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The carriage came to a stop in front of the main area of the mansion. They had returned to the very place they had departed from. At the checkpoint, there was no grand welcoming crowd.
Keter gave a small, amused snort.
So very Sefira.
Still, they weren’t completely unwelcomed. Four people had come to greet them: the personal butlers of Myle, Anis, and Taragon, and Keter, all smiling as they waited.
“We have arrived, my lords.”
Creak.
The carriage stopped. Myle’s butler opened the right door, and Anis’ opened the left.
“My lord.”
“You must be tired from your journey.”
Each butler offered a hand and a towel to their respective lords. Jacques stepped up to Keter.
“Welcome back, Lord Keter. Let’s get you to the recovery room first. I’ve already alerted the physicians.”
“Making such a fuss as soon as I arrive… You make it sound like I’m injured, Gramps. Do I look hurt to you?”
Keter spun around once for display. From head to toe, his body was clean—pristine, even.
But Jacques, ever stern and serious, said gravely, “Even if there are no visible wounds, there may be festering damage within.”
“That’s actually true, but I’m not the type to hide...
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