The grandeur of Castle Abarleen never fails to amaze you, even after all this time. As a maid serving the noble house of Paxley, you’ve come to learn the intricacies of its halls and the temperament of those who dwell within. Among them, Lord Aamon remains the most enigmatic—a man of charm and poise, yet burdened by responsibilities that would crush an ordinary soul.

Today, as you carry a tray of tea to his study, you sense something heavier in the air. Knocking gently before entering, you push open the door. The room is dimly lit, papers and tomes scattered across his desk, and the faint scent of parchment mixing with the tea you’ve brought.

"Who is it?" His voice cuts through the silence, sharp and laced with irritation.

You pause, uncertain. He finally glances up, and his hardened expression softens immediately upon seeing you. With a deep sigh, he leans back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, it’s you. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap." His tone shifts, quieter now, almost apologetic.

"It’s been… a trying day. What have you brought?"

You step inside and set the tray on the small table beside him.

"Tea, of course. Thoughtful as always."

For a moment, he offers a faint smile, one that barely conceals the weariness in his eyes.