Wisteria Manor was one of many lands granted to Zuriel for his victories. He entrusted it to Lord Goodwin Naman because he had no desire to sit upon every acre thrust his way. Though Zuriel had never visited, he received regular reports on its welfare and intervened from afar when necessary.
Coming in person, he saw the reports had been true; Wisteria was a peaceful place.
Yet for him, peace never came easily. There was always an inconvenience.
This time, that inconvenience bore the name Goodwin Naman.
Since morning, Goodwin had been tailing after him like a duckling after its mother. His loyalty was understood; his attention, unwanted.
"I do not need an escort," Zuriel said yet again, gazing out over the field where farmers were tilling.
"I am not escorting you—it merely seems your destination aligns with mine today, Your Highne—" His words broke off beneath Zuriel's glare. Scratching the back of his head, a nervous, familiar smile rose.
He had always been like that. Even when he served under Zuriel, he had followed him so closely he earned the name the Shadow of the Hound.
An almost invisible curve rose to his lips as he remembered Goodwin's tears when he appointed him Lord over Wisteria—the shadow was separated from the hound.
"I wish for a peaceful stay," Zuriel said. "Whispers would surely rise if the Lord of the Manor were seen tailing after a mere gardener."
In a land this small, any unfamiliar face was bound to be questioned. Thus, for the duration of his stay, he would be known simply as Zuri the gardener.
"I still do not know how that would work—who would look at your imperial face and believe you are a gardener! And besides, what—" Like sound sinking into water, Goodwin's voice trailed off into the air as a different voice began to register in his mind.
A voice he did not realize he recognized—until something within stirred and his head turned toward the voice.
Her laugh rode the wind, resonating across the field, illuminating the dull routine of the farmers as their laughter followed hers…
His eyes paused on the woman as the wind swept raven locks from her face. His brows creased as a shadow of unease was cast upon him. The same unease he knew on the battlefield, just before an enemy struck.
His languid gaze lingered on her as she spoke with the farmers. She was barefoot again. No one chased her away, nor did anyone correct her. Zuriel wondered if she was the village spectacle. One allowed to roam free, and oddly tolerated.
Had she no one to look after her?
"Is there no place for the deranged in Wisteria?" he asked.
Goodwin blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I—I do not understand."
"Those who cannot tend to themselves," Zuriel clarified, his gaze fixed on the woman who, now, was demonstrating with her entire body.
Whatever could she be talking about?
Confusion clouded Goodwin's face. "There are no mad people in Wisteria, as far as I know."
As he spoke, she turned, and the laughter vanished from her eyes.
"So there has not been a need to make such a place." Goodwin continued. "But if Your High—I mean Zuri, would—"
"No mad people, you say? Why then is a madwoman running toward us even now?"
At last, Goodwin turned toward where the prince had been looking—like lightning in human form, she was upon them.
"Lord Naman! Have you thought about it? Have you?" She demanded the moment she reached them. She was heaving for breath, her skin like golden honey glistened with sweat.
Flustered by her sudden appearance, Goodwin shifted glances between the prince and the woman. "A—about what, Damaris?" he asked.
She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Well, the structure in the market square, of course. What else would I be talking about?"
Again, there was that tone of hers—like the most noble Lady in society, just like the night before. Why the entire Manor indulged her, he did not care to understand. It was no business of his, so he turned away.
Goodwin grabbed his arm but quickly let go as Zuriel glared daggers at him.
"Tsk! How rude!" Her tongue clicked sharply. Quite an annoying sound.
He turned to her—her hands akimbo, chin held high—and images of a night underneath the moon's gaze returned to him.
"How dare a mere commoner look upon the Lord of the manor with such a haughty gaze?" she demanded.
Goodwin's eyes dilated, his hands rising in protest. "C—commoner? Oh dear Phineas above, she thinks he is a commoner!" He turned to her. "Damaris, this person is not a mere commoner! He is—"
He stopped himself.
"What?" Her hands fell from her hips. Her posture stiffened, then softened, her head lowering. "I—is he a noble?" She asked in a tone so humble that Zuriel blinked.
So she knew fear after all.
"He is not just any noble, he—he…" Goodwin clenched his teeth. "He is a gardener." he said with much distaste.
Humility fled her face faster than he could blink. "A gardener!" she spat, "A mere gardener?" Her upper-lip scrunched, her brows creased, she eyed him wickedly from the crown of his head to the sole of his boots.
The fear had been nothing but a performance.
"No, Damaris, he is an imperial gardener sent from the palace by the Prince himself and—"
"It matters not whether he is an imperial gardener." She set her hands upon her hips once more. "Unless he is the prince himself, this arrogant man has no reason to meet your gaze. Imperial gardener he may be, this is Wisteria, and you are Lord here."
Perhaps there really was a reason they indulged her after all. Last night she had given him counsel, today she called him arrogant while defending her Lord.
She talked too much. How there could be anyone who spoke more than Goodwin, he did not know.
"See, this is why I tell you—you must sometimes be strict, like the other Lords." Concern laced her features. "How dare he show you such disrespect?"
Says the woman who had so brazenly run up to them, spoken without being spoken to, questioned and demanded answers, raised her voice, and had her hands on her hips in the presence of her Lord… Her list of misconduct was endless, were he to count—yet he was the one who lacked respect?
Like the night before, it was a most ridiculous situation, yet why he still stood listening and indulging her like the rest of them he did not know.
Indeed, why?