Frey stared at the letter with cold, empty eyes.

He refused to open it. Just holding it in his hand and recognizing the impression on the wax seal was enough to make him want to throw it into the fireplace.

"Are... You not going to open it, my Lord?" the valet, whose name Frey could neither remember nor bother to find out, asked while attempting to light said fireplace.

Frey spared him a dead look from where he sat on his large bed, not even fully dressed yet, and the poor man hurriedly cleared his throat before returning to his task.

"Or— Or perhaps you'll wait until I'm gone."

"I don't want this." Frey threw the letter onto the floor. "You can take it away. Or rather, throw it away."

The servant blinked.

"But it's from West Kerilia. Isn't that—"

"Did you not hear me?" Frey's glare was devastating enough to make the man flinch. He was in no mood to deal with subpar servants who so casually invaded his personal space before he'd even gotten dressed just to deliver unpleasant letters.

"Then, is there... Anything else I could help you with before I leave, my Lord?" Whatever-his-name-was asked. "You're certain I can't help you with your clothes for the day?"

Frey rolled his eyes. He'd prepared his outfit for the day already, as he always did. Why was the valet so set on being of assistance all the time? Was there some unspoken rule that they always had to hover over a person's shoulder?

"Why would I let you do that?"

"Well, it's... Something a valet usually does, isn't it?"

Frey scoffed.

"Even if servants were allowed to touch me, I don't trust anyone but me to choose my attire." He turned his head away to focus on more important activities than speaking to a servant. Like staring into nothing, for example.

Just as the man was about to leave however, Frey's gaze fell on the silver jewellery box on his nightstand.

"Wait," he said, begrudgingly.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"While you're here, you can make yourself useful and find my cuff buttons." Frey gestured to the box. "The ones with a wheat pattern. I couldn't find them last night."

"That's... Strange, my Lord," the valet said. "I thought you always put them back in the box after you've used them?"

"Well, then they'd be there, wouldn't they?"

"Of course, but... While I don't wish to encourage the idea, could someone have taken them?"

Frey had to outright laugh at the idea.

"No one would be stupid enough to try that. Now are you going to look for them, or are you planning on standing there like a useless scarecrow?"

"Apologies, my Lord. I'll get right to it." The valet glanced around before awkwardly placing the letter down on Frey's writing desk. "In— In the meantime."

Frey responded by turning his head away again. As long as the letter left the room as soon as the valet did, he wouldn't make a scene.

"Could you have put them in a drawer, my Lord?" The valet pointed to the desk he'd just placed the letter on.

"Why would I?"

"Well, um... They must be somewhere after all, and they're not where you thought you put them."

It was too early for Frey to think, so he said nothing as his desk was searched. He was near certain he hadn't sat by his desk the last time he'd worn said cuff buttons, but where were they then?

"Wait, is this one?" The valet asked, bending down to inspect the corner next to the desk, soon rising again and holding up one of the lost, gold buttons. "Just one though, but is it the right one?"

Frey squinted through the warm light from the fire and held his hand out to receive it.

Sure enough, it was one of them.

"Perhaps the other is somewhere on the floor too," the valet guessed correctly, not having to look for much longer before finding the other one beneath Frey's large wardrobe.

"Well then." Frey could finally begin his clothing ritual properly, rolling up one of his stockings embroidered with the same wheat patterns as the buttons to tie it, only to pause a mere moment after to stare.

There was a tear.

The side of one of his stockings seemed to have suffered from brushing against something sharp, and Frey sucked in a breath as his memory caught up with him.

"Fucking perfect," he muttered, and the valet tilted his head, looking hesitant to open his mouth.

"Is... Something else wrong, my Lord?"

"It's torn." Frey ripped the disgraceful piece of fabric off his leg before standing up to head for the fireplace. "And worthless now."

"Oh, I'd be more than happy to mend it for—"

Frey had thrown the garments into the fire before the valet could finish his sentence.

"No mending in the world can restore it to what it was."

"Well—"

Frey glared at him before going back to his bed.

"Are you questioning me?"

"No, of course not. I just thought—"

"And I have no more use for you right now. Or these, for that matter." Frey picked up the cuff buttons, giving them a brief glare of disdain before furiously hurling them into the room and watching them disappear from sight with a clattering sound.

The valet laughed nervously.

"Well that certainly explains—"

"Get out!" Frey snapped, and the valet hurriedly obeyed before something else could be thrown in his direction.

As soon as the door had shut however, Frey opened his mouth again.

"Valet!"

There was a moment of waiting, longer than Frey considered appropriate given how recently the servant had left.

"... My Lord?" The valet hesitantly poked his head through the door.

"The letter."

"Oh, of course!"

The letter was removed from Frey's sight, and he went back to wallowing in self pity. His cuff buttons had nothing to match with, so he'd need to pick out new ones. He'd need to completely rethink his attire for the day.

His hands trembled, and he fought not to slam them down into the mattress. Instead he fell back onto the bed and hid his face in a pillow. It was a disaster. His day was ruined already. What was he supposed to wear?

"Frey?"

Frey groaned as there was a knock on his door.

"I'm not awake."

"I ran into Mr. Haddon as he left," Damien said from the other side, and Frey wrinkled his nose.

"Who?"

"Your valet. He said you refused to read the letter he brought you."

"So we know my valet's not a liar then."

To Frey's disgruntlement, Damien Hargreaves then entered the room, holding the cursed letter in his hand.

"I'm not dressed," Frey muttered before rolling over to face the wall.

"I like to think I've seen you in an undershirt many times without thinking anything inappropriate." Damien dropped the letter in front of Frey. "Not to mention my role as your mentor since you were twelve."

"Believe me, people can be disturbingly inappropriate no matter how long they've watched someone grow up." Frey picked up the letter only to throw it over his back and onto the floor again. "And I sent him away with the letter for a reason. I don't want to read it."

"I know it's still... Difficult to think about, but you need to claim what you've inherited."

"The land has already been written in my name."

"Yes, but I'm sure there are other things." Damien's voice softened. "Sentimental belongings, perhaps?"

"We didn't have those," Frey mumbled, pulling a pillow closer to his chest, pushing looming, undesirable thoughts away. "We had each other."

"Well... If nothing else, I think your mother would be upset if you didn't read it and respond."

Frey gritted his teeth.

"Fine, I'll read it later. Now I'm going back to sleep."

"You can't go to sleep now. It's barely noon."

"I can't leave my room anyway. My stockings happened to burn up, so I have nothing to wear."

Frey couldn't see Damien's expression, but the moment of silence said enough.

"I'm tempted to have that fireplace bricked up, but I sense that you would just find another place to ruin fully functioning clothes." Damien walked to Frey's wardrobe to open it. "Also, you have an alarming amount of clothes. I'm more than certain you could find an attire that fits."

"Not if you consider that some of them are not season appropriate, some will not be season appropriate until they're not appropriate to wear for anyone with a sense of dignity, and it would be very disappointing if clothes from different collections would match because that means it's repetitive and designers have no imagination left, and—"

"Frey, it's too early for this."

"Don't interrupt me." Frey scowled over his shoulder. "The other sets I could possibly wear right now are being washed or dried or something, whatever servants do with them, and therefore I can't leave my room today."

Damien shut the wardrobe with a deep sigh.

"I was hoping you'd attend the meeting with the representatives from North Kerilia this afternoon."

"How unfortunate then." Frey still refused to roll over and look at him. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. I'm taking Tea For Two out this afternoon, like I do every day."

"Can't your horse wait for just—" Even Damien was clever enough to interrupt that sentence before Frey could murder him with a glare. Nothing was allowed to steal time from Frey and Tea For Two.

"Well then," Damien continued instead after clearing his throat. "I'll leave it alone if you take Tea For Two out, but only then. You need to do something other than stay in your room and sulk all day."

Frey hesitated in silence. He wasn't fond of the idea of not taking Tea For Two out. He always did. It was his daily dose of calm, but he had nothing to wear.

"If you do stay in here, I'm not going to send for Everleigh to make new clothes for you."

This caused Frey to slowly roll over with an offended stare at Damien.

"That's not—"

"Fair?" Damien raised an eyebrow. "I pay for all the clothes you so liberally like to destroy, so who's the unfair one?"

"They were torn," Frey protested but Damien had already moved on.

"You've more or less been cooped up here for a year. You don't work, you barely socialise, and while I don't actually mind you staying at the manor, for free, I might add, the least you could do is take care of yourself."

Frey's lip curled. He was in no need of a guilt trip. He knew well enough that he should have been able to continue his job at Damien's trading company long ago, but he was not to blame for it being impossible in his state.

"While we're on the topic of riding, the new stable boy starts today." Damien gave Frey a rather stern look. "Finding good staff is hard, so at least try not to bully this one."

In the end Frey still tried to at least half-murder Damien with a glare as he left the room, not that any murderous stare in the world had a chance against the immortality Damien possessed.

"Of all people to be unable to die," Frey mumbled as he reluctantly got out of bed to see if anything from his wardrobe was salvageable.

After letting a week's worth of decent attires fall to the floor, Frey could feel his patience reach its end. Would it be so bad to throw those disgraceful excuses for clothes into the fireplace as well? Who would miss them?

He did want new ones though and with the regrettable way things were, he depended on Damien for that money. So he had to leave his room.

Clenching his fists, Frey looked back at the letter still rudely placed on his bed. He didn't want to open it. It would only depress him further, but if Damien's resources were about to grow conditional, he'd have to start looking over his own capital again.

"Just one day," he whispered with a wrinkled nose before putting together the best combination of clothes he could manage. "Or whoever does the laundry will regret it."

"See?" Damien said as Frey walked past him on his way out. "That looks nice, doesn't—"

"Shut up."

Despite his already ruined day, the weather outside was passable. It made his detour through the enormous garden to avoid the arriving guests more pleasant and the fact that he'd been forced outside a little less painful. He was almost in a good mood as he reached the stables.

Right before he was about to enter however, voices approached the door from the other side, and Frey stifled a groan before swiftly veering around the corner to watch the stable master and a pair of gentlemen exit the building.

Frey clicked his tongue. Of course his clothing emergency had to happen on the day when so many respectable people decided to visit.

After waiting for there to be some distance between him and the company, he approached the large doors again to listen for other possible disturbances.

"Can I... Help you?"

Frey spun around to face a man he'd never seen before, and the first thing that came to his mind was that his appearance did not make sense.

His clothes were decent. A gemstone pattern on the lining of his waistcoat suggested a North Kerilian heritage, so he could very well have been a visitor about to head to the meeting.

But Frey knew everyone who would be there. He knew or had at least heard of all important, upper class residents of North Kerilia, and that man was not one of them. Frey would have remembered if a handsome man only slightly younger than him had been part of that social circle.

Also, he was sweating. Why would he do that? Small droplets had formed around his temples, and a few locks of dark, curly hair had escaped from being tied back like the rest only to be stuck to his forehead.

Then Frey noticed the bucket of water he was holding, and his mood sank with disappointment.

Oh.

"Let me guess," he said coldly, beating himself up that he'd almost been interested. "The new stable boy?"

To Frey's further annoyance the man stood dumbfounded at first, even though he'd been the one to address Frey first. His mouth seemed to be stuck at half opened and he just kept staring as if Frey had something on his nose.

Which would have been a disaster.

After a raised eyebrow from Frey, the man finally came back to reality.

"That's me," he confirmed. "And, uh... You must be...?"

He lingered, and Frey decided against an eye roll, instead putting on a wide, appropriately condescending smile.

"Frey Clausson. Lord Frey Clausson."

The stable boy blinked.

"You—" He glanced Frey up and down, to the man in question's disapproval. "The Lord Clausson who lives here?"

"I'm surprised you haven't been informed about me." Frey's smile faded to make way for a more genuine, empty look. "I frequent the stables a lot, after all."

"No, no, yes of course I've— I've heard about you." The man laughed sheepishly. "I was just, you know... Surprised, is all."

"Surprised?"

"No, it's— It's nothing." The man waved his free hand dismissively. "You're just... Not what I expected."

Frey knitted his eyebrows.

"Excu—"

"No, no! It's good! It's a good thing!" The awkward laugh returned, and the stable boy gestured to Frey. "It's just that... From all things I've heard, I didn't think you would look... The way you do."

Frey's troubled frown remained. What the Waste was he on about?

"I would assume since the other servants and I don't get along, anything you'll hear from them won't be positive."

The stable boy pursed his lips while his gaze briefly fell to the ground.

"... Indeed," he mouthed, as if Frey couldn't read it.

Then he looked up at Frey again.

"Oh, apologies, I forgot to introduce myself in the confusion."

"That's not a problem, I don't need to know your name."

"Well, either way, I'm Marius." Marius grinned. "It'll be an honour to look after your horses, my Lord."

Frey was uncertain why, but he was taken aback by the beaming smile. It just suited the man. It was pleasant to look at.

He cleared his throat.

"I must warn you, I'm very fond of my horses, especially—"

"Tea For Two," Marius filled in. "I heard. She's a real beauty, isn't she?"

The corner of Frey's mouth twitched at the interruption, but Damien had told him to be nice, so he'd let it slide.

"So she's a perfect horse for you," Marius concluded. "Both of you being..."

He trailed off, choosing to clear his throat as well.

"Well, anyway, I've gone ahead and prepared her for you. I was told you usually come here at this time, so I made sure she'd be ready."

"Good," was all Frey could be bothered to say. He didn't exactly turn out to dislike Marius, unlike the last stable boy. He was too chatty though, not for others of his social class, but for Frey. There was no reason for them to engage in small talk. Other than that, he supposed he wouldn't have to be too mean as long as he remembered his place.

"I must say, I'm surprised to see black accents back in fashion so soon," Marius kept going as he opened the stable doors, and Frey froze where he stood. "Not that they don't fit that newer waistcoat, but I didn't think mixing them was appropriate for the upper class."

He looked back at Frey, who only stared at him in silent, fortunately well masked, horror.

"But..." Marius smiled sheepishly again, correctly sensing he'd struck a nerve. "... Maybe you don't care about things like that."

Frey considered it, and then smiled back.

"You know what, stable boy?" He held out a hand to take one of the water buckets. "You seem a bit warm."

Marius recoiled as he predicted the next couple of seconds.

"Oh no, my Lord, that's not necessar—"

Frey was too quick, and he'd soon tipped the bucket upside down over Marius' head.

"There." Frey let the bucket fall to the ground with a clank. "That should help with the sweating."

Marius sputtered water, causing Frey to take a step back.

"Much better, my Lord." He wiped off his face with his hands. "And I apologise if I insulted your choice of attire."

"I don't expect a servant to know what they're talking about when it comes to clothes." Frey raised his chin, feeling a little better about himself. "So it would be wise of you to keep your thoughts on that to yourself."

Marius had just squeezed water out of his bun of hair, and he looked at Frey with a new kind of smile. Frey would have thought it apologetic due to the wrinkle in his eyebrows, but then Marius raised his hands, flicking his fingers so the remaining water on them spattered over Frey's face.

Frey's heart came to a stop, and he stared into nothing, paralyzed and aghast, as he tried to process what had just happened.

"What..." he eventually uttered, and Marius shrugged.

"Looked like you were heating up as well." He bent down to pick up the discarded, now empty bucket. "Well, I should go refill this. Tea For Two is prepared already, so do have a pleasant ride, my Lord."

To Frey's dismay, he couldn't find the words, and his cheeks did indeed heat up. He always had a reply. That was his thing. No one could render him speechless. Especially not a snooty stable boy.

He buried his nails in his palms as he stomped into the stables. His hands wanted to shake. His arms as well, but he wouldn't risk anyone seeing it. He could suppress it.

Grimacing through the strain in his neck, he slowed his steps as he neared Tea For Two's stall. She'd notice if he was upset, and then both their days would be ruined. She didn't deserve that.

"The nerve of him though," he still whispered as he entered the stall, stroking Tea For Two's neck.

The white mare gently bumped her head against his, and he sighed as calmness slowly embraced him again.

"'Try not to bully this one'. That's what Damien said." Frey scoffed softly, proceeding to check Tea For Two's saddle and bridle to look for the slightest mistake. "I'm not so certain I can, or want to, respect his wishes after all."