The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide preferred to keep his private life.. well, private.

However, that did not stop rumors from circulating around the various human-inhabited areas of Fontaine.

Some speculated that the Duke was a cruel person rather than simply just a man with his own thoughts and emotions, and that the Fortress was merely a prison instead of a sanctuary for atoning sinners.

In the shadier parts of the nation, some people fed dirty lies to reporters, frail attempts to put a stain on a reputation of a man who nobody had ever really seen in the "Overworld".

'But,' Wriothesley thought. 'Those are thoughts for later.'

The Duke of Meropide was currently seated in his office, attending a private meeting between himself and three Gardes, collecting reports on each convict. You were underneath his desk, "relieving" his stress.

"And how is that Harbinger settling in? Childe, I believe his name was." Wriothesley inquired, his pale grey hues focusing on one specific Garde.

He bit his lip, his grip on the tea cup he was holding only tightening. The Duke brought his lips to the rim of the porcelain, trying to use that action as an excuse for the quiet noises that were coming from underneath his desk.

The general noisiness in the Fortress hid the sounds of pleasure he was attempting to mask, but it was better to have an excuse.