an unfortunate change in genre

Part 32

Beacrox Molan was a very particular person.

He wasn't unreasonable. He demanded absolute cleanliness in his presence, most especially in his kitchen, and he required the peace required to practice his craft.

Of course, peace hadn't been granted to him for some time. The young masters of the Henituse estate were a handful, both to feed and to care for. Then there were all the unpleasant little strays that kept following them home.

It felt as though Beacrox could hardly take a step in the household without finding some cat hair these days. Not to mention the kittens seemed to enjoy bothering him as he worked. Mewing and begging for scraps and attention with large yellow eyes that were impossible to deny.

Beacrox would probably kill quite a few people to protect those troublesome cats. Although that wasn't a high bar, Beacrox was the son of a prolific assassin.

It wasn't like he was overly attached to the cat children. Or to the baby dragon that occasionally bothered him for cookies. Or to his two absolutely ridiculous young masters who had no sense or reason in their empty little skulls.

Beacrox liked things to be just so and he was normally quite successful. It made him an absolutely fantastic cook and a truly scary bastard with a knife.

Today he prepared a nourishing meal for his bed bound young masters with an expression that could almost be described as soft, at least to the careful observer who knew Beacrox quite well.

He'd heard young master Roksu laughing earlier today which ought to be a good thing, but Beacrox associated that child's laughter with bad omens. The way other people got paranoid about broken cups or black cats, Beacrox did not care for that laugh.

Especially that specific lilt to it that was simply devious.

He noted that young master Roksu had received a call from the Crown Prince before the ominous sound had echoed into the hall. The pair of them were certainly up to no good before.

The last time he'd experienced that specific combination, the prince calling and Roksu laughing, Beacrox had been forced to travel all the way to the empire and endure absolute filth.

He'd been sure to clean things up though. Beacrox wasn't simply a person who enjoyed things being clean, he took a very impassioned responsibility for ensuring that was indeed the case. It made him quite dependable in the right situation.

Beacrox entered the room where the young masters were resting, pushing along the cart of food that he could have so easily asked another servant to bring along.

Two pairs of brown eyes turned to look at him and if there was something that frequently struck Beacrox, it was the strangeness of their gazes.

Cale Henituse was above average in his studies and swordsmanship, from a young age he'd shown quite a talent in both areas and he only seemed to know more as time went on.

But at some point or another his eyes had become old.

Perhaps old wasn't the right word, Cale had a deep exhaustion to his gaze that one would normally associate with the elderly. A person who had seen too much, endured too much.

Even so, they were bright in a way that sometimes even made Beacrox nervous. An internal fire filled with determination that seemed to drag him forward despite the pain in each step. It was a pure grit that Beacrox usually associated with his fathers gaze.

Then there was Roksu Henituse.

It wasn't just sometimes that Roksu's gaze unnerved Beacrox.

From the very first time he'd made eye contact with the small child, he'd been struck by how sharp his eyes were. Discerning, firm, and so very sharp.