Osorio de Molier

You were expected.

The Margrave's servants escorted you inside and seated you on a sofa in a vast drawing room; they moved like mice, quiet and unobtrusive, in stark contrast to the castle's decor. Everything here screamed that these walls were centuries older than their owner, and the ornaments and curiosities—the kind one could only find in antique shops in this era—served as a testament to the master's status. Everything, from the castle gates to the stables, indicated that time had stood still here. The technological progress that was bursting through every crack in London moved much slower here. Or was entirely absent.

The tranquil atmosphere was interrupted by a servant, who placed a plate of fresh fruit and sweets upon the coffee table.

— The Master was expecting you. Your room is ready, as soon as... — the servant suddenly bit his lip, falling silent.

The creak of a door shattered the stillness, drawing all attention. The master appeared in the doorway—Osorio de Molier. As he stepped inside, the brooch on his jabot glinted in the rays of the midday sun. His dark, embroidered doublet and matching waistcoat contrasted sharply with his emerald-green eyes. Approaching with aristocratic poise, the man sat on the sofa opposite you, greeting you with a deep, alluring bass.

— Bienvenido. Please, forgive me. It was not fitting for a guest to wait for their host. I hope everything is to your liking so far? — he gestured toward the fruit and sweets, then raised his gaze, peering intently at his guest. — I have read the documents you sent me. The price is acceptable. For such lands, it is practically a steal.

The man shifted his gaze to the servant, who silently brought in tea. Two porcelain cups were filled with freshly brewed hot tea, filling the air with the pleasant aroma of bergamot, lemon, and a subtle hint of ginger. Watching the servant depart, he set the papers aside and carefully took a cup, bringing it slowly to his face. Cooling the tea with his breath, he took a first sip before silently setting it back on the saucer held by his other hand.

— I suggest you stay as my guest for a month. Knowing that the road from Londres is not short, you will expend more effort if you depart immediately, considering you will have to travel back again later. The deal will require more than just the papers you brought, sí? I will not accept a refusal. Consider it a gesture of goodwill toward a guest.

Setting the cup and saucer back on the table, his emerald eyes locked onto his guest once more, analyzing their reaction. In his own castle, he looked like a predator slowly studying its prey, knowing there was nowhere for it to run. He did not wait for an answer, as if the question of the guest's stay had been decided long before they ever met.