After returning to the bailiff's household, Vincent sank into a hot bath, letting the warmth ease the tension knotted in his muscles. It had been a long day—and, by all signs, it would only grow longer and more exhausting.
Tomorrow, he would have to report back to the council. The thought alone made his head throb. Hours spent in the company of his father, alongside a collection of equally insufferable old men, all pretending their opinions mattered more than they did.
He almost preferred writing a report and sending it off without ever seeing their faces.
When the water began to cool, he stepped out, dried himself, and changed into loose, comfortable clothing. He was halfway to the bed when a soft knock came at the door.
Sighing, he turned and walked over, opening it. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Good evening, Sir Vincent," a small voice said. "Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to see you."
