Beyond the high stone walls of Windcliff Manor, Jaygon Thatch stood alone in the sprawling stable, his weathered hands moving with practiced efficiency across the chestnut flank of the baron's finest mare. Early morning light filtered through the slats in the wooden roof, casting long shadows across the hay-strewn floor as the first bells of the harbor tolled in the distance.
The horse huffed gently, its breath visible in the cool morning air as Jaygon's brush moved in long, methodical strokes. "Easy now," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft nickering of horses. This was his ritual—the same movements, the same beasts, the same dawn chorus of gulls that soared above the port town of Blackwater Bay. For fifteen years, his callused hands had tended these animals with a devotion that bordered on reverence.
The stable door creaked open, spilling harsh daylight across the dim interior. Jaygon didn't need to look up to know it was Halford, the baron's chief steward, his thin frame silhouetted against the morning sun.
"The baron requires the carriage prepared," Halford announced, his reedy voice echoing against the wooden beams. "The royal inspector arrives by midday. You're to drive the family to Harborside Mansion." He paused, glancing around the stable with barely concealed disdain. "And for the love of the gods, Thatch, wear something presentable."
Jaygon set down his brush and straightened his back, feeling the familiar ache of his labor. "Yes, sir. I'll have the carriage ready within the hour."
Halford nodded curtly before turning to leave. "The baron's daughter will be present. Mind your manners."
The door swung shut, leaving Jaygon alone once more with his thoughts and the horses. Lady Eloise, the baron's only daughter, would be dressed in her finest today—another piece in her father's ceaseless political chess game. At twenty summers, she was the perfect age for a strategic marriage, and the royal inspector was, by all accounts, both wealthy and unwed.
Jaygon selected the baron's four finest matched grays for the carriage—proud, high-stepping creatures with arched necks and intelligent eyes. As he fitted their elaborate harnesses adorned with the baron's silver crest, he could feel the tension emanating from the main house. Servants rushed between buildings, carrying freshly pressed garments and polished boots. The gardeners scurried about, trimming wayward branches and raking the gravel paths to pristine perfection.
After securing the horses to the gleaming black carriage with its silver accents, Jaygon retreated to his small quarters adjacent to the stable to change into his formal livery—a stiff, midnight-blue uniform with silver buttons that had belonged to the previous coachman. It hung a bit loose on his leaner frame, but it was clean and appropriately formal for such an occasion.
The coachman's hat felt foreign atop his head as he climbed up to the driver's perch, taking the reins in his hands. The weight of responsibility settled on his shoulders as he guided the carriage around to the manor's grand entrance, where marble steps gleamed in the late morning sun.
The servants formed a line along the curved driveway as Baron Cornelius Blackwood emerged from the heavy oak doors of Windcliff Manor. A portly man with a greying mustache that failed to disguise his perpetual scowl, the baron was dressed in a velvet jacket of deep burgundy, gold chains draped across his substantial girth. Behind him walked Lady Margarethe, his wife of twenty-five years, her still-beautiful face schooled into an expression of dignified serenity that belied the iron will beneath.
And then came Lady Eloise.
Even from his elevated perch, Jaygon felt the familiar tightness in his chest at the sight of her. She wore a gown of pale blue silk that caught the light as she moved, her golden hair arranged in an elaborate coiffure adorned with pearls. Unlike her parents, whose rigid postures spoke of decades of practiced nobility, Eloise moved with a natural grace, her face alive with an intelligence that the stifling protocols of nobility had never quite managed to extinguish.