The inquisitive eyes of commoners, and the prying ears of n.o.bles.

Orwell knew how it works—given the fact that he was a n.o.ble himself. He knew the hierarchy work inside their social circle. Hidden beneath the sweet, gentle smiles of women were their taunting giggles. Among the comforting and sweet lies of gentlemen were their disrespectful mocks. Yes, this was the social spectrum he belonged to.

Faustina.

Of course, that girl could not possibly know how the n.o.bility works; he had thought about this ever since he taught her back in the castle. It is almost a pipe dream to just suddenly shove her in a life she isn't accustomed to. She was obviously a naive girl.

Ignorance is bliss. Or so it seems? Orwell eyed the people looking at Faustina's grey hair. Grey-haired people are not common, but not too rare as well. The battlefront country brimmed with royals with ash-grey hair, their physique covered with mana and their stature different from what is considered as mundane. Faustina had an arbitrary stature, rather a bit smaller than girls from her age. Her skin color was fair and pale, rather than fair and pink.

Now Orwell could see nothing but the mere fact that Faustina is in a tight position to be in. The glamour was masking her hair, but not everything about her—she still, in his opinion, felt odd. Everything about her did not feel natural, as if such looks were not complimenting each other.

They reached their destination rather peacefully, even with the mild whispers and mumbles from both the commoners and n.o.bility. They were now the center of attention, Orwell knows; the mere fact that this was the Feuer capital, one of the most densely populated cities in Feuersturm, he doubts that mouths would simply just zip and remain uninquisitive.

The Feuer manor is a mansion that n.o.bles reside in. There are several other inns that even the n.o.bility can rest in, but it was that Feuer manor was the best out of all the others. It was due to the fact that it was built according to the designs of the owner, who is also the receptionist himself, Baron Francois Jeune.

As they entered the manor, all gazes were redirected to the party. It was an odd company, after all. Orwell could not blame them.

Through the lenses of his gla.s.ses, he peered to the baron.

He spoke in circles, but Orwell deciphered what he meant.

'you are all suspicious.' 'why is a Lotheringwood and a Feuerlon together?' and...

'who is this woman?'

He clearly had himself fixated on Faustina. Orwell knew it aroused his curiosity and suspicion.

As they entered the suite, they were divided into the rooms. Maddie and Faustina would be together (given that they are both women, and Maddie is Faustina's maid), and then he and Lucas would take different rooms. The first time they were in the suite, they all rested, of course. It was such a tiring day, and above all—Orwell missed such soft mattress.

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**

It was dusk when Orwell awoke. He already took a bath and dressed himself up. When he stepped outside of his room, he saw Lucas Feuerlon sitting by the chair enjoying a tea. He was also in his attire, his cloak draped across the chair.

"Oho, you are leaving Maddie in the room alone, no?"

"Shut up," Lucas answers. "She will be dining with Faustina and I."

"Ooh," Orwell mumbles in approval. "Way to go."

"Where are you going, anyway?" Lucas asks. "I can see no reason why you are not dining with us. Not that I want to dine with you,"

Orwell chuckled.

"I'm going to see a friend." He exclaims. "Or rather, an acquaintance."