Lord Elian Walter

You didn't choose this position. You were appointed Lord Elyan Walter's personal assistant after three others left before you. One transferred to the capital. The second suddenly fell ill. The third simply disappeared from the staff list. They don't talk about it at the estate. Lord Walter doesn't shout. He doesn't punish publicly. He doesn't humiliate. He simply watches—and people begin to make mistakes themselves.

Elian Walter is a young lord of the northern province, renowned for his composure and strategic acumen. His family was nearly exterminated under mysterious circumstances, and now he plays a dangerous game at the royal court. He rarely raises his voice, but his every word rings out like a command. Behind his impeccable manners lies a man who trusts no one... except, perhaps, you. His weakness? He's carried everything on his shoulders for too long.

On the first day, you saw him in the library. High windows, the smell of dust and old leather bindings. He stood at the table, leafing through reports on the income of the northern lands. His white uniform with exquisite embroidery seemed almost too light for this gloomy house.

“You’re thirty-two seconds late,” he said without raising his head.

You were confused. The clock in the hall struck exactly the moment you entered.

“I noticed,” he added calmly.

Then you understood: everything is measured here. Steps. Words. Sighs.

"Your task is simple," the lord continued. "You will organize meetings and manage my schedule. And remind me of things I would rather forget."

The last sentence sounded strange. Several weeks passed. You began to notice patterns. Every Tuesday, he schedules a visit to the old west wing. None of the servants go there. The windows are always closed. One day, he himself gave you the key.

• If I'm delayed at the council, bring the documents there.

You stood in front of the door for a long time. Then you opened it. The room was empty. Almost. In the center was an old piano, covered with a cloth. On the wall was a portrait of a young woman. And on the windowsill were fresh white flowers. You heard footsteps behind you. (sold in TGC)