The Oxbloods

George stood transfixed before the portrait on the wall, his eyes tracing the familiar features of the lady in the painting. Despite their few encounters, her face was unmistakable.

"Ah, the Oxblood Family," a voice from behind remarked, causing George to startle. He spun around, his heart racing, to find Reginald standing there. The butler's face was as impassive as ever, his gaze fixed intently on the portrait.

'When the hell did he get here?' George thought, taking an instinctive step back. His muscles tensed, ready for a confrontation that didn't come. Reginald remained motionless, showing no sign of surprise or anger at finding George out of his room.

Wary but curious, George relaxed slightly, his eyes darting between Reginald and the portrait. The butler's calm demeanor was unsettling, adding to the surreal nature of the entire situation.

Unperturbed by George's unease, Reginald continued, his voice steady and factual. "That's my mistress right there, her father, and her brothers. She is the youngest, followed by her eldest, second, and youngest brothers..."

George's attention wavered as he processed this information. His brow furrowed, a mixture of confusion and frustration playing across his features. 'What's the point of knowing all this,' he wondered silently, 'when I'm plotting my way out of here soon?'

Yet, he forced himself to nod along, feigning interest. A suspicion began to form in his mind, causing his eyes to narrow slightly. 'This sneaky bastard left the door open on purpose, didn't he?'

Reginald continued to speak about the portrait, his tone almost reverent as he described when it was taken and how his mistress cherished it. George maintained his facade of interest, all the while his mind racing, calculating his next moves.

Without warning, Reginald turned away and began walking. George hesitated for a moment, then fell into step behind him, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet.

As they moved through the mansion, George's eyes darted from side to side, taking in every detail. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching to test doorknobs or window latches. But Reginald's presence held him back.

"You see," Reginald began earnestly, his voice echoing slightly in the grand hallway, "My mistress is not just beautiful, but incredibly smart and intelligent. She has a mind that could rival any scholar's. One day, mark my words, the world will recognize her greatness."

George nodded politely, a tight smile on his face. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, searching for a response that wouldn't betray his growing skepticism. "That's... impressive," he finally managed, his tone carefully neutral.

As they continued their tour, George's facade began to crack. His shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his situation bearing down on him. With each passing moment, the realization that escape might be futile sank in deeper.

Suddenly, Reginald excused himself and disappeared into the kitchen. George stood alone in the hallway, his fingers drumming nervously against his thigh as he waited.

Minutes later, Reginald emerged holding a steaming mug of tea. "I noticed your unease," he said softly, his eyes kind. "Sometimes, a bit of warmth can make a world of difference, don't you think?"

George hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly over the offered mug. The aroma of the tea wafted towards him, warm and inviting. His eyes met Reginald's, searching for any hint of malice. Instead, he found only patience and understanding.

Why in the world were his captors treating him ...nice? As hard as it was to assume, other than the main capturing and the spatula incidence, everything so far seemed far off from the dangerous situation he would imagine a kidnap to be.

Or was there some evil plan underlying their kindness? It could be that they were fattening him up to feed, right?

'Silly, that doesn't make any sense,' he thought.

With a small nod, George accepted the tea. As he took a sip, he felt its soothing warmth spread through him. For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased, and a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

"So, what do you think of her?" Reginald's question broke the peaceful moment.

George's eyebrows rose slightly. "Who? Your mistress?" he asked, lowering the mug.

Reginald nodded eagerly, a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes. "Yes, isn't she wonderful?"

George paused, choosing his words carefully. "Yes," he began slowly, "she is wonderful. Beautiful, kind to some extent, and surprisingly powerful... from what I've gathered." He added the last part with a hint of caution in his voice.

Reginald's face lit up at George's words. "Indeed," he replied, his tone warm with admiration.

Curiosity getting the better of him, George leaned in slightly. "You're a wizard too, aren't you?" he asked, studying Reginald's face intently.

Reginald's expression became guarded, his posture stiffening almost imperceptibly. "Why do you ask?" he countered, his voice carefully neutral.

George shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Well, you seem quite strong for your age," he observed, recalling their earlier encounter. "You didn't even flinch when I bumped into you earlier, not to mention... the spatula incident."

A soft chuckle escaped Reginald's lips, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I apologize again for that. Although, it was necessary," he admitted, his tone genuinely contrite.

"It's alright," George assured him, waving off the sorry not so sorry he received.His curiosity, however, remained unsatisfied. "So... are you?"

Reginald's smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. "I'm not as formidable as you might believe," he said quietly. "You don't think powerful wizards dream to become butlers, do you?"

George's eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly as the implications of Reginald's words sank in. He felt a chill run down his spine, and his grip on the teacup tightened involuntarily.

"Wait, what?" he sputtered, setting the cup down with a clatter. "If you don't consider yourself powerful, then... what exactly is considered powerful?"