documents laid before me—complex equations on one sheet, intricate political scenarios on another. Each required a sharp and calculating mind.

Still—

Too simple.

I worked through them without pause. My fountain pen moved smoothly, each stroke precise, forming clean and orderly script. It took little time before I finished.

Simmon appeared unsurprised. He lounged comfortably, legs crossed, sipping tea as he watched me work.

When I set the pen aside, he placed his teacup down and gave a brief clap.

“Well done, Young Duke. Truly impressive. Even I struggle to keep pace with you at times. I believe we’ll need to increase the difficulty. These exercises no longer suit you.”

I nodded, acknowledging only the last remark. My posture remained straight as Simmon reviewed the papers, nodding in approval.

“Excellent. Shall we proceed to something more demanding?”

I nodded again, and we continued.

Several hours into the lesson, the chamber door opened. I paid it no attention.

“Greetings, Young Duke. Greetings, sir.”

The voice was familiar—unsettlingly so—but I remained focused. It wasn’t her. No one else mattered.

“I was instructed to deliver refreshments. Forgive the interruption.”

I caught Simmon glancing at me before he responded in a tone far more courteous than his usual manner toward servants.

“You may place it there.”

The servant approached, placing the tray on the small table beside the divan where I sat.

Without meaning to, my eyes drifted briefly to their feet. The stockings were neatly arranged, the shoes slightly soiled at the tips.

Not a kitchen servant.

When the tray was set down, my gaze returned to my work—but before the servant could leave, I spoke.

“Wait.”

My voice was calm, though something stirred beneath it. The thought of that cake crossed my mind.

That girl—the one whose name I still did not know.

The only reason I had ordered refreshments so early was to taste her cake again.

Without looking up, I asked, “Did you include the berry-butter cake prepared by that maid?”

The air shifted.

So, they had failed to follow my instruction.

Since when had the servants of Westwond grown so careless?

I kept my expression neutral, though irritation flickered briefly before I suppressed it. As the future Duke of Westwond, I could not afford uncontrolled emotions.

Anyone who provoked them would face the consequences.

Including this servant.

“There is no cake,” they said quietly. “I apologize, Young Duke.”

I looked up.

And there she was.

The same girl—though dressed differently—from the river days ago.

She had denied knowing me then, which I had chosen to accept. Now she stood before me again, having failed to comply with my order.

Had Mother grown lenient of late?

I studied her briefly. Her head was bowed, posture respectful, though something about her composure felt… restrained. She seemed tense, yet not afraid.

“You were not instructed to bring it?” I asked.

Simmon pressed his lips together, sensing the tension.

“No, Young Duke. I delivered only what was prepared. I apologize for the oversight.”

Her voice suggested she was a few years older than I was, though her stature was smaller—far too slight for her age.

“Then take it away,” I said evenly. “Albert.”

A tall youth in a soldier’s uniform entered at once, saluting sharply.

“Escort her for punishment.”

“Yes, Young Duke.”

I watched as her expression fell and she nodded in acceptance.

Part of that punishment was owed for the slight she had given me days earlier.

They turned to leave.

Then another thought occurred to me.

“You are dismissed from serving me. Do not appear before me again.”

She paused at my words.

I returned to my work, unconcerned with the outcome.

A servant lacking grace had no place in my quarters—nor in the mansion itself. Mud-stained shoes wandering the halls were unacceptable.

It seemed neglect had grown within the estate. I would have to address it sooner than planned.

“Yes, Young Duke!”

Her voice carried an unexpected brightness.

I paused my writing, a faint frown forming.

Was she… pleased?

This was the first time I had encountered a servant who seemed glad to be dismissed from my service.

Though curiosity tugged at me, I did not look up.

If this suited her, then so be it.

“Yes, Young Duke,” she said again—this time layered with feigned disappointment.

I raised a brow and finally glanced up, but only caught the hem of her dress as she exited.

My gaze shifted briefly to the tray, arranged with careful precision, though it held no interest for me now.

I had only wanted the cake.

At last, I turned to Simmon, who had been watching me for some time.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

He chuckled softly. “Nothing serious, Young Duke. Only… you seem different when interacting with that servant.”

I did not take offense, though I found the observation unnecessary.

“Our discussion is bordering on informality,” I said calmly. “I would prefer we avoid that.”

He shrugged, that knowing smile still in place.

I returned to my work, yet a fragment of my mind lingered on his words.

Had I missed a change?

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