"Good day to you too, Master Romeon Duvel."
The way he said his full name hinted at something Romeon couldn't quite place. It lingered there—silent, elusive. His name wasn't a mystery to most, but it was rare for anyone to use it fully. Romeon mused, as he fully ignored the jab at the greeting entirely.
"My name is Alfonso. No last name—for I have long forsaken it, and I no longer remember what it might have been. I am the Lady's butler."
His tone was measured. To others, it might have sounded neutral. But Romeon, with his honed senses, could detect a thin veil of condescension laced between the syllables. It was flat, absent of respect—spoken as though he addressed the air, not the husband of his mistress. Romeon bit the inside of his cheek.
