Vincent tried to sleep during the long journey to Hassile, but the rocky road made it impossible. So, he opted to read a book—not one of his top ten choices, but there was nothing else to entertain himself with.
He should have picked one from the library himself, but he had made the grave mistake of asking Gabe to do it. The man had picked the worst book on the shelf—a romance novel between a prince and his war captive.
Strong irritation was what he felt when he pulled out the book, almost making him toss it out the window, but boredom got the better of him, and he found himself flipping through the pages.
He wondered how such an antagonizing book had ended up in the library before remembering it was surely his sister's handiwork.
Gods help him with the level of cringe that followed every three lines.
The characters were annoying and laughable—and the damned prince.
Who the hell let him rule a kingdom with a fish brain?
The only reason the damned prince won anything was because he was the main character in the book. No fool would last that long in the real world—especially in noble society.
Vincent sighed again—for the millionth time—as the carriage came to a stop.
Finally.
He shoved the book into his bag, climbing down before the footman could get to the door.
"Good afternoon, my lord. Welcome to Hassile. Thank you for coming to our aid in such a short notice." A lanky, middle-aged man spoke with a polite smile. The weary lines around his eyes and lips showed clear signs of exhaustion.
"You're welcome. Your letter was quite concerning and sounded urgent."
"It was indeed, my lord." He stepped forward with his hand stretched out. "I am Livron, the bailiff of this town."
Vincent looked down at the man's hand for a brief second before taking it in a firm handshake. "Vincent Salvadore."
Livron chuckled lightly. "You do not need an introduction. We all know who you are. It is truly a pleasure having you here."
"Thank you for having me." He pulled his hand from the man's grip. The handshake had lasted too long.
An awkward moment of silence passed.
Livron cleared his throat. "Please, come in. Lunch will be served soon. I shall see that you are settled comfortably."
Vincent only smiled in response, trailing behind the man with calculated steps, his sharp eyes observing the surroundings—the servants, guards, and maids bowing their heads respectfully as he passed.
The mansion was classy and colorful, with different works of art arranged neatly across the walls. It was pleasant to the eyes.
When the doors to the dining hall opened, Vincent was greeted by a long wooden table with about twelve chairs surrounding it. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, and sculpted figurines placed at every corner of the room.
"Please, sit." The bailiff pointed to the chair beside him.
Vincent lowered himself into the chair.
"My family will be joining us shortly. I hope you do not mind."
"Not at all."
A few minutes later, the sounds of footsteps and whispers grew closer to the room. The doors opened again, revealing an older woman and three young girls whose eyes were fixed on him as they made their way to their seats.
The bailiff waited until they had settled before speaking. "My lord, this is my wife, Lady Meredith." He pointed to the older woman. "And my daughters—Lorain, Silvia, and Isabella." He pointed to each of the girls from eldest to youngest.
"This is Viscount Vincent Salvadore. He was sent by the Council."
They all exchanged polite greetings before eating. Vincent only took a few bites—not because he wasn't hungry, but because one of the bailiff's daughters—Isabella, he assumed—was staring directly into his soul.
People staring at him had never bothered him, but there was something about children staring that made him slightly uncomfortable.
And the crazy child was smiling with her eyes glued to his face.
"Father, will the Viscount be staying with us now?" Her tiny voice broke the silence.
The mother's neck turned red, perhaps from embarrassment. He couldn't tell.
"No, my dear. He is only here to help us sort something out," Livron replied calmly.
"Oh…" She sighed, sounding almost disappointed. "I was planning on showing him my dollhouse. He looks like one of the dolls I was gifted last summer."
"Isabella! Where are your manners?" Meredith, having had enough, hushed her youngest child, but the girl was not done talking.
"Mother! I didn't say anything wrong. The Viscount isn't even offended, so I wonder why you are." She pouted, stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork.
The other girls barely looked up from their plates. Perhaps they were shy, Vincent guessed.
"Dear, please. The Viscount is here on serious matters. This is not the time to discuss dolls," the father said calmly.
The girl's lips quivered, her eyes widening as though she were about to cry. She crossed her arms angrily over her chest.
Vincent almost chuckled at her expression. Children were far too dramatic.
"Perhaps next time, I'll check out your dollhouse."
All eyes turned to him as though he had grown two heads.
He fought the urge to roll his eyes. These people thought he was a ruthless and heartless man—well, he was. But children had a way of softening a person a little. Their innocence and ignorance made it difficult to be harsh with them.
A broad smile stretched across Isabella's face, revealing her missing tooth. "You promise?"
He smiled faintly. "I promise."
She giggled happily and returned to her food, eating while humming to herself.
Another moment of silence passed.
"If you are done with your food, I shall show you to your chambers. It has been a long journey."
"We can do that later. I would like to begin the investigation into the farmer's incident. We could visit his house where it took place," Vincent stated.
"Oh… very well. We shall do that now."