The platter clattered as the servants moved to clear the table. Their every move made them appeared elegant and sound with their work.
Moulin ignored the others. His silver eyes stared at the man that had served him back in his home. His thoughts scrambled, And suspicion rose from his chest. Why was Alaric here? How did he get here?
The man wore black clothes. If he would do out in the middle of the night, he was sure to blend in with the darkness. A sword hanged at the side of his waist, and it was the first time Moulin had saw him with bare hands. Generally, in his estate, the servants wore gloves to attend to their masters except in the bath. The scarred, calloused hands laid bare before Moulin's eyes. It was a sign of the decades of swordsmanship.
Even before his master, Alaric kept his head low, making it difficult for Moulin to determine the emotions in his eyes.
A flash of wariness filled Moulin's eyes as a thought rose from his mind. He shifted his attention to Hadrian, who in turn met his gaze with a questionable smile.
"Greetings, My Lords..." The woman named Heizea slightly bowed her head. Her straight hair of red curtained her back like a waterfall. Afterwards, her eyes stopped as they fall on Moulin. "And... honored guest."
"Heizea, why the sudden intrusion?" Lord Hendrick asked.
Hadrian lifted his gaze, and his eyes began to chill as he looks at the armed lady. Lady Heizea clenches her fists as she lowers her head. "Forgive me; I wouldn't have intruded if it weren't necessary.
Lord Hendrick blinked; he turned his grandson, who nodded to him before rising from his seat. With a sigh, grandfather Hercullio revealed a faint smile at Moulin before he faces Heizea. "Let us somewhere else. I believe the table isn't suitable for such talk."
"Yes, My Lord." She nodded in agreement.
Hadrian made his way to Moulin, who had risen from his seat. There was doubt and confusion in the youth's eyes as he stared at Hadrian.
Sighing, the lord only held his hand as he spoke, "I will explain everything after I am done. Alaric... will lead you back to your room." His eyes deepened. "Wait for me..."
Moulin wanted to respond, but Hadrian only squeezed his hand before he pulled away. The youth watches silently as he and the woman named Heizea went to exit the doors.
"Don't worry, dear." Lord Hendrick smiled. He then turned to face Alaric, "Take care of our guest, Alaric."
"Yes, Milord."
Moulin was silent as he watches the three walk away. His face was expressionless.
Alaric led Moulin to the doors, and they ventured to the hallways. Curious gazes and small whispers were thrown at their way, but the pair didn't spare even a glance at the passing servants.
When they finally entered the quieter part of their hallways, where not a soul could be seen, Moulin suddenly spoke up.
"You are a spy."
At those words, Alaric suppressed his guilt, but he didn't deny it. "Yes, young master."
"How long?" Moulin pressed. His voice grew colder and his eyes darker as he spoke.
Alaric lowered his head. "Two years."
Moulin's eyelids slightly lowered.
"Hadrian sent you there, didn't he?" Moulin scoffed. The look in his eyes could make anyone want to flee in fear.
"I cannot tell you the answers you want to hear, young master. Perhaps, it is best if you will ask the lord yourself. I am certain he will tell when he returns."
