Chapter 7 - Reconnecting with Household Members

Ravensbourne Estate – Main Hall

The training match had left an undeniable impact. Whispers spread among the household staff, guards, and even the knights. The young lord, once dismissed as weak and scholarly, had defeated a trained soldier with ease.

But Aldric paid little mind to the murmurs. There was still much to do, and his next priority was something just as important as physical recovery—rebuilding relationships.

For years, he had been seen as a quiet, unremarkable noble. His father barely acknowledged him, his stepbrother regarded him with a mix of indifference and distant protectiveness, and the household staff simply followed orders.

That needed to change.

As he made his way through the estate, Lucien walked beside him, arms crossed, still watching him like an unsolved puzzle.

"You surprised them today," Lucien said.

Aldric smirked. "That was the point."

Lucien glanced at him. "You've changed."

Aldric met his gaze, his expression unreadable. "Is that a bad thing?"

Lucien exhaled through his nose. "No… just unexpected."

Aldric knew Lucien wasn't the type to speak his thoughts easily. His stepbrother was calculating, sharp, and guarded, raised to be a proper noble and potential heir. If he was openly admitting curiosity, then he was truly intrigued.

Aldric decided to push things further.

"Tell me, Lucien," he said, "if a noble wants to rule wisely, what's the first thing he must understand?"

Lucien frowned slightly. "Politics."

Aldric shook his head. "That's secondary."

Lucien raised a brow. "Then what?"

Aldric stopped walking and gestured toward the bustling household staff. Servants carried trays, scribes handled paperwork, and knights stood at their posts.

"The people."

Lucien looked at him for a long moment, studying his expression.

Aldric continued, "A lord without his people is nothing. If they resent him, he falls. If they fear him, they obey, but only for a time. If they respect him, though…" He let the words linger. "That's how a ruler builds something lasting."

Lucien's expression shifted—just slightly.

Aldric could see it now. His stepbrother was not just testing him, but perhaps… starting to believe in him.

But there was still much to prove.

He made his way back inside the manor, his body covered in sweat but his mind sharper than ever. The cool stone halls provided a welcome contrast to the heat of exertion, but before he could make it far, a familiar presence blocked his path.

Matilda, the Ravensbourne estate's long-serving head maid, stood waiting near the main entrance, her arms crossed over her chest. She was a woman in her late forties, carrying herself with the strict authority of someone who had managed the household for decades.

"Young Master Aldric," she said, her keen eyes sweeping over him, taking in his disheveled training clothes and sweat-drenched hair. "It is good to see you on your feet again, but you're hardly presenting yourself as the heir of House Ravensbourne."

Aldric exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "It's just sweat, Matilda. I needed to test my body's limits after being bedridden for two weeks."

The maid raised an eyebrow. "Limits are one thing. Overexertion is another."

She gestured to one of the nearby attendants, who hurried off, likely to prepare a bath. Aldric couldn't help but smile faintly—Matilda had always been strict, but her concern was genuine.

"I appreciate the worry, Matilda," Aldric said, straightening. "But I feel stronger than ever. Besides, I have too much to do to waste time lying around."

Matilda studied him for a long moment. "I don't doubt your determination, Young Master. But I wonder… is this truly you?"

Aldric stiffened slightly.

It wasn't the first time someone had hinted at the drastic shift in his personality. Matilda had been around since he was a child, and she had likely noticed the differences in his demeanor, his speech, and now, even his training methods.

"Two weeks in a coma changes a man," Aldric answered, carefully choosing his words. "Near-death makes you reflect on what's important. I've come to realize that I have much to learn if I want to be worthy of House Ravensbourne's name."

Matilda's sharp gaze softened, if only slightly. "Then I shall hold you to that, Young Master. Your father expects much from you… and so does this household."

She turned and gestured for one of the younger maids to approach. "Take Master Aldric to the bathhouse. Make sure he is properly groomed before his meeting with Lord Lucien and Marquise Gustov."

Aldric nodded, understanding the message behind her words. While he had gained new strength, respect had to be earned through more than just physical prowess.

As he followed the maid toward the bathhouse, he glanced back at Matilda. The woman might not say it outright, but her approval—or disapproval—could shape the attitudes of the entire household.

Earning her trust would be just as important as proving himself on the battlefield.

Aldric followed the young maid toward the bathhouse, but his mind lingered on Matilda's words. The way she had scrutinized him… it was clear she wasn't entirely convinced by his explanation.

Her doubt was reasonable. Before his coma, Aldric Ravensbourne had been nothing but a shadow—a sickly, withdrawn noble unfit to inherit anything. His sudden transformation into someone driven, disciplined, and commanding was bound to raise suspicion.

'She's been running this estate longer than I've been alive,' Aldric thought. 'If anyone can sense when something's off, it's her.'

His lips curled into a wry smile. It was both a blessing and a curse that Matilda was so observant.

As they reached the manor's private bathhouse, the scent of herbal oils filled the air. A handful of maids had already prepared a hot soak infused with medicinal herbs, likely to aid his recovery.

"Master Aldric, the bath is ready," the attending maid said, bowing. "Shall we assist you?"

He shook his head. "No need. Just bring me a fresh set of clothes when I'm done."

The maid hesitated but nodded, stepping back as he entered the lavish bathing chamber. Unlike the simple washrooms used by commoners, noble bathhouses were stone-built sanctuaries with steaming pools, marble flooring, and enchanted braziers that kept the water warm.

Aldric stripped off his sweat-soaked tunic and stepped into the steaming water, sighing as the heat seeped into his muscles.

His body was still adjusting. The former Aldric's weak frame had been an inconvenience, but his past life's military training gave him the knowledge to rebuild it properly.

'If I want to execute my plans, I need a strong body to match my mind.'

As he soaked, he reflected on Matilda's words and the household's expectations. He had to tread carefully—earning respect wasn't just about strength or intelligence. He needed to win over the people in his immediate circle before making any larger moves.

Starting with Matilda.

She was the gatekeeper of the household—her influence extended beyond the servants and into the noble court. If she publicly backed him, others would follow.

'She values discipline and responsibility,' he mused. 'I need to show her I'm not just playing pretend. That I understand what it means to lead.'

He dunked his head underwater, letting the thoughts settle.

'One step at a time. Win over Matilda. Win over Lucien. Then… Father.'

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Master Aldric, your clothes are ready."

He stood, water cascading off his frame as he reached for a towel.

The Summons from Lucien & Marquise Gustov

As Aldric dressed, a realization struck him—Lucien had sent for him earlier that morning. Matilda had mentioned it in passing, but the details had been vague.

'It's unusual for Lucien to summon me formally. He usually just gives orders.'

That alone was suspicious. But what was even more curious was the presence of Marquise Gustov.

Gustov was one of the most powerful noble lords under his father's command—a seasoned warrior and governor overseeing the eastern border territories. Unlike the self-indulgent aristocrats of the capital, he had built his wealth and influence through military strength.

'Why would a Marquise of his standing come all the way here… and why does he want to speak with me?'

Aldric fastened the cuffs of his tunic, deep in thought.

One possibility stood out—war.

The eastern borders had always been a hotbed of conflict, especially with the Nomadic Clans of the Grey Steppes raiding villages and disrupting trade routes. If Marquise Gustov was here, it likely meant the situation had escalated beyond mere skirmishes.

'Does this have something to do with the kingdom's stability?'

Or worse—was his father planning to send him away to the frontlines?

He took a slow breath, calming his thoughts. It was too soon to make assumptions.

For now, he would go into this meeting prepared, observant, and careful.