"Gavin, do not just stand there looking lost," Levison called, his voice cutting through the idle quiet of the chamber. The sound echoed off the bare stone walls, which carried the enduring chill of the Black Castle, its exterior abandoned but its interior masterfully refurnished. Each room was a reflection of subdued luxury, spacious, with high ceilings supported by darkened wooden beams. It spoke of wealth, yet simplicity, the kind that prioritised function over ornament. This chamber, Levi's, mirrored his temperament.
Directly opposite the door stood a large king-sized bed with neatly pressed sheets and modest black bedding. On either side of the bed rested simple nightstands, their surfaces bare save for the occasional stray item. To the left of the bed, ahead in the corner, a solitary wardrobe stood with polished dark wood, with a mirror hanging to its right. The balcony, framed by two tall windows draped in thick black curtains and sheer inner panels, invited muted sunlight into the room. By the balcony sat a small, round table that could seat two, a quiet space where Levi often dined alone. Much of the room remained unused, its vastness broken only by essentials, leaving stretches of empty space that seemed to amplify every movement and sound.
"Did you hear me?" Levi's voice snapped Gavin back into focus, the impatience in his tone as familiar to the boy as the coarseness of his tunic.
"Yes, sir!" Gavin barked, his voice a little too loud, echoing sharply off the stone walls. Levi winced, a hand instinctively brushing his temple as though to ward off the sting.
The servant boy—a lad of sixteen—stood rigid, his thin frame barely filling the ill-fitted fabric of his attire. Gavin's dark brown hair, untidy and cropped unevenly, curled stubbornly at the edges, framing a face that bore the beaten red of exposure, especially his cheeks, which seemed perpetually flushed. His dark brown eyes were wide, darting nervously, as though expecting chastisement at any moment. Chin acne marred his otherwise smooth skin, a testament to his clumsy attempts at shaving.
Sold into servitude as one might barter livestock, all under the guise of a father desperate to make ends meet—at least, that was the story his father had spun—Gavin had quickly learned the unpredictability of his master's temperament. The mid-afternoon light spilled through the tall, arched windows, casting golden rays that seemed at odds with the tension in the air.
"I do not pay you to be useless," Levi began, his tone laced with irritation, though the boy appeared unfazed, well accustomed to the mercurial nature of his master's moods.
"Oh, certainly not, sir!" Gavin replied hurriedly, his words tumbling over one another in his haste to appease.
"Then why," Levi demanded, fixing him with a pointed glare, "are you standing idly in my chamber as though the world has run out of tasks to keep you busy? Have my shoes been polished?"
"Yes, sir," Gavin replied hurriedly.
"The horses fed?"
"Yes, sir."
"The sheets changed?" Levi asked, gesturing lazily toward the immaculately made bed, though he already knew the answer. Gavin's lips twitched upward in a nervous, fleeting smile as he nodded once more.
"Well, then," Levi began, his voice laced with mock approval. "I can see you are diligent in your chores."
Gavin's face brightened, his restrained smile blooming into something full and unguarded. Praise from his master was a rare and treasured gift.
"Do not look so pleased with yourself," Levi added dryly, rolling his eyes. "It is what I pay you for, after all. Now, find something to occupy your time. You were not born to be useless, though you do a fine impression of it."
Gavin's smile broadened, the insult gliding over him untouched by its barbs. He was still stuck on his master's praise. "I can see you are diligent in your chores"
"Yes, sir! Definitely not, sir!" he exclaimed, his voice booming once again as he scurried from the room.
Levi sighed heavily as the door shut behind the boy, the echoes of his enthusiasm lingering. For a moment, Levi wondered what had possessed the boy to grin so foolishly but dismissed it just as quickly. Likely some defect of the lips, he mused wryly. Just as he prepared to stretch out upon his bed, the door creaked open once more, Gavin's head popping into view.
"May I come in, sir?" the boy asked, his face half-hidden behind the doorframe.
Levi raised a brow. "Your head is already in, so you may as well allow the rest of your body to follow. It would be most unsettling otherwise, having a disembodied head floating about."
"Th-thank you, sir," Gavin stammered, stepping fully into the room. His brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Levi's sarcasm, the crease deepening as confusion overtook him.
"Could you not find something to busy yourself with?" Levi inquired, his tone dry. Without waiting for a response, he added, "If you really are without anything to occupy yourself with there is plenty of room for new employees in my work."
Gavin's face paled at the suggestion, his hands trembling slightly. "N-no, thank you, sir," he stuttered.
"It was only humor, Gavin," Levi said with a faint smirk. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Speak now; I assume there is a reason for this disturbance."
"Yes, sir," Gavin replied, his voice steadying. "The Father requests your presence in his study."
Levi's expression shifted, a faint trace of amusement flickering across his features. "He must not have liked my gift, then."
Gavin tilted his head slightly. "May I ask as to what gift you mean, sir?"
"You may."
"Thank you, sir. What gift do you speak of?" Gavin asked cautiously, his curiosity piqued.
Levi remained silent, his lips curving into a faintly mischievous smile. Gavin's face fell, fearing he had overstepped. "I apologize, sir. I did not mean to be intrusive."
"Not at all," Levi replied smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'm impressed you know the meaning of the word 'intrusive.'"
"My mother was learned, sir. She taught my siblings and me before she fell ill," Gavin said softly.
Levi's gaze softened momentarily. "My condolences," he said, rising from the bed and approaching the boy. Gavin instinctively stepped back, bowing his head.
"Do not cower," Levi said with a slight chuckle. "I have no intention of killing you." He paused, his hand resting briefly on Gavin's stiff shoulder. "Not unless ordered to, of course." he added, giving the boy's shoulder a firm squeeze before turning toward the door.
What he would give to see the boy's face at this moment. Unfortunately, there were more pressing matters at hand. "It is only humour, Gavin," he called back, before the poor boy collapse from fright.
He heard Gavin let out a loud breath.
Ahh, so he planned to die from lack of air.
Levi thought shaking his head as he went in search of the father.
…
Levi knocked, and after a brief acknowledgment, stepped into the Father's study. The heavy oak door creaking slightly on its hinges. Levi sighed as the door creaked shut behind him, his footsteps fading into the silence. The shift from his airy, spacious chamber to the cramped study was palpable, the air heavy with the scent of aged parchment and melted wax. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched window, casting a warm glow that spilled across the room and highlighted the rich texture of the wooden desk and bookshelves.
The Father, a tall, broad-shouldered figure, stood by the open window. His face was partially obscured by a dark beard, thick and neatly trimmed, though streaks of silver betrayed his years. His black hair, peppered with white and nearly entirely silver at the roots, was loosely tied at the nape of his neck. Strands lifted in the wind, fluttering timidly as though careful not to disturb the man himself.
He wore a white silk cloak trimmed with gold, its gleaming fabric catching the light and sharply contrasting the black attire beneath, a stark pairing against his deep complexion, as dark and unyielding as a moonless night. Levi often suspected the Father hailed from the northern regions, given his angular features and bearing, but their relationship had never ventured into such personal territories.
The Father's hand moved to close the window, and as the breeze vanished, trapping them both, to the stench in room.
"How was your last hunt?" he asked, his deep voice resonating in the confined space.
Levi inclined his head slightly. "The client will be pleased. The target… was most appreciative of my efforts," he replied, his tone laced with dark humor.
The Father turned, a slightly raised brow and a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "I see," he said, his voice measured. His gaze shifted to the neatly wrapped box in bright blue paper on the table, topped with a dark blue bow. "And this? Spare me the theatrics; tell me what is inside."
Levi felt a pang of disappointment at the Father's lack of enthusiasm. The man's expression was far less eager than Levi had anticipated.
'Was I the only one who looked forward to this?' Levi wondered.
'Why would you not be...' his mind whispered, a trace of doubt creeping in.
'Did he not like my gift?'
'No sane man would,' it jeered back, 'but then again, you aren't.' Levi scowled inwardly, the rebuke sharp against his pride.
A wry smile pulled at Levi's lips. "If I were to tell you, it would ruin the surprise."
"Levi," the Father said, his patience wearing thin, "tell me what is in the damned box." His lips drew thin, emphasising a little droop in his cheeks that came with age.
Unperturbed by the man's commanding tone, Levi said nothing, his silence daring the Father to uncover the contents himself. The man was a dangerous figure, one to be met with the utmost caution, yet Levi knew the man's limits well after years of living under his roof—where certain boundaries could be tested, but others were never crossed.
With a resigned sigh, the Father lifted the lid off the box to reveal his 'surprise.' Others might have recoiled or grimaced at the sight within, but the Father's face remained an unreadable mask. He lifted the object—a severed, decaying limb—holding it away from himself with the careful disdain one might reserve for vermin. The faintest flicker of disgust crossed his features, but he swallowed it swiftly, forcing his expression back to blankness as he set the limb back into the box with deliberate precision.
He had known what the 'gift' would be the moment the box had arrived; the scent alone had been enough to make bile rise in his throat, though he had swallowed it down. His mind had grown accustomed to such presents over the years, but his stomach still rebelled at the sight of them. The Father's gaze did not falter, and he masked the churn of his insides with practiced ease. These 'gifts' had become all too frequent as of late, a sign of Levi's success but also a source of gnawing concern that clung to him like a shadow.
"You killed the horse as well," the Father said finally, his voice low and even.
"It was suffering," Levi replied, stepping closer to run a hand along the coarse fur of the severed limb. "It spoke to me."
"And it used the common tongue, did it?" the Father asked dryly, the faintest edge of sarcasm in his voice. He resisted the urge to cringe, refusing to give Levi the satisfaction he so clearly sought.
"No," Levi said, unfazed, "but we shared a connection."
"Take yourself and your 'connection' out of my study," the Father replied, his tone calm yet final. His patience for Levi's antics was wearing thin, though he had tolerated this much given the incident.
Levi feigned offense. "You do not like my gift?"
"That is the last of your gifts," the Father said with quiet authority. "I have indulged this nonsense long enough."
Levi's face tightened, his smirk fading briefly. He gave a stiff nod, lifting the box as he turned to leave. Outside the door, he handed it off to a puzzled servant, muttering something about its disposal before storming off.
The Father remained still, watching him go, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like his cloak. Levi's footsteps echoed down the hall, in frustrated stomps.
Once more, the Father had drained the excitement from his life, Levi thought bitterly, his temper simmering as he strode away.