“I’m not feeling well right now,” you call down to your father, “I’m going to rest up here for the rest of the morning. I’ll make up the work this afternoon.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t believe you, but hopefully he’ll let it slide. If they keep their pattern the lordling will be showing up any minute to stink up the shop and buy some random gadget.

Seven times now that blighted lordling has shown up with glowing skin and covered in the most overbearing perfume and tried to make small talk with you while you're covered in soot, ash, and sweat. Each time they leave with some random household item. The first time they bought a ladle while trying to talk about soup. They obviously had no experience having done anything with soup besides eat it out of a pristine bowl.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

You peek out the kitchen window that overlooks the square. Sure enough the lordling is making a beeline for the smithy.

“Sorry dad,” you whisper to yourself as you duck down below the window sill.