The outside was nearly completely empty. All the students had long since made it to the central hall, meaning the only ones around were one or two keepers of the wall. They glanced over at him, then quickly dismissed him when they realized it was just a student.

  Mal continued walking until he came to the servants’ hall. He’d never been here before, so this was going to be a first for him.

  He peeked in through an open window and saw about two dozen or so individuals in maid outfits and suits. The tables and the chairs, and the overall construction, weren't as complex or sophisticated as the central hall. The chairs looked well-worn, and there were small scrapes on the floor that had yet to be fixed. Despite that, it was still perfectly functional and it didn’t look at all dirty—the building was well-maintained.

  What caught his attention was Lusia. She was sitting in the corner, completely alone. There was a noticeable gap between her and the rest of the servants. A few of the maids were looking at her, then at each other, then whispering about something or other that Mal couldn’t pick up.

  Mal circled around to the side of the building where the maids were talking. As he approached, their voices became more and more audible.

  "—you know she has a hollow core, right?" someone said.

  Mal stiffened. He remembered the insult that Hypode had used. Initially, he hadn’t taken it seriously. But it seemed that the rumors had spread this far?

  One of the girls scoffed and Mal focused on what she was saying.

  "She thinks she's so much better than everybody else, doesn't she?" the girl said. "I tried to invite her over to our table when she first got here, but she absolutely refused."

  "You're too nice, Dahlia."

  The tone of their voices and the way they were speaking reminded Mal of some of the schoolgirls at the central hall. He poked his head up at the window and then quickly drew back down. Based off their faces, there were probably one or two who weren’t even adults yet. Sixteen, seventeen, maybe? No wonder they were acting the way they were.

  "I wonder what she does in her off-time," one of the other girls asked idly.

  "You mean who she does," Dahlia scoffed. "She's not here to watch over her lady. We both know why she's actually here."

  One of the girls giggled. "Dahlia, you can't say that!"

  "We both know it's true," Dahlia’s voice came out in a giggle. "Really, she should’ve known this is what would happen—accompanying a man."

  Mal's thoughts went blank.

  They thought…

  They thought that him and Lusia were…?

  His nose twitched like he’d smelled something nasty.

  Initially, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do based on the start of the conversation. Did he want to guard Lusia? Yes. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was going to be her personal knight in shining armor. But the sheer audacity of this particular rumor, and the fact that they had the gall to include him in it, boiled his blood.

  He continued listening for the next thirty minutes. It became abundantly clear who was the ringleader of their little posse. Dahlia. She was relentless. She took every opportunity to tear down Lusia. She seemed to relish it. The fact that she’d apparently been assigned alongside Lusia to help clean some of the graduating students' dormitories gave her a great deal of fodder to attack Lusia with. She spent a great deal of time discussing how Lusia had spilled a bucket of cleaning supplies and Dahlia had been forced to clean up after her.

  Honestly, Mal could very much believe that Lusia had done something to that effect. He wondered why it was that Lusia was cleaning up these dormitories. Perhaps it was part of her own classes, since she was studying to be his head maid?

  He listened for longer and learned about the fact that everyone was supervised by the woman known as the matron. She had been in the school for the past twenty years, teaching servants how to best assist their wizardly employers.

  Mal, for a brief few moments, genuinely considered killing an eighteen-year-old maid.

  It would be incredibly easy to do. Lure her out of the campus, into a dark back alley where nobody would find her body for weeks. For bonus points, he could toss her into the ocean, and it would become a disappearance instead of a murder. He wouldn’t use dark magic—so there would be no traces to follow back to him. He wouldn’t make any dumb mistakes due to corruption of his mind. No, it would be clean, efficient.

  There was only one problem with this.

  Mal did not have the privilege of anonymity anymore. Puck was watching, and he certainly wouldn’t let Mal get away with killing—or even scaring—a member of the school.

  If only he hadn’t been noticed. After the conversation with Puck, he’d known it would be bad—but to think he would be unable to do something as simple as taking care of an annoying pest...

  No, Mal needed a different approach. Something forceful to get his point across, but in a way that wouldn't get him in trouble.

  His focus wandered back to the conversation. Apparently, Dahlia and a few of the other servants would be helping the matron with the dishes in thirty minutes.

  That was an opportunity.

  Mal waited at the back entrance until it seemed as if everybody was inside. He took a deep breath, then opened the door and stepped inside.

  The kitchen was spotless, all marble tiles and dustless shelves. When he entered, a few heads turned over to look at him, then froze.

  The matron—a bulky woman with graying hair and saggy eyelids—was motioning at the pile of dishes on the counter.

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  "—Remember, when a nobleman has a guest over, this entire mass has to be gone in minutes. You cannot be the cause of humiliation for your employer." She frowned. "What are you looking at—?"

  She turned toward Mal. A flicker of surprise passed over her face before it was smoothed over deeply.

  "Young master," she said. "I believe you’ve gotten turned around. This is the kitchen for the servants' hall."

  Mal noted that Dahlia had paled. It seemed she'd recognized him and put the pieces together. Good. That would make this easier.

  "No, I'm here on purpose." Mal stepped over to the kitchen sink and rolled up his sleeves. "I was wondering if I could help you?"

  The matron was still for a few moments. Based on the looks of disquiet passing between the rest of the servants, nobody really wanted him there. But they couldn't say anything due to Mal's place on the social status ladder. The only one who would be able to say anything and get away with it was the matron.

  The matron gave him a cool look. "Do you even know how to wash dishes, young master?"

  "I do."

  In the early days of his war band, back when his army had been a mere handful, everybody had to share the load. Including him. A young orphan girl—someone who would later become one of his chief generals and spymaster—had taught him how to do the basic domestic tasks. Mending clothes, cooking basic meals, things to that effect. A brief memory flashed through his mind—the two of them around the fire, her mischievous smile playing across her lips as she lectured him on the art of making stew.

  He gently pushed away the memory. There was a time and place for those sorts of thoughts, and it wasn't now. Besides, that girl was... irrelevant, now. If she still existed, she wouldn't recognize him. Whatever memories he had might as well have been dreams.

  The matron, luckily, hadn't commented or said anything. She'd simply been weighing what he'd said. Finally, she nodded.

  "You know what, I'm curious enough to see what will happen. Get to work, young master."

  Mal, along with none other than Dahlia, was put together on the same waterspout. There were two basins, and they would have to take turns using the waterspout.

  Dahlia's eyes flickered toward him, a distinct look of unease on her face. She probably thought that he was going to embarrass both of them. Mal found his lip curling up.

  "Y—young master," Dahlia whispered. "Perhaps you can change your mind?"

  "No, it'll be fine."

  Dahlia bit her bottom lip, then returned her attention to the sink basin.

  Mal was passed a dirty plate by another servant and ran the water onto it. A sponge almost seemed to materialize into his hand from how easily he identified and grabbed it. His arms spun in smooth, familiar motions, and within a few seconds, the plate was sparkling clean.

  Dahlia blinked.

  "Next plate," Mal said.

  Things continued in this fashion for the next thirty minutes, Mal's body working like a machine as he got rid of plate after plate after plate. He and Dahlia fell into a surprisingly steady rhythm as they took turns with the waterspout. The other servants were having to rush back and forth to keep up with the amount of plates Mal was washing. The whole time, the matron watched him like a hawk, her old eyes unreadable.

  Soon enough, the entire stack was completely eliminated. There was a chime from the bell tower off in the distance. The matron looked off in the direction of the sound and her eyebrows turned up.

  "Done in record time." She looked over at Mal. "You're not bad at this. Are you actually a peasant?"

  "No, I'm a nobleman. From the Patoal family."

  The matron's eyebrows turned up even further. "I've heard of them. That makes you the son of a duke. Where on earth did you learn to wash dishes like that?"

  Mal shrugged. "You pick up a few things."

  The matron paused.

  "Fine," she said. "I'll bite. What is this actually about?"

  Mal's gaze flickered over toward the many other servants who were clearly and obviously listening in.

  "Can everybody but you and Dahlia please leave?"

  The matron pursed her lips, then nodded.

  "You heard the man," her voice boomed. "Everybody out."

  The servants shuffled off toward the door, casting quick glances at Mal. They shut the door behind them, leaving Mal, the matron, and Dahlia alone. Dahlia at this point was quivering like a leaf in the wind. She reminded Mal of a trapped bunny in a cage.

  The matron sighed. "I see what's happening here."

  "Wait, you do?"

  "There's only one answer as to why a nobleman would ask to be alone with the person in charge of the servants and a single female servant." She let out a dramatic sigh. "You went and got one of my girls pregnant, didn't you?"

  Dahlia squeaked, her face flushing red in an instant. "Matron, no! How irresponsible do you think I am?!"

  The wry grin playing across the matron's face signaled that she was messing with the poor girl. Mal rolled his eyes. For an old woman, she had a rather juvenile sense of humor.

  "I wanted you to get a good impression of me," Mal said.

  "Yes, yes." The matron waved him off. "I'm not blind, despite these worn-out eyes. I could tell that you were up to something. But why?"

  "My personal maid has been dealing with something rather untoward," Mal said. "And I wanted to enlist your help."

  The matron's eyes darkened. Dahlia's flush disappeared and was replaced with a slowly paling white.

  "What do you mean? Explain yourself."

  Mal explained everything that he heard to the matron, mentioning Dahlia as the ringleader. He explained the accusations that Dahlia had been making, the rumors that she'd been spreading. With each word, the matron's face darkened more and more.

  She looked over at Dahlia, who backed up several steps during the conversation.

  "What in the name of Eternus were you thinking?"

  Dahlia's jaw flapped up and down. "I… I—"

  "Every single one of these servants was handpicked by a powerful noble family. You cannot get away with saying those sorts of things!" The matron's voice rose in volume and tone. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you could've gotten in?"

  "And—no? They were just some silly rumors—"

  "Well, those silly rumors apparently angered the son of a duke."

  Dahlia's breath came in short gasps. "I… I wasn't thinking, I didn't realize!"

  "Of course you didn't. Idiot girl." The matron let out a sigh and looked over at Mal. "Luckily, if he was interested in destroying you, he would've done so already. The fact that he's here means that you might just have a chance."

  It seemed that the matron had no idea that the Patoal family was incredibly weak. That was just perfect for Mal.

  "I would prefer that she stops," Mal said. This was, of course, a total lie. What he really wanted was for her to be taken out back and executed, but he knew that such an action would draw the ire of the headmaster.

  The matron blinked. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  She stared at him before she nodded her head down.

  "If that's what you wish." Her expression turned dark and she looked over at Dahlia. "I hope it's obvious that you’re incredibly lucky. What's more, you're not getting off scot-free."

  Dahlia gulped. "Yes, matron."

  The matron's dark expression disappeared and she turned back to Mal.

  "I suppose I owe you a favor."

  Mal did his best not to let his expression change. He didn't think that he would be getting any kind of reward. However, it would obviously not be the best idea to imply that.

  "I suppose so," Mal said.

  "I may be an old woman, but I still have some pull with a few nobles. If you need a little bit of help, speak to me."

  Mal nodded and took a step toward the door. The shifting of clothes echoed through the room. Dahlia bowed down as low as her head could go.

  "Thank you for sparing my life, sir.”

  At the angle Mal was facing, she would be unable to see the small smirk that appeared on his face.

  If only you knew, he thought.

  He let the smirk disappear off of his face and didn't respond.

  "Hey, kid," the matron said. "Your maid is lucky to have you. Not a lot of people would go to the lengths you just did."

  "No, if anything, I'm lucky to have her."

  Mal didn't bother to turn around and look at her reaction. Instead, his feet moved forward and he exited out the backside of the door.

  The sun greeted him and he instantly felt the skin underneath his robe start to heat up.

  This was the first of many small things he would do for Lusia. At least, until his debt was finally paid off. He owed it to her, after all.

  It was his duty, a job. Nothing.

  He made his way back to the central hall.