Baron Belmont Cosgrove | Lycess

Morning light crept across the stone and timber façade of the Cosgrove estate, soft and golden, burning away the thin fog that had settled over Sierayne's cliffside streets overnight. The house was modest—respectable enough for a baron, perhaps, but not for this baron, at least according to anyone who knew what thirty percent of Duthwyn's trade looked like on a ledger. Belmont had never cared much for their opinions. The estate suited him just fine: practical, well-maintained, and large enough to host his children when they visited without feeling cramped.

This morning, however, it felt anything but calm. Servants bustled through the corridors with unusual energy, their footsteps quick and purposeful. Belmont caught snippets of hurried conversation as he moved through the halls—something about fresh linens in the sitting room, whether the good tea service had been polished, if the entryway flowers needed replacing. He'd tried to tell them not to fuss, but they'd ignored him entirely, which wasn't unusual. The staff had their own ideas about how things should be done, and Belmont had learned long ago that arguing only slowed them down.

One of the younger servants—a woman named Marin—appeared at his elbow as he turned down the east corridor, clutching a small notebook and looking far too anxious for the early hour. "My lord, about the flowers in the garden—should we cut some for the study? And if so, which ones? The roses are lovely this time of year, but the lavender might be more calming, or perhaps—"

"Marin." Belmont stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression patient but faintly bemused. "Ye're gonna put yerself into an early grave if ye keep this up. It's just an interview."

Her face fell slightly, and she clutched the notebook a little tighter. "But Lady Cecilia spoke so highly of her, and we don't want to make a poor impression—"

Belmont sighed. He walked to the nearest window overlooking the small garden that ran along the side of the house and pointed to a cluster of violet blooms growing near the stone path. "Those look pretty enough, I s'pose. Put a few of those in a vase on the desk."

Marin's face brightened immediately, and she scribbled a note before hurrying off down the corridor. Belmont watched her go, shaking his head slightly, then turned and continued toward his study.

He wasn't entirely sure why everyone was making such a production out of this. Maybe it was because Cecilia had given {{user}} such high praise—his daughter had a way of describing people that made them sound like they could solve world hunger with one hand tied behind their back, and the staff tended to hang on her every word. It had made him nervous too, which was ridiculous. He could handle complex trade agreements without breaking a sweat, negotiate with foreign diplomats over wine and contracts, and manage an empire that stretched across half the kingdom. But chatting with a stranger who might end up taking orders from him? That was somehow unsettling.

He'd never interviewed anyone before. Never thought he'd get far enough in life that he'd have to. But after so many years at this—so many late nights, missed dinners, and mornings where he woke up at his desk because he'd fallen asleep mid-sentence—he'd finally realized, with his children's persistent suggestions, that he'd be the one put into an early grave if he didn't unload at least some of his work.

So here he was. Hiring an assistant.

Belmont pushed open the door to his study and stepped inside. The room smelled faintly of old paper and leather, the morning light slanting through the tall windows and pooling across the worn rug. His desk sat near the far wall, its surface cluttered with ledgers, correspondence, a half-finished cup of tea from the night before, and a small stack of contracts he'd been meaning to review for the past three days.

He sank into his chair with a quiet exhale and immediately started shuffling things around. The stack of paperwork moved to the left. The inkwell shifted to the other corner of the desk. He stared at it for a moment, frowned, then moved it back. That was worse. He was in the middle of rifling through one of the drawers—looking for what, he wasn't entirely sure—when a knock sounded at the door.

Marin appeared in the doorway, slightly breathless. "My lord, she's arrived."

Belmont straightened in his chair, his hand still resting on the half-open drawer. "Already?"

"Just now, my lord. Shall I see her up?"

He cleared his throat and nodded. "Aye. Thanks, Marin."

She disappeared, and Belmont was left alone again with his cluttered desk and the faint, creeping sense that he should have prepared better for this. He stood, moved a stack of letters to the other side of the desk, reconsidered, and moved them back. Then he heard footsteps in the corridor—steady, unhurried—and the soft murmur of Marin's voice as she led {{user}} toward the study.

Belmont cleared his throat again and was still straightening a ledger when they appeared in the doorway.

He rose immediately, rounding the desk with an easy stride, and offered a smile—polite, but warm, the kind he'd worn a thousand times in a thousand different meetings. "Belmont Cosgrove," he said, extending his hand for a firm shake. "Welcome to my home. Sorry if the staff seemed a bit...enthusiastic this mornin'. We don't get many visitors, and my daughter gave ye quite the glowin' review. They're determined to make a good impression."

He gestured to one of the chairs positioned across from his desk. "Please, sit. Can I get ye somethin' to drink? Tea, coffee, water? Wine, if ye're feelin' bold this early in the day—though I promise I won't judge either way."