Sugar, Secrets and Upheaval

I walked down the long corridor, footsteps swallowed by the mansion’s silence. After a few turns, I found the head servant.

“Levi says I’m to ‘tour the mansion.’ And, more importantly, I need an escort so I don’t get lost again.” My lips twitched with a self-deprecating smile.

His expression remained neutral, but he inclined his head slightly. “Of course, Master Raphael. It would be my distinct pleasure to guide you through the estate. Where would you care to begin your perambulation?”

I considered for a moment. “Perhaps the main hall, then the formal reception rooms. And perhaps point out the quickest route to the kitchen. For purely academic reasons, of course.”

He offered a ghost of a smile. “As you wish, Master Raphael. Follow me.”

He led the way, his steps light for a man of his age. The air was thick with the scent of wood, and the faint, ever-present dust that seemed to be an inherent part of the mansion’s very being.

Head servant pointed out tapestries depicting forgotten hunting scenes, suits of armor standing silent guard in alcoves, and stained-glass windows that cast jewel-toned light across the floors. He spoke in a measured voice, recounting brief histories of various wings, the significance of certain crests, and the purpose of rooms now largely unused. I nodded, absorbing some of the detail.

Each door he opened offered a glimpse into a frozen moment in time. He was exceptionally knowledgeable, occasionally pausing to highlight a particularly unique architectural feature or a relic from a bygone era.

“And this, Master Raphael,” he announced, gesturing down a well-lit corridor, “is the shortest route to the primary kitchens. A rather direct path, should you require any... refreshments.”

“Excellent. Truly vital information,” I replied, a genuine smile forming.

The tour continued, a silent ballet of history and present-day absurdity. I learned the layout of the estate, the cold grandeur of its formal spaces, and the quiet dignity of its many forgotten corners.

A drizzle was falling, painting the world outside in muted greens and grays. The sprawling Blake gardens were even more immense and wild than I had imagined from the windows. Ancient oak trees, their branches heavy with rain, stretched towards a leaden sky. Rose bushes, long past their peak bloom, dripped with moisture, their leaves a vibrant green. Stone pathways meandered through overgrown hedges and past moss-covered statues.

“These are the formal rose gardens, though they are not currently in season,” the head servant explained, gesturing to rows of dormant bushes. “Beyond that lie the more extensive botanical collections, including the glasshouses. Master Levi maintains a particular interest in those, especially the rare specimens.”

We walked beneath the shelter of towering yews. He pointed out a weathered stone bench tucked away beneath a weeping willow. “This particular spot was favored by Lady Cybil.”

I shivered slightly. It was easy to imagine Levi, as a child, finding his own solace or new “puzzles” here.

“It’s... quite expansive,” I observed, wiping a drop of rain from my cheek. “And quite a bit wilder than I expected.”

“Indeed, Master Raphael. The gardens have a certain spirit of their own. They require considerable dedication to merely contain, let alone fully cultivate.” He paused, looking out at the mist-shrouded expanse. “Shall we continue, or would you prefer to return inside from the drizzle?”

I looked around. Living here, day in and day out, would be an experience unlike any other. The sheer scale of the mansion, the secrets it held, the way time seemed to move differently within its walls — it was both overwhelming and captivating. And then there was Levi. To share this sprawling, ancient world with someone so utterly modern yet so rooted in its eccentricities... A life here wouldn’t be easy, but it would certainly never be boring.

As the warmth of the mansion enveloped me once more, another thought surfaced. On the one hand, this place was built by Levi’s slave-owning ancestors, so… unethical? I didn’t know what to think. But, yes, it was easy to be captivated by its beauty and magnitude.

We actually live in a modest two-story villa, while Levi owns this colossal mansion, or that sleek penthouse in the highest skyscraper in the capital, or countless other estates scattered across the globe.

What am I even thinking? I didn’t own a damn thing before I met Levi. I was living in a normal apartment, struggling to make rent and chasing acting gigs. And now... this.

It’s a dizzying leap. And it’s all because of him. He is the nexus of this new existence. He’s a menace, a manipulator, infuriatingly brilliant, and utterly detached. But he’s also... mine. And despite everything, the games, the logic, the scale of his world, I wouldn’t trade it. It’s an inconvenient, morally ambiguous truth, but it’s my truth now.

I lingered in the conservatory for a moment, enjoying the warmth and the vibrant greenery after the gardens. As I admired a particularly striking orchid, a young maid, who had been tending to a row of potted ferns, straightened up, her eyes wide.

“Forgive me, Master Raphael,” she began, her voice hushed, “but... are you Skye? The painter from Lumin?” She clutched a hand towel to her chest, her cheeks flushing. “I saw it. It was... it was magnificent. The way you brought the canvas to life, the emotion...” She trailed off, overwhelmed by her own boldness. “Would it be too much to ask for... an autograph?”

Ah, yes. The attention whore in me is returning. I won an award with that indie movie.

“Of course,” I said with a wide grin, the kind that came easily when faced with sincere appreciation. “Is there anything I can sign on? And please tell me your name,” I added, extending my hand towards her with an open gesture.

“Oh! My name is Clara, Master Raphael,” she stammered, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. She fumbled in the pocket of her apron and produced a creased notebook and a stubby pencil. “I always keep this with me, just in case... for ideas, you know. For my drawings.” She offered them to me, her hand trembling slightly.

I took the notebook and pencil, my gaze softening as I noticed the simple, yet earnest sketches filling some of the pages — studies of plants from the conservatory, a profile of one of the house cats, a rough outline of a distant mountain.

I quickly flipped to a blank page. “Who should I make it out to?”

“Just to Clara is fine, Master Raphael! Oh, thank you so much,” she gushed.

With a flourish, I scrawled my signature on the page, adding a quickly drawn sketch of a paintbrush with a starburst for good measure. “There you go, Clara. Keep drawing.” I handed the notebook back to her, and she clutched it like a priceless artifact, her eyes shining with pure delight.

“I will, Master Raphael! Thank you, thank you!” she repeated, her face beaming. She then gave a respectful curtsy before turning back to her ferns, though I could see her peeking at the autograph from the corner of her eye.

I chuckled softly. As I continued my solitary wander through the sun-drenched conservatory, surrounded by the quiet hum of life, I felt a peculiar sense of balance settle within me.

This warmth, this nice place, made me wonder again. Levi wanted pets.

The dogs who found me yesterday were also quite charming. Maybe… I can see those dogs again? Or perhaps I can gossip with the maids, now that I’ve found a friendly face? I was definitely getting... bored. This mansion felt like a museum. But not a fun museum with dinosaurs and interactive exhibits; a boring museum of dusty relics and forgotten grandeur.

I ambled out of the conservatory, the sweet air clinging to my skin as I stepped onto the damp flagstones of a side path. My eyes scanned the vast gardens. The idea of getting lost again in this sprawling estate was a genuine concern, but a more pressing desire to connect with someone, anyone, spurred me onward.

Then I spotted him — a young man kneeling among a bed of rain-kissed flowers, working the soil. He wore practical, mud-stained overalls. A gardener. Perfect.

“Hello.”

He looked up, his face open and friendly beneath the brim of a worn cap. His eyes met mine, and he inclined his head in a respectful, if slightly awkward, bow.

“No need for formalities,” I quickly interjected. The bowing always made me feel a bit uneasy. “I just wanted to ask what you’re doing.”

“Ah,” he replied, a smile blooming on his face. He gestured to the earth around the flowering plants. “Since there is some light rain today, I am mixing some nutrients into the soil, Master Raphael. The moisture helps the organic matter break down more effectively and ensures the plants absorb the beneficial compounds before the ground dries too much.” He held up a handful of crumbly soil. “It is a particularly rich blend, tailored for these specific blossoms, to ensure their continued vigor and vibrant color.”

He really loved his job, didn’t he? It felt… grounding. Almost like a therapy session, but with less existential dread and more mulch.

I chuckled, genuinely intrigued by his passion. “I bet these blossoms truly appreciate the personalized treatment. It’s a far cry from just pouring some generic fertilizer, isn’t it? Do you work on all the gardens around here?” I asked, gesturing at the vast expanse of the estate, stretching endlessly into the mist.

“Yes, Master Raphael,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the vibrant flower beds with pride. “Every plant truly does require a different type of soil. It’s not only the nutrients within it, but also its capacity to retain moisture, its composition, and even its geological origin that must be considered.” He knelt, running his fingers through a patch of soil. “Each variety possesses unique requirements, and a general approach would invariably lead to suboptimal growth, or worse, failure.” He then straightened, looking at me with a slight shake of his head. “And no, Master Raphael, I only oversee this specific area of the gardens. The estate is simply too expansive for a single individual to manage comprehensively.”

It was too vast for an army of gardeners, let alone a single individual.

“What’s the most challenging plant you’ve had to nurture in this section?” I asked, genuinely curious now.

He smiled. “Gardenias, probably, Master Raphael,” he replied. “They possess such a vibrant, sweet scent, but they are fussy about temperature fluctuations or any sudden movement. Even a slight draft can cause their delicate blooms to wither prematurely.” A sigh escaped him, as if recalling past horticultural battles.

“Or perhaps the Azaleas,” he mused, gesturing towards a cluster of dormant bushes. “They thrive in acidic soils and absolutely adore light, but not too much. You must keep them in shade during the afternoon sun; otherwise, their leaves scorch, and their potential for bloom is severely compromised.” He looked at me, a shared understanding in his brown eyes, as if both of us knew the subtle demands of a true craft.

I found myself nodding. It wasn’t just throwing water and sunlight; it was about truly knowing it, understanding its unique needs, and adapting to its quirks. Like acting, I suppose. Or... like Levi.

“Levi told me Aether Bloom doesn’t grow outside mountains,” I remarked. “Is that why there isn’t any here?”

He nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Yes, Master Raphael. It is indeed one of the most delicate and stubborn flora in existence.

“Even if one manages to mimic the soil composition, or the atmospheric temperature and humidity found in its natural mountainous habitat, and even if one provides them with highly specialized nutrients, they rarely, if ever, yield enough for a viable harvest. They either wither prematurely, or, more commonly, they simply fail to pollinate, never producing the precious seed pods.” He held up his hands. “And even then, one can only harvest them by hand, with the utmost care, and they possess a very, very tiny window for cultivation — a mere few days each year. It is a formidable challenge, even for the most seasoned botanist.”

Of course. Of course it’s like that. The most precious, most valuable plant in the entire world — the very thing Levi’s company is founded on — is also the most impossibly finicky and demanding.

“And I thought gardenias were fussy,” I mused, a dry laugh escaping me. “Has anyone in the Blake family, historically, ever managed to cultivate it here on the estate?”

He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, Master Raphael. I’ve certainly never heard of such a success in the archives.” He paused, his gaze drifting over the rows of tended plants. “You see, one might acquire the seeds, or even the pollen, and theoretically, one could plant them in a pot, perhaps even replicating their natural environment with precision. However, they invariably refuse to grow, or, if they do manage to sprout, they either wither at an early stage or simply fail to produce the opioid compound for which they are prized.”

He gestured around the fragrant garden. “Given its medicinal properties, it is, as you can imagine, an exceptionally valuable flower, and botanists across the world have exerted considerable effort in attempting its cultivation. Yet, no one has truly succeeded in replicating its natural yield. Furthermore, unlike many of these other plants that carry their unique, potent scents through the air, the Aether Bloom possesses a very faint fragrance, rendering it unusable for perfumery.”

Gods, the sheer stubbornness of it.

It was the ultimate middle finger from nature, wasn’t it?

“It’s fascinating, the lengths people go to for something so elusive. You’d think with all the resources of this estate, someone would have cracked its secret by now,” I remarked, a wry smile touching my lips. I couldn’t help but think of the irony, knowing that I now owned the very mountains where this impossible plant thrived, thanks to Levi. “Is there a theory why it’s so resistant?”

“Master Raphael,” he began, as he paused his work, his gaze lifting to the misty peaks visible in the distance. “There are theories, of course. Many, in fact. Perhaps it is linked to the snowmelt, providing a clean and mineral-rich water source. Or perhaps it is the altitude itself, the thinner air, or the atmospheric pressure found only in those upper reaches.

“It could be that it’s not solely the soil, but the ecosystem surrounding it — the array of other plants, the trees, even the fungi or microscopic fauna that create a symbiotic environment crucial for its survival. Some botanists hypothesize that it requires the carcasses of animals on those mountains for certain rare nutrients, or that it depends entirely on a specific, undiscovered butterfly for its pollination.” He then looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “And then there’s the angle and duration of the sunlight, unique to those mountain slopes. The possibilities are numerous, yet unproven.”

He rose, dusting off his hands. “But ultimately, Master Raphael, some flowers, irrespective of their value or commonality, simply refuse to be domesticated, much like certain wild animals. They thrive only in their natural, undisturbed habitats, resisting all attempts at human cultivation.”

“And Levi just bequeathed those mountains to me,” I mused aloud. “I suppose that makes me the reluctant guardian of the untamable now. It’s certainly a lot to take in. But, thank you, you’ve taken your time to tell me all about it.”

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“Mountains, Master?” he echoed, a faint surprise in his voice. His gaze momentarily drifted again, not to the nearby misty peaks, but to a more rugged landscape. “I suppose they must have their own security now…”

Security? Of course. You couldn’t just have hikers or curious botanists stomping around. I owned these mountains on paper, but I didn’t even know which ones were mine. Did Levi mean... every single mountain on the entire Ascaria? Gods, I really didn’t know.

“He mentioned owning all the mountains where the Aether Bloom grows. Does that truly mean all of them across Ascaria? Or just a specific range?” I pressed, hoping for some clarification on the dizzying scale of Levi’s and now my holdings.

“I… would not know that, Master Raphael,” he confessed, a faint apology in his tone. “I have never seen the plant itself, other than in the books or as a dried specimen. However, I do know they require high altitude, so I would assume it’s not a simple, isolated mountain, but rather an entire mountain range or a series of interconnected peaks.”

I owned not just a mountain, but potentially a significant portion of Ascaria’s peaks, solely because an impossibly fussy flower decided to grow there.

“Thank you for the clarification.” I decided to pivot back to my original, more immediate goal. “Now,” I began, feeling a little hesitant, almost shy, “would you kindly show me how I can find other respectable people like you in this mansion for a lovely cup of tea and a chat?”

...

The thought of seeking out the dogs returned with renewed appeal. Or perhaps, with the weather clearing, a walk through the less formal parts of the estate, to clear my head of all the intricate Blake family history.

I’d go find the hounds. Clara had mentioned the kennels were on the far side of the estate, past the stables. It would be a walk, a chance to clear my head and stretch my legs after the long confinement. More importantly, it would be a chance to reconnect with something genuinely good and simple.

As I walked, the scale of the estate continued to make my head spin. I passed hedges taller than a man, carved stone benches that appeared out of nowhere, and fountains whose splashing was the only sound for acres. The paths stretched endlessly, curving out of sight behind stands of ancient trees.

Just as the grandeur began to truly overwhelm, I spotted a cluster of stone buildings in the distance, partially obscured by a thick line of trees. The stables, no doubt, and beyond them, the kennels. A faint barking reached me.

Raphael, you idiot. These weren’t fluffy, docile house pets. Clara had said ‘security and tracking,’ and the other maid had called them ‘search and rescue dogs.’ Did I really expect to just waltz in and pet them? They’d probably erupt in a chorus of barks, or worse, see me as an intruder and snap. I desperately hoped a handler was present, someone who could introduce me properly, or at least prevent me from becoming a chew toy.

Just as I rounded the last hedge, the cluster of stone kennels came into full view. A boisterous symphony of barking vibrated through the air. Several large hounds were leaping against the fences of their spacious runs.

A man in work clothes, his dark hair pulled back, was striding quickly towards me, a concerned frown on his face.

“Master Raphael! Hold there, please!” He began to jog, covering the distance between us swiftly. “Please, keep your distance for a moment! They’re... enthusiastic, and not accustomed to visitors without proper introduction. Are you alright, Master Raphael? Were you looking for someone?”

Right. Idiot. Called it. These were not the fluffy, slobbery companions of my naive fantasies. These were disciplined, powerful animals, and I was clearly an unexpected, possibly problematic, element in their highly structured day. My face flushed with embarrassment and relief that he had seen me before I did something truly foolish, like trying to coo at them through the fence.

“No, no,” I said, waving my hand. “I just wanted to look at the dogs, since they found me when I was lost yesterday. And maybe offer them a few treats.” I offered him a hopeful, if slightly sheepish, smile.

“I understand. That’s very kind of you to wish to acknowledge them.” He paused, his gaze flicking to the eager hounds in their runs. Their barks had lessened to a series of expectant rumbles. “They are highly trained and quite sensitive to new presences. Perhaps, if you’ll allow me, I can bring one of them out to the training yard, and we can manage a proper introduction?”

Gods. There was a protocol to even meet these dogs. What was I thinking?

“That would be lovely, Mr. Davies.” I offered him a sincere smile.

Mr. Davies nodded and strode towards one of the larger kennels. The other hounds in their runs, though still alert, seemed to settle. In moments, the kennel door opened, and out stepped a truly magnificent creature.

The hound was larger than I’d anticipated, with short, dark fur and amber eyes that took in my presence with a silent assessment. Mr. Davies held its leash firmly, guiding the dog to an open space in the training yard.

“This is one of the hounds that was on your trail yesterday,” Mr. Davies introduced. “Master Raphael, if you’ll extend your hand slowly, palm open, and allow him to scent you. Avoid any sudden movements, please.”

My heart gave a small flutter. I extended my hand, palm open, towards the hound.

Slowly, the hound lowered its head, its wet, cold nose brushing against my palm. An inquisitive huff escaped it, and I felt the fine, bristly hair of its muzzle against my skin.

“How did you find me yesterday?” I murmured, as I directed the question to the dog, even though it was Mr. Davies who answered.

“Master Levi gave us your pillow cover, and he found you, didn’t he?”

What? Pillow cover? Oh... right. Because I didn’t have any of my own clothes here. Gods, Levi, how utterly shameless and practical are you?

“So, do people get lost a lot around here?” I asked, my voice a little dry.

“Yes, Master Raphael, sometimes staff or delivery people do get lost, especially in the more expansive sections of the woods, where the paths are less defined. These dogs were indeed bred for hunting historically, but since that particular pursuit is no longer active within the family, we have repurposed their exceptional tracking instincts for search and rescue operations.”

Of course, they get lost. This place was a labyrinth designed by a madman. And the dogs were now repurposed for... finding lost delivery drivers. It was charming, in a twisted way.

“They certainly have a valuable skill set. Does Levi ever come down to observe their training or interact with them?”

Mr. Davies’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his gaze flickered away for a moment. Yes. Gossip. Dish, man, dish. The fact that Levi likely didn’t visit the dogs didn’t surprise me in the slightest. I offered him a disarming smile, a silent encouragement to continue.

“Master Levi, even if he is present in the estate, was mostly occupied,” Mr. Davies replied. “I have only seen him once or twice down here with the hounds in the last decade I’ve worked here.”

That... tracked. He was married and lived in another mansion. Gods, not the juicy gossiping source I expected from him at all. It was just a practical, unsurprising detail about a man who rarely seemed to engage in anything without a clear, strategic purpose.

“Only once or twice in a decade? That’s quite infrequent for the owner of such an impressive operation,” I observed, giving Mr. Davies an opening for further gossip.

“Yes, Master Levi was rarely present during my tenure here,” he confirmed as he stroked the hound beside him. “Even if he arrived, we often would not know. He is… He is certainly not a man who shows off.”

I nearly choked. Levi? Not a show-off? This was the most dramatic person I’d known in my entire life! The guy had ended a monarchy, for crying out loud. How on earth could he not be a show-off?

Oh! He was talking about him as the Duke! For a duke, he was modest. Yes, that made sense. Given his distaste for traditions and displays of power, he probably did just arrive quietly, in his car, and leave just as silently. He wouldn’t have arrived with fanfare or retinue, not if he could avoid it. That tracked.

“I see,” I mused, the image of Levi, the anti-Duke, solidifying in my mind. “But, have you ever seen him engage with the staff of the house?”

Mr. Davies thought for a moment. “No, Master Raphael,” he replied, his voice quiet. “I did not really see him engage with… anyone truly.”

My god. Not one single piece of juicy information.

“I understand. He really is a private person,” I said, offering a small smile. It was clear there was no “dirt” to be unearthed here about Levi’s personal habits or social interactions. Time to search other avenues for information.

But before leaving, I couldn’t resist one more moment with the magnificent hound. “May I?”

He gave me a nod, his grip on the leash remaining steady and secure. Taking that as my cue, I extended my hand. The hound allowed me to stroke the top of its head, just behind its ears. Its fur was coarse, yet warm beneath my fingers. As I continued to pet it, its tail started thumping against Mr. Davies’s leg. Then, a long, wet tongue sloshed out, leaving a streak of slobber across my knuckles.

I laughed, a genuine sound that felt good to release. “It’s a pleasure to finally give him a proper thank you. He really did a wonderful job yesterday.” I gave the hound one last, appreciative pat on its broad head, then straightened up, wiping my hand on my trousers, unconcerned.

...

I passed the stables again, noting their imposing stone architecture. Soon, the gardens, with their endless hedges and silent fountains, reappeared. The faint mist had fully lifted, and the sky was now a uniform, pale gray, promising twilight.

I pushed open the door and stepped back into the silence of the main hall. The grand scale felt even more pronounced after my brief foray into the more functional, animal-filled parts of the estate.

But the silence wasn’t absolute. From deeper within the manor, a faint sound reached me. It was the soft murmur of voices, whispers that grew louder as I moved past the main staircase. As I neared the long gallery, I could discern the soft swish of cloth. Two maids were dusting console tables. Their heads were close together, and their low voices carried just enough for me to catch snippets.

“Well, he’s certainly... striking,” one maid whispered. “Those eyes of his, like chips of ice, but so sharp.”

“Sharp and dark, though,” the other replied, her tone hushed with a hint of awe. “But imagine waking up to that every day! And the cheekbones... like they’ve been sculpted.”

“True enough for Master Levi,” the first maid sighed. “But have you seen the other one? Master Raphael? He’s like something out of a painting, all golden and soft. And those lips, like he’s always on the verge of a smile.”

“Oh, him!” the second maid breathed, a definite note of dreamy appreciation in her voice. “He’s got that gentle look, doesn’t he? Like an angel. So different from the Master.”

Gods, they were talking about us. Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d heard such things, but hearing it while I was standing right there was a new level of awkward. He was the brooding, chiseled shadow; I was... well, golden and soft, apparently. I subtly shifted my weight, trying to decide whether to clear my throat, turn around, or just melt into the expensive wallpaper.

“Do you think they’re... you know,” the first maid continued, lowering her voice, “truly married?”

The second maid scoffed. “Master Levi? With anyone? But Master Raphael, he just seems so sweet. And they came here together, didn’t they? And he stays in the west wing now.”

“Still, for Master Levi to actually bring his husband here, after all these years...” the first maid countered, a note of scandal in her whisper. “It’s truly unprecedented.”

“It’s certainly got the whole house talking,” the second maid mused. “Such a contrast, isn’t it? The quiet Master and his... luminous husband.”

Oh, that was a keeper. My lips twitched, fighting a smile. So, the gossip mill was in full swing, dissecting the very unlikely union between Levi and me. And they thought he was cold? Clearly, they hadn’t seen him planning to burn down the world.

“He certainly has that presence,” the first maid murmured. “Like a statue carved from midnight. But honestly, how does anyone stay married to someone so...? He barely acknowledges us, let alone looks at us.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” the second maid sighed. “He’s cold as ice, that one. Never a kind word, never a smile. But Master Raphael... he just seems so warm. You wonder how they even... if you know what I mean. It just doesn’t seem natural.”

“Perhaps it’s for appearances, then?” the first maid whispered, a hint of suspicion in her tone. “A union with such a public figure like Master Raphael certainly elevates the family’s image, doesn’t it? A palatable face.”

“Even so,” the second maid countered, “to marry someone so sweet to... that. It just seems like such a waste, no matter the reason.”

A waste?

“And imagine the wedding night,” the first maid giggled. “Do you think he even noticed Master Raphael’s beauty, or was it all just a formality for him?”

“Oh, stop it, you!” the second maid tittered, though her eyes were wide with morbid curiosity. “Don’t be crude! But truly... It just makes you wonder what sort of arrangement it really is. A gentleman like Master Raphael must deserve someone who... appreciates him more openly, surely.”

The blood drained from my face, then surged back in a hot rush of indignation. The pity in their voices, the condescension towards Levi was infuriating. They had no idea the devotion Levi was capable of, no concept of the nature of his attachment, or the lengths he would go to for me. And their crude assumptions were insulting to both of us.

“Oh, I assure you,” I interjected. “There was no ‘waste’ involved, and certainly no lack of ‘appreciation.’ Perhaps you misjudge Master Levi’s capacity for... dedication.”

They yelped, their heads immediately bowing down, faces flaming crimson.

“Is there something you require, Master Raphael?” the first maid mumbled as she stared intently at her shoes. The other maid remained completely silent, attempting to become one with the console table she was dusting.

The righteous indignation still simmered, but the immediate satisfaction of having caught them red-handed was also rather... exhilarating.

“Actually, yes,” I said, my voice returning to a more measured tone. “I require you both to understand that while personal observations may be an understandable pastime, certain topics are entirely beyond the purview of household staff. My marriage, and indeed, Levi’s character, are not subjects for idle gossip. Now,” I continued, “I trust this... misunderstanding will not be repeated. You may continue your duties.”

I gave a dismissive nod, then turned and continued down the gallery. The silence I left behind was absolute, broken only by the restarted swish of dusters as I moved out of earshot.

My steps carried me through the corridors toward the West Wing. The grandeur of the manor, once overwhelming, now felt like an extension of him. I wondered if Levi was even aware of the whispers that circulated about him, about us, through the very walls of his home. Given his nature, he likely wouldn’t care or would simply view it as irrelevant data.

It still chafed.

Upon reaching the entrance to the chambers, I found the door ajar.

Levi stood by the wardrobe, his back to me, gathering a fresh set of clothes. As he turned, a neatly folded shirt and a pair of trousers draped over his arm, his eyes found me standing in the doorway.

“Oh?” he mused. “I hope you found the mansion to your liking, dear.” His gaze held mine slightly more attentively, a query in his voice, before he resumed placing the clothes onto his arm.

“Oh, quite. I met some of the hounds — very impressive. And I also discovered that your employees have a surprisingly vivid imagination when it comes to us. Apparently, I’m ‘luminous,’ and you’re ‘cold as ice,’” I said as I sat down on the edge of the large bed.

Levi, without breaking his rhythm, glanced at me. “I concur on both points, dear,” he said, unoffended. “Although, instead of characterizing myself as ‘ice,’ I prefer the term ‘detached.’ It more accurately reflects my objective disengagement from superfluous emotional responses.”

“It doesn’t bother you that they talk shit about us?” I asked, incredulity in my voice.

“No,” he said. “Should it? Their observations, however phrased, do not alter the inherent properties of our union. If their discourse did, however, constitute an offense to your sensibilities, you are at liberty to issue their termination.”

Of course. Just of course.

“I mean… But they are your staff, and they gossip about you, and they were rude to you.”

“Dear, everybody gossips about us; it accompanies the public persona. Also, I genuinely do not care. We will be departing from this particular estate the moment the storm abates, and it is entirely probable that we will never return.”

“You’re quite serious about the ‘never return’ part, aren’t you?” I asked, a faint disbelief coloring my tone. “And you truly have no concern for how you’re perceived by anyone?”

“I despise this place,” he stated with absolute conviction. “And, you know, I do not have any concern whatsoever about how neurotypicals see or assess me. Their constructs of social perception are irrelevant to me.” He then gestured towards the bathroom. “Do you wish for a warm bath, dear? I truly need to remove that ancient grime and dust that has adhered to me.”

The thought of sinking into warm water, of washing away the indignation and the dusty residue of the manor’s endless corridors, was incredibly appealing. A shared bath with Levi would offer another, far more intimate avenue for communication than any gossip.

“Stop with your neurotypical disdain, Levi,” I chided, a playful smile already tugging at my lips. “I am neurotypical too, you know.” I pushed myself off the bed, a renewed lightness in my step. “And yes, I am coming. Only if you scrub me, though.”