The Butler of Suncrest

A voice echoed across the courtyard—rich, deep, and authoritative, but tempered by a hint of warmth.

"My prince and princess… welcome to the Suncrest estate."

Victor raised his head, attracted to the owner of that voice. At the head of the white marble steps was a man descending with slow elegance. Every step measured out talked of long years of noble service—of a man who'd learned the beat of duty till it was ingrained in his nature. His hair, silvered streaks among it, caught the light of the lantern as if kissed by the moon itself. His face was calm, his features creased not with age but with quiet assurance, born of loyalty and not pride. Underneath the stiffness of his demeanor was a quiet warmth, the kind that existed when one worked not because one had to, but because one believed.

He was dressed in a black suit so sharp and elegant it looked untouched by the night breeze. The soft torchlight danced over the smooth surface of the material, following the clean lines of his collar and cuffs. Across his chest shone the Suncrest family crest—a pair of twin wings embracing a rising sun, polished so immaculately that it reflected the light like molten gold.

When he came to the final step, the man came to a halt and bowed. The movement was classy, deliberate—executed with the deference of a man who had done it a thousand times, and still meant every inch of it.

"Prince Victor. Princess Ania," he intoned, his voice dropping with dignified respect. "I am Ravor, master butler of the Suncrest estate. It is my privilege to welcome you both and escort you personally to this evening's banquet."

Victor's eyebrow arched slightly as he regarded the man before him. Something at the bottom of his memory moved—an echo that would not lie down, weak but persistent, like a breath from another existence or perhaps something much more ancient. The attitude, the stillness in his position, the gentle, half-ritualistic bow… all came flooding back. Yes. He recalled now. This was the man who had given his allegiance to the Suncrest family unstintingly, serving both the head and her daughter with a constancy few could equal.

"Of course, Mr. Ravor," Victor said, his voice quiet and even, but with a hint of recognition that softened the edges. "Please, show the way."

Ravor's lips drew up into a soft, deferential smile, his eyes dropping briefly. "As you desire, my prince. This way, if you please."

He walked with the practiced ease of years of service, beckoning toward the blue-tiled way that lay before them. Blue lanterns along its edges cast a soft light, as if pieces of moonlight trapped in glass. Victor nodded slightly and looked at Ania. Her eyes met his, large and question-marked, but shining also with subdued excitement, as with a candle candle trembling in the wind night.

He extended his hand, touching his fingers to hers, allowing their hands to entwine. It was a light touch, as if unnoticeable, yet it grounded her shaking heart. The world stopped for one moment—the gentle heat of her skin against his, the quiet steadiness emanating from him, the soft buzzing of the lanterns humming in sync with the night. Then, side by side, they walked after Ravor, each step sinking ever deeper into the peaceful arms of the estate.

Behind them, Victor's bodyguards stood firm, a stoic wall of obedience. They never lost their formation, each step purposeful and calculated. Some exchanged hasty, wordless nods, recognizing their commander before resuming their attention on the carriage. Their eyes followed Victor and Ania as the couple moved through the grand gates, being slowly enveloped in the interior world of the estate.

As they walked into the center of the grounds, the house unfolded like a dream-imagined vision. Marble walkways twisted elegantly through moonlit gardens, each bend unveiling new waves of color—lavender, moon lilies, blue roses, and twilight orchids dancing softly as if to a hidden melody. The night air was full of their intermingling aromas, intoxicating and soothing, as if the very air contained a silent magic. Fireflies drifted gently over motionless ponds, like freed stars from heaven, and where the stones lay, a soft enchantment vibrated—a soft, long-lasting charm that had the land held in perpetual springtime.

Ania paced more slowly, her chest heaving, falling unevenly as if with each breath she savored the night itself. Her eyes opened wide, attracted to the wonder before them, and for an instant, she stood frozen, her heart so set on witnessing this untouched beauty that she was terrified to move lest movement shatter the spell of it. "It's. lovely," she breathed, her voice little more than a shiver, trembling with awe and deference. The awe she carried was unguarded, raw, the kind that wrapped the world in a sacred hush for a heartbeat, leaving it suspended between reality and a dream.

Victor's eyes darted to her, catching the gentle light of her face in the moon. Somewhere behind his normal stern facade was a softness that bloomed, a warmth he immediately banked as his eyes moved back to the road. The way the night closed in around them seemed to respect that silence, as though even the wind and water felt like intruding on something delicate.

He nodded his head, lips tilting into a small, near-private smile. "It is," he whispered, voice low, with that infrequent gentleness that said more than words ever could. "Still. my own gardens may be jealous of this one. But this—" His gaze rested on the pond ahead, where water rippled with a life of its own, glowing in soft waves that mirrored the lanterns above, "—this has a soul.

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