“You have a healthy size for a young man your age.”

“I could be larger,” Aiden muttered.

Chibor, the tailor of the Naranoff family, looked up at him from his place taking measurements of Aiden’s ankle. “Are you a strength based class?”

Aiden looked down at him and shook his head.

Chibor returned his attention to his task. “Then I see no reason for you to add any more weight at your age.”

Chibor was an elderly man with skin as brown as oak. He was—to Aiden’s great surprise—a level 89 [Tailor] and wasn’t hesitant to inform anyone who asked. In fact, Aiden hadn’t even asked before the man had shown him his interface. It had carried his name, class, and level only.

The man, surprisingly, had a family name that was so long and complicated that Aiden couldn’t remember it. He tried not to hold it against himself since it was long, and he had seen it only once.

He certainly wasn’t from Bandiv.

As for how he had raised a class like [Tailor] to level 89, it was beyond Aiden. His best guess was that the man made more than just clothes of different kinds.

“Very few people cross my doors that are not of noble birth,” Chibor said, measuring the length of Aiden’s leg a second time. He did it slowly, meticulously. “Fewer still are quiet and without hubris.”

Aiden shrugged. “I leave my hubris for combat.”

“And I leave mine for my interactions with the quiet,” Chibor chuckled.

He moved on from Aiden’s legs. From Aiden, he walked about, perusing the things in the room they stood in.

It was a tailor’s space with walls that were nothing more than a cacophony of different wardrobes and coat racks and hanging rails. Spaces for full suits were scattered amongst spaces for folded materials or attires of different kinds.

There were attires of varying designs. Clothes that looked like they would serve for the grandest ball if you attended it for the soul purpose of assassinating the host. Aiden wasn’t so sure how the man had pulled it off, but he had. But that was not all there was to the room. Some shelves housed nothing but materials, folded up and placed in preparation for when they would be used.

The shelves were all brown, light as any brown could be. In the right light and seen from the right angle, the color could be mistaken for something trying to be yellow.

Each section of the wardrobes that housed folded materials were large enough to house two severed heads, which—in Aiden’s opinion—was a very terrible way to compare sizes.

The clothes hung from hangers and some simply hung from nothing high up in the air, in sections of their own. The latter looked less extravagant, simple. To Aiden, something about them felt different, and he doubted it was because they were kept differently.

Something caught Aiden’s eyes as the tailor moved around his shop, checking clothes and materials. One of the materials closest to him and farthest from the door moved. Folded up as it was, it rose and fell gently, as if it was breathing.

“Getting you a fitting material would be interesting,” Chibor said, moving over the breathing material to check on another attire. He studied it twice, lifted its pink sleeve, before dropping it with a shake of his head. “It would be prudent of me to find something that matches your aura. Something strong and fitting.”

Aiden took his attention from the breathing material to face the man. “My aura? I don’t have one yet.”

Chibor paused to give him an amused look. “I thought you said you keep your hubris from the battlefield.”

“Combat,” Aiden corrected with a shrugged. “And I do.”

Chibor gave him a pointed look. “But you don’t have aura… yet?”

“I do not.”

“I don’t know if that is hubris or confidence.” Chibor turned his attention back to his clothes, resumed his perusing. “A lot of people go through life never gaining any aura, not even a manifesting skill. But you sound so certain.”

The man kissed his teeth as he shook his head. “The young are always full of strength. They assume themselves capable of anything.” He paused over an attire, pulled it out. It was a deep brown, a long jacket that was not too long. “Perhaps it is a good thing, that sense of adventure. It helps them grow old properly, you might say.”

He turned and held the jacket up to Aiden as if measuring them against each other.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Is it to your liking?”

Aiden shook his head. It was not.

Chibor squinted slightly, as the old tend to do. Then he nodded in agreement and returned the jacket.

“Pray tell, young lord,” he said, moving on to another section of his many wardrobes. “Just how curious are you about this tailor’s manifesting skill.”

Aiden watched the man move. His steps were old, but anyone with enough knowledge knew that they were precise. There was no combat training in them, yet he walked like a man who had learned to walk, steps precise, cautious. He could probably walk straight with his eyes closed and weights on his shoulders.

“I’m more curious in the how than the what of things,” he answered the man.

Again, Chibor paused in his perusing, black eyes turning to Aiden. “The how not the what?” he asked with a note of surprise.

“Everyone achieves great things every now and again,” Aiden said. “I am rarely interested in the great thing. I find that I am more enamored by how they achieved it than what they achieved.”

“So, you would like to know how a tailor gained a manifesting skill, not what the manifesting skill is.” Chibor stroked his clean shaved jaw. It looked less like it was clean shaved and more like it was always barren of hair. “That is most impressive.”

“Perhaps you would be willing to tell me more about that material over there, though,” Aiden said, pointing out the breathing material. It was still breathing. “That’s if you would rather not speak of how you gained your manifesting skill.”

A glint touched the old tailor’s eyes and Aiden saw a hint of mischief cloud the man’s face. The old man—as old men were wont to do with children—was about to play a game.

“How about you pick one, young lord?” he said with a respectful smile. “If you would indulge an old man his games?”

Aiden raised a slow brow. “An old man his games,” he repeated.

“If you would.” Chibor bowed respectfully.

The man had clearly been around a lot of nobles. He was also held to a certain level of esteem in the house of Naranoff if he was playing games so happily with young lords.

Personally, Aiden didn’t mind. To offend him, you mostly needed to actually offend him.

He folded his hands over his chest and nodded. “I’ll play.”

“You prove gracious.” Chibor lifted his head from the bow to meet his eyes. “Would you rather the story of how a tailor gained a manifesting skill or learn what the material is?”

That was easy.

“The material,” Aiden answered.

“Oh.” Chibor sounded genuinely surprised.

Aiden couldn’t blame him. Most people would choose the story of how, but he was not most people. They would choose the how in the hopes that it would tell them something about how to achieve theirs. But in this case, it would be a mistake for him. The achievement of a manifesting skill for a [Tailor] class, while interesting to know, would not help a combat class achieve a manifesting class.

What both classes would consider as stakes would be daringly different from each other.

“This,” Chibor moved over to place a hand on the breathing material, “is a material woven from a man-eating tree and a basilisk from some marsh in some kingdom somewhere.”

Aiden moved to step down from the platform he was standing on but stopped himself. Chibor had placed him there, right in front of a mirror, when he’d decided to take his measurement. The tailor’s eyes looked down at the platform then to the Aiden.

“You may come down if you wish, young Lord,” he said. “I am done with the measurements.”

Aiden stepped down and walked up to the material. There, he placed a hand on it. The moment he touched it, the material stopped breathing. It turned still, unmoving.

A living material, Aiden noted. He had suspected but wanted to be sure.

“It lives, seeking out life,” Chibor explained. “Although living is not the right word. Think of it as death throes even after death. However, once it comes in contact with a living being, it calms down.”

Aiden nodded absently.

[You have used skill Detect]

…

[Basilisk Thread]

A hybrid of a Basilisk’s blood, woven from its still beating heart, and the bark of a man-eating tree. This is a crafting material, created to craft greater masterpieces.

[Durability: 300/300]

Aiden would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. He’d seen better, though. But this was also impressive for his current levels. If a proper class turned this into a finished product, it could possess a durability that numbered in the five hundreds easily.

A [Tailor] was a proper class.

“You seem smitten by it, young lord,” Chibor pointed out.

“A material that breathes.” Aiden looked at him. “It would be odd if I wasn’t smitten. Would it not?”

Chibor nodded. “Most aptly put. An honest lord is a rare lord, Lord Lacheart.”

“And a [Tailor] with a manifesting skill is a rare [Tailor], Tailor Chibor.”

Chibor bowed low, bent at the waist. “You flatter me with a title, my lord. However, it is one too great for me.”

Aiden cocked his head to the side. “You are a tailor, are you not?”

“I am.”

“So shouldn’t it only be fitting that I call you a tailor?”

“A title of any kind,” Chibor said, “is a title too much for me, my lord.”

Aiden wasn’t sure how to navigate this. Actually, he knew how to navigate it, just not how to navigate it honestly and in good faith. It mattered very little.

“This.” He patted the material once more. “What will it take to have something made for me from this?”

Chibor looked surprised. “You want an attire made from this?”

“Will that be too much to ask?”

Chibor shook his head, expression growing confused. “No… but… Why? It is not an attire fitting for any social occasion. And attires fit for combat are better made by one with the [Artificer] class or the [Blacksmith] class or some other class designed for creating such things.”

Aiden understood. You did not craft battle outfits at the hands of a tailor. Even the combat attires he’d worn in his past life had been crafted by him and someone with the [Artificer] class.

Still, he looked at Chibor, hand still on the material. “Is it possible?”

“I will have to seek permission from Lord Naranoff,” the old tailor said hesitantly. “Then I will need a few days, if permission is given. Then there’s the question of pay.”

He looked visibly flustered.

Aiden almost smiled at that. A flustered old man was interesting to see, especially one that had just finished playing games with a ‘young man.’

“So, if all these are done,” he said to the tailor, “then I can have an attire crafted?”

Chibor involuntarily wringed his fingers together. The action was smooth, revealing a very high level of dexterity. Aiden wondered just how many points someone with the [Tailor] class at level 89 would have in his dexterity stats.

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In the end, the old man nodded. “If all the criteria are met, I can present you with a well-crafted attire from it.”

“One that I can wear into combat,” Aiden pointed out. “Something breathable. Comfortable. Simple.”

Chibor nodded to each.

“Would you require me to present more materials?” Aiden asked.

“Not at all, young Lord,” Chibor said, shaking his head. “I have everything I need in my little space here.”

There was nothing little about the tailor’s space. This room was only one section of his store. And it was on the large side.

“Perhaps…” the man rubbed his jaw. “You might need more materials if you choose to upgrade it after its creation.”

“Perhaps,” Aiden agreed. “And what benefits do you believe I will be able to get from the finished material?”

“A self-regenerating attire,” the man said easily. “Of that, I am certain. It is a positive of living materials.”

Living materials.

Aiden knew of them. They were materials taken from the sources—which were usually living beings—while they were alive. There were those who were against monster cruelty of such level on Nastild. They were personally against the existence of living materials because they involved putting the sources of said materials through excruciating pains as they were pulled from them.

Aiden was neither here nor there on the subject. Monsters were all that they were to him: monsters. How they died rarely bothered him, though he wasn’t one to show a monster cruelty if he didn’t feel that it was deserving of it.

Aiden paused, suddenly curious. He turned to the tailor. “Do you know how this was crafted?”

“I most certainly do.” Chibor placed his hand fondly on the material. “I harvested it myself.”

That was surprising. Aiden didn’t know that the [Tailor] class had harvesting skills that worked on living beings. It was practically unheard of.

“You did it yourself?” he asked, doing nothing to mask his surprise.

Chibor nodded. “My manifesting skill is called [Living Tailor].”

“You really don’t mind sharing,” Aiden pointed out. “That’s rare.”

“What can I say,” Chibor took his hand from the material. “When you’re old, a lot of things become very… unnecessary. I am also a tailor, my lord. My skills are quite literally my trade. I have to advertise them to make money.”

Aiden couldn’t argue with that. But the tailor wasn’t done advertising himself.

“My manifesting skill allows me a certain level of… abomination,” he went on. “With needle and thread, I can craft whatever I want out of anything that has life. The average person shirks away from it. Not that it is their fault.”

Aiden could understand that last part. You didn’t want to be with a tailor that could turn your skin into crafting materials. Tailoring materials to be more precise.

“And how did you come to be in the Lord’s employ?” Aiden asked, partly for the sake of conversation. The man was slowly beginning to look like he rarely had conversations even though he would prefer to have them.

“I’ve always been in his employ,” the old man said. “I’ve served him for over ten years.”

“And you gained your manifesting skill under his employ?”

Chibor chuckled. “He made sure of it. Inspired it, even. He has always been an interesting man. Kind and generous.”

“Did he know what you were going to—”

The sound of the door at the entrance outside their room opening interrupted Aiden’s next words. He and the old tailor turned in its direction.

“I was not expecting a customer,” Chibor mused. “That is odd.”

“Chi!” a voice called from outside the room and Chibor relaxed.

Aiden couldn’t say for certain that it relaxed him.

“Are you sure he’s around?” another voice asked.

Chibor bristled at it, stood straighter and at attention. Aiden only grew tired. His time in the cave and in the manor had shown him that he had a social battery that had since run out. Drama was not his forte in any way.

“In here, Lady Naranoff,” Chibor called back in his old voice.

“Oh! Great!” Nella called out.

Her voice was preceded by the increasing sound of footsteps. The knob of the door leading out of the room turned and opened outward. It revealed Nella standing next to Elaswit.

Aiden was running into both ladies quite often. It was beginning to worry him. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing he could simply blow through the days remaining and just return to the palace. At least there he could run into more people and build more shallow relationships.

Here, it was as if some great force was trying to compel him into building a deeper relationship with the princess and the daughter of the Naranoff household.

Thinking about it made him sound like a terrible person, but he was simply who he was. If that makes me a terrible person, then so be it.

“Ah!” Nella clapped her hands together in excitement when her eyes settled on Aiden. “Was today your appointment?”

Aiden fought back the urge to let out a sigh. What other day would be my appointment?

The ball was tonight and Elaswit had only just informed him of the tailor last night. It would be insane to assume he would be here at any other time. Then again, perhaps the princess was supposed to have informed him days earlier and Nella simply didn’t know.

Chibor bowed at the waist. “Lady Naranoff. Your highness.”

“Oh, stop it, Chi,” Nella chided. “Lady Naranoff was my mother. To you, I’m the superlicious beauty of house Naranoff.”

The old man raised his head with a funny look.

“If you can’t remember that,” Nella said without missing a beat. “Then you can just call me Nella.”

Chibor lowered his head. “Yes, my lady.”

Then he looked at Elaswit while Nella pretended to pout.

The princess shrugged. “Call me whatever. I really don’t mind.”

Nella sighed as if she was the eccentric friend and Elaswit was being a boring party-pooper. Aiden still wasn’t completely sure of what the dynamic of the both of them was or how it worked. He knew Nella did what she could to create some level of activity in her life, but did she do the same for the princess’ life.

“Oh, Lord Lacheart.” Nella turned to him. “Thank you for what you did for Vanisi. She had so much fun. For that, you have my gratitude.”

Elaswit looked between the both of them, confusion playing the trombone on her face.

“Vanisi?” she asked, voice a little too confused. “What happened between him and Vanisi?”

Nella did her poorest impression of hiding a feline smile. “They just went out two days ago. Did some necessary things.”

“Necessary?” Elaswit’s brows furrowed.

Aiden had no intentions of being a part of this. “She showed me to the adventurer society hall,” he explained. “That was all.”

“Don’t be modest.” Nella made a very lady-like gesture. It suited her in the gown she was currently wearing but not the adventurer image Aiden already had of her. “She told me that you also took her to have a meal. You were the perfect gentleman. Kind and nice. Loving even.”

Aiden turned to Chibor abruptly, unwilling to be a part of this any longer, and asked, “You are done with everything you need from me, correct?”

The man looked momentarily confused. “Uh… yes, my lord?”

“And how long do you think the other one will take if it is permitted?”

“A few days,” Chibor answered. “Less than seven but more than three.”

It was Nella’s turn to be confused. “What is this other one?”

Chibor turned, an answer obviously on his lips.

Aiden preempted him. “It is protected under tailor client confidentiality. He is not at liberty to tell you.”

Chibor paused, mouth suddenly clamping shut.

Nella looked from Aiden to Chibor. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“Because Tailor Chibor has never had a reason to bring it up.” Aiden shrugged, a little proud of himself for the confusion on her face.

“Tailor Chibor?” Nella asked, surprised. “When did that happen?”

“Today,” Aiden answered before the tailor could, then started walking towards them.

Elaswit looked very curious. She probably had a lot of questions. Questions that Aiden wasn’t going to answer.

He stopped before he got to the two ladies and looked back at the old man. “When should I come for tonight’s attire?”

“In an hour, Lord Lacheart,” Chibor said easily. “It would not take me long to craft something simple for you.” He paused, attention resettling on Elaswit and Nella. “Make it three hours, Lord Lacheart.”

Aiden nodded. “Three hours it is.”

Then he made his way in between both ladies. Nella hesitated to give him the space to leave but Elaswit complied easily. It brought a disappointed pout to Nella’s face.

“Don’t forget,” Elaswit said as Aiden opened the door. “You’re the one picking me up.”

Aiden paused, unsure of what that was about. They quite practically lived in the same building. The same building the ball was also being hosted in. What exactly did she mean by picking her up.

“I won’t forget,” he replied. “Will thirty minutes before the ball work or would you rather an hour after its official start.”

From what Aiden knew, there were three types of nobles when it came to parties. Those that came early, those that came on time, and those that liked to make an entrance.

“Your choice,” Elaswit said easily.

Aiden noticed there was no flirtation or expectation. Right now, he might as well be talking to a girl that was nothing but a friend making arrangements with him.

“Let’s do an hour late,” he said.

Elaswit nodded and gave him a smile. “We’ll make an entrance.”

A little belatedly, Aiden wasn’t sure how he felt about making an entrance with the princess.

Is this her or is she still holding on to whatever plans she had in the beginning?

Walking into a ball with her to the sight of everyone present would practically be an announcement of a status of importance. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

But you’ve already decided to be late, he thought, unwilling to take his words back. It would say less about him to be changing his mind so suddenly.

Still, he wanted to. It would be better for him in the long run. Especially with the plans he had for when he returned to the capital city. The last thing he wanted to do was cause public problems when he finally put his plans into motion.

Nodding to Nella in greeting, he made his way out, leaving Chibor to the mercy of both ladies. Before he was out of the store, though, he heard Elaswit ask a question.

“When did he go out with Vanisi? And why is he going out with Vanisi?”

Aiden shook his head. Nella, it seemed, had the princess right where she wanted her.

…

Level 48.

Even now, Valdan was having a very difficult time believing it. Lord Aiden Lacheart’s growth had moved from impossibly amazing to gravely terrifying.

The boy had gotten the [Spearmanship] skill in a single day, maybe two. That was unprecedented. It was as if the more he did and the more he experienced, the stronger he became. Forty eight levels in about a month or less was—in the shortest amount of words—terrifying.

Valdan scratched the back of his head in slight frustration, his fingers scattering his hair, not that it wasn’t already a mess.

Of all the things he would have to report to the king, this seemed like the one that would really prove an issue for Aiden. The death of the poachers was ignorable. It would speak much to Aiden’s character but, ultimately, it would matter very little.

Objectively, it would show that he was a boy willing and capable of doing whatever he had to do. A person capable of improvising and trusting his judgement in difficult scenarios. And anybody who would stand to say that he had a hand that was too heavy would only need to look to the boy, Fjord, to see the lightness of his hand as well.

Fjord was living proof that Aiden wasn’t some blood thirsty person looking for any excuse to shed blood. He still had a touch of mercy to him.

Still… Valdan moved to sit on a chair and stare at nothing. Level forty-eight.

The boy was arguably now his equal. All he now had on Aiden was experience. But did he really have that upper hand? Aiden had proven once upon a time that he could hold his own against opponents stronger than himself in his fight against the envoys of Nel Quan.

Then again by killing someone above level fifty.

The foolish leader of the poachers was merely a poacher, but he was still above level fifty. The level was powerful, and time and experience were what led to it, but it was still just power in the end. In the wrong hands, it was useless.

But the man had had his subordinates as part of that fight, though.

I guess I won’t be able to hold back in our training if I want to give the boy a useful session. Valdan remained unsure of how to feel about it, though.

Am I jealous? he asked himself. Bothered?

It took him only a moment to find the answer. He was not. Aiden’s growth did not terrify him because the boy was growing to match him. In fact, Valdan had a feeling he wouldn’t really be bothered if Aiden entered level fifty before him.

He would be disappointed in himself, but he didn’t think any of his feelings on the matter would be projected onto the boy.

What worried him about the speed of Aiden’s growth was the allure of power. The boy wouldn’t have the time to acquaint himself with it. A slow and steady growth allowed you get accustomed to yourself as well as your power as you grew. But Aiden was experiencing none of that. He was breezing through levels like a starving man who had arrived late to a feast.

The problem with this was that power corrupted. It affected all men in all ways. Allowing himself the taste of so much power so quickly would not only give Aiden a taste of power, but it would also give it to him in large doses. The boy could drown in it.

But more importantly, Valdan realized, was the fact that he was more worried about reporting Aiden’s new level to the king.

The reasonable thing to do would be to stunt his growth, force him to take some time off leveling, Valdan thought, frowning slightly. It would be the wise thing to do.

But there was also a chance that it would breed caution—have the king keep too close an eye on his growth. Brandis was a good king, but he was still a king. As a leader, you kept a cautious eye on powers that could be a threat or a boon to your kingdom.

And there lay the problem Valdan was faced with. Not the problem of what his king would do but the problem of why he was currently considering keeping Aiden’s growth from the king. Why he was considering lying for the boy.

He dropped his head in his hands in dismay. Where has my loyalty gone?

His worry continued to gnaw at him when a knock came from the door. His mouth opened to call the person in, but no words came out. It would be a futile action. Instead, he got up and made his way to the door.

Just below the knob, Aiden had engraved a locking enchantment for him. For a boy who claims to have come from a peaceful world, he is quite paranoid.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Your friendly neighborhood spiderman,” the voice on the other end answered with a touch of amusement.

Valdan sighed.

He had no idea what that meant, but he knew Aiden’s voice when he heard it.

Channeling a touch of mana into the enchantment, he released the lock, leaving only the physical lock in place. He undid that immediately after and opened the door.

Aiden stood in front of his door clad in a simple attire fit for a noble at a party if he wanted to keep a low profile. Black pants over brown boots and a black cotton shirt with silver buttons worn beneath a simple brown jacket adorned him.

“You look dashing enough,” Valdan said, giving a compliment to a person he just realized would care nothing for it.

Aiden looked him up then down, studied him. He frowned in the end. “And you are under-dressed.”

Valdan looked down at himself. He wore a simple loose white shirt and black pants that were looser than the shirt. “I believe I am dressed quite properly for bed.”

Aiden gave him a look he couldn’t quite place. “You should sleep naked; I hear its good for physical growth.”

This time Valdan gave him a skeptical look. “Do you sleep naked?”

“Gods no. I sleep with my sword under my bed and properly prepared for sudden combat.”

“That is worrying… but understandable.” Valdan folded his arms over his chest. “That said, I would be happy to ignore your advice… wait, you said under-dressed not over-dressed.”

“I did.”

“Then you advised me to sleep naked.” Valdan’s brows furrowed. “I’m confused.”

“That’s because you think both statements correlate.” Aiden pushed his way into the room and made a straight line for the wardrobe. “They do not.”

Valdan allowed him then closed the door. He turned the lock but didn’t activate the enchantment.

“What are you doing?” he asked, arms folded over his chest and back rested against the door.

Aiden paused in his act of going through Valdan’s wardrobe. He pulled out an attire and held it up by its hanger. It was the attire Valdan had worn to the ball for the envoys of Nel Quan.

“You brought this with you?” he asked, surprised.

“I did,” Valdan answered, unbothered. “It’s a very nice attire.”

Aiden gave it a skeptical look before nodding in acceptance. He went back into the wardrobe almost immediately, returning the attire and perusing once more. Valdan held back a sigh, knowing exactly what the young lord would find.

Aiden turned back to him with a slight frown a moment after. “You’re kidding.”

Valdan shook his head slowly.

Aiden’s jaw dropped. “You have definitely got to be kidding. You have only the one.”

“It’s a nice attire,” Valdan repeated.

“Sir Valdan Dirtwater,” Aiden began in a faux haughty tone. “You do not carry only one attire fit for outing when visiting a noble house. And seeing as it is the one you wore for the only other ball I’ve attended with you—the last ball you attended, might I add—this will lead anyone to believe that it is the only pair you have.”

It wasn’t the only one he had. In fact, Valdan had three dashing attires for party occasions. Melvet had made sure of it.

Aiden pulled the attire out again but wore a thoughtful expression.

“Maybe I should’ve dragged him along with me,” he muttered to himself. It was low enough that Valdan barely heard it. Then he shook his head. “No, he’s a tailor not a miracle worker. And I don’t have time.”

With a sigh, Valdan pushed off the door. “What exactly is going on right now, Lord Lacheart?”

“What do you think?” Aiden closed the wardrobe and walked over to the bed. He dropped the attire on the bed unceremoniously. “We have a ball to attend.”

Valdan chuckled. “These things give me a headache. I would rather not attend this one.”

“Oh, Valdan,” Aiden grinned. “But you must.”

“Why?”

“Because the ball has already started, and we’re supposed to pick the princess up in half an hour from her wing. We wouldn’t want to give her anything less than the grandest.”

Valdan’s lips pressed into a thin line. He should’ve known nothing good was about to happen when Aiden came looking for him by himself.

Unable to say no, he walked over and picked the attire up.

Keeping an eye on Aiden was beginning to feel like having a very troublesome younger brother.

A very young and troublesome younger brother.