Chapter 16: Does he even own normal clothing?
Cass hadn't realised what the outfits of this time period were supposed to be until Sam had to fully dress him. He'd been wandering around in his pajamas before, and a cloak. He'd basically been orphan coded before he even knew it. He'd been cosplaying as Oliver Twist.
He'd seen Lady Ava and Lady Fiona while in that outfit. No wonder they didn't take him all that seriously. But this? All the fucking layers and coats and weird as fuck pants?
Awful. He hated it.
It didn't help that everything was either white or black with silver and red accents. Cass was going to lose his damn mind.
Lord Blackburn better show his ass at some point so he could lecture him about the importance of diversifying a wardrobe. Even if Cass had brown hair and brown eyes before, he didn't exclusively wear fucking brown all the time.
Fuck, he really needed to look up the Blackburn family coat of arms just so he could attempt to understand the loyalty to these damn colours. Was it because of his hair and eye colour? Why the fuck was the man so villain coded? Who had made him this way?
Cass was doing his best to keep his grumbling to himself, but it was clear that everyone else could tell he was in a foul mood. Thankfully, it appeared that Lord Blackburn was always in a foul mood, so most people avoided him.
Well, everyone but Sam, and the guard who was stationed outside. Sir Forsythe.
Sir Forsythe wasn't going to let Cass not take him as he headed down to the main hall for breakfast. It was nonnegotiable. When Cass pointed out that he was the lord, not Sir Forsythe, Sir Forsythe hadn't even blinked when he responded.
"Yes, you are my Lord, but that does not mean I am going to let you walk into a dangerous situation on your own." Cass frowned at him, but Sir Forsythe was well trained. The man hadn't flinched, and damn it, that made Cass respect him more.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, rubbing his eyes as his head throbbed. It had been doing that periodically since he'd woken up. He was hoping it was a good sign, and not a bad one. He had no one to ask either, since it appeared that regular healers weren't nearby, and Lord Blackburn had outlawed his own body getting healed by healing magic.