"Lord Rubenhart."
Esther watched as Monika approached Ulrich, who had just finished his training, offering a freshly folded towel in her trembling hands. As usual, the maid kept her gaze averted, a pink blush painting her cheeks.
Esther could hardly blame her. Even she found the sight of Ulrich's bare muscled torso overwhelming, and purposely kept her own gaze anchored to his face to spare herself the embarrassment.
Ulrich took the towel, wiping the sheen of sweat from his neck with a quiet, exhausted exhale. His lack of a shirt wasn't born of vanity; it was purely practical. The hours of training demanded it, and he welcomed the soothing chill of the morning breeze against his overheated skin.
"I will prepare your bath immediately, My Lord." Monika said with a hasty bow and scurried away.
Ulrich said nothing, his eyes briefly tracing the ascent of the rising sun. But then, without warning, his gaze snapped directly toward Esther's hiding place.
