CHAPTER 5: Looks Great
1349 Words
CHAPTER 5: Looks Great
Morning settled quietly over the Montgomery estate, but Lucian had already been awake long before the sun rose.
He worked the soil once again with steady, deliberate motions, his sleeves rolled and his hands already marked with earth. But before he could deeply settle into his usual chore, a gentle voice once again echoed behind him.
“Good morning, my lord.”
The voice was soft, controlled, and familiar.
Lucian exhaled faintly before straightening and turning.
Elior stood behind him, holding a small basket in both hands.
The light of early morning fell across him more gently than it had the day before, softening what was already delicate in his appearance. His pale skin seemed almost untouched by the sun, and his features, refined and carefully shaped, carried a quiet composure that did not belong easily within the setting of the field. There was a faint warmth to his face, a lingering flush that had not yet faded, and it made him appear even more out of place against the earth and stone around them.
Lucian’s gaze shifted briefly to the basket.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Elior stepped forward slightly, though he remained mindful of the distance between them.
“I brought something for you,” he said. “You were working for a long time yesterday, and I thought you might need it.”
Lucian’s expression did not change.
“I told you I require nothing from you.”
Elior nodded at once.
“Yes, my lord,” he said. “You did.”
There was no resistance in his tone, no attempt to argue the point. He lowered his gaze briefly before kneeling to place the basket on the ground between them, opening it with careful hands.
Inside were simple things.
A small portion of bread wrapped neatly in cloth, a flask of water, and fruit arranged with care. Nothing excessive. Nothing unnecessary.
“I thought you might still need it,” Elior said softly. “Even if you did not ask for it.”
Lucian looked at the contents longer than he intended.
It was not the offering itself that held his attention, but the intention behind it.
'Why is he doing this? Does this male servant not know who I am?' he thought, but shrugged it away to properly respond.
“I have already eaten,” Lucian lied.
But instead of stepping away, Elior inclined his head and chuckled.
“I understand,” he replied. “Then you may have it later.”
The certainty in his voice did not shift.
Lucian frowned slightly.
“You are persistent,” he said.
Elior’s lips curved faintly, the expression small and restrained, though it did not appear forced.
“I was told to be useful,” he said. “So I am trying to be.”
Lucian studied him briefly.
There was no visible attempt to charm, no deliberate softness meant to persuade. If anything, the effort itself seemed genuine, though Lucian found no reason to trust that conclusion.
He turned back toward the field.
“I will not repeat myself,” he said. “You may leave.”
“Yes, my lord,” Elior answered immediately.
Lucian pressed the tool into the soil again, certain the servant would follow the instruction this time. The blade cut through the earth with steady force, and he continued the motion without looking back, expecting the presence behind him to fade into the quiet of the estate.
But it did not.
There were faint movements instead.
Lucian’s grip tightened slightly.
“My lord,” the voice came again, softer this time but no less persistent. “Do you intend to plant flowers in this field?”
Lucian stopped and turned at once.
Elior stood where he had been before, though now he had moved slightly closer, the basket still resting nearby, his posture composed as if he had not just been dismissed moments ago. There was no sign of hesitation in his expression, only curiosity, as though the question had been asked without consideration for the tension that remained between them.
“I told you to leave,” Lucian said.
Elior inclined his head slightly.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied.
And yet he did not move.
Lucian stared at him.
“Then why are you still here?”
Elior seemed to consider the question for a moment, as though it required proper thought before answering.
“I wished to understand your work,” he said. “If I am to be of use within this estate, I should know what is being done and why.”
Lucian exhaled sharply.
“You are not assigned to this field,” he said. “And I did not request your assistance.”
“I understand,” Elior replied again, his tone unchanged. “But I am still your servant, my lord.”
Lucian’s brows drew together.
“I did not accept you as one.”
Elior’s expression shifted slightly at that, not in offense, but in acknowledgment, as though the statement had been expected.
“That may be so,” he said gently. “But I have already accepted you as my master.”
Lucian went still.
For a brief moment, he said nothing.
“That is not how this works,” he said, his voice lower now, edged with irritation.
Elior blinked once, then nodded.
“I see,” he said. “Then I will correct myself.”
Lucian waited, already anticipating another misguided explanation.
Elior straightened slightly.
“My name is Elior,” he said. “The faithful servant of Lord Lucian Montgomery’s estate.”
The words were spoken with certainty, as though they had already been established truth.
Lucian stared at him.
“You have decided that yourself,” he said.
“Yes,” Elior replied.
Lucian let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“That does not make it valid.”
Elior tilted his head slightly, considering that.
“I will make it valid,” he said.
Lucian looked at him again.
There was no arrogance in the statement.
No challenge.
Only a calm determination, delivered as though it were something simple.
“You will not,” Lucian said.
“I will try,” Elior answered.
“That is not necessary.”
“I think it is.”
Lucian’s grip tightened around the tool.
“You think too much for someone who was told to leave.”
Elior’s lips curved faintly.
“I was told to be useful,” he said. “So I am trying to remain where I might be needed.”
“You are not needed here.”
“Not yet,” Elior said.
Lucian went silent.
There was no immediate response that came to him.
Elior stood there, composed, patient, as though waiting was not a burden to him. There was no sign of retreat in his posture, no indication that he intended to follow the earlier command unless forced to do so.
Lucian looked away briefly, pressing the tool back into the soil with more force than necessary.
“You are… persistent,” he said at last.
Elior nodded.
“Yes, my lord.”
Lucian exhaled slowly.
There was no clear way to dismiss him that would guarantee he would not simply return, no direct command that seemed sufficient to counter whatever resolve he carried. The situation itself felt unnecessarily complicated for something that should have been simple.
He pressed the soil again, then stopped.
“…you may stay,” Lucian said, the words leaving him more reluctantly than intended. “But you will not interfere.”
Elior’s expression brightened, though he restrained it quickly, returning to composure.
“Of course, my lord,” he said. “I will remain where I am most useful.”
Lucian did not respond.
He turned back to his work, expecting silence to return and stay that way, expecting the presence behind him to settle into obedience or finally fade into distance.
Instead, he heard Elior speak, leaving him flustered.
“Your back looks great, my lord!”
- Writer
