Chapter 287: v3 - 48: count carlo of almery III

Chapter 287: v3 Chapter 48: count carlo of almery III

Cassian was alone in his new room when he heard the faint sounds of activity beyond the door.

The house was busy.

Servants moved through the corridors.

Doors opened and closed.

Voices occasionally drifted from somewhere below.

It was strange.

Only yesterday, he had been sleeping in a room he shared with Robert.

Now he had been given his own chamber.

People addressed him as my lord.

And everyone in this household believed that he was Count Carlo of Almery.

The thought still felt strange.

Cassian looked toward the window.

Beyond it, the gardens stretched beneath the morning sun.

For a moment, his thoughts wandered.

Marian.

What was she doing now?

Was she still waiting for him?

Or had Adrian succeeded?

Were they married now?

Cassian pushed the thoughts away.

He had no way of knowing.

And no means of reaching her.

Even if he could somehow send word across the border, there was nothing he could do about whatever awaited him there.

For now, he had to look forward.

A knock sounded at the door.

Cassian turned.

"My lord?"

"Enter."

The door opened.

A man carrying several lengths of fabric stepped inside, followed by two assistants carrying boxes.

The tailor bowed.

"Count Carlo."

Cassian inclined his head.

"I was told you would be coming."

"Yes, my lord."

"His Grace has instructed me to take your measurements and prepare your wardrobe."

The tailor set the fabrics down and began arranging them.

"His Lordship has informed us that you will be attending the Valmieri reception."

"Yes."

"We shall make certain that you are properly dressed for it."

The tailor approached with his measuring tape.

Cassian stood still as the man measured his shoulders, chest, arms, waist, and legs.

There was nothing unusual in the tailor’s manner.

To him, Cassian was precisely what Marcus had said he was.

A count.

A distant relative of the Kensington family.

A gentleman who required a wardrobe suitable to his station.

The tailor examined his measurements carefully.

"We shall prepare several formal coats, evening attire, daywear, and riding clothes."

He considered Cassian’s proportions.

"You have a good figure for formal tailoring, my lord."

Cassian said nothing.

"The principal pieces will be prioritized for the Valmieri reception."

"How soon?"

"By tomorrow evening, we shall have enough for you to attend."

Cassian nodded.

"That will suffice."

The tailor bowed.

"We shall see to it."

After the measurements were completed, the tailor gathered his things.

"I shall return with the first fittings."

"Very well."

The tailor bowed again before leaving with his assistants.

Cassian returned to his room.

He had barely settled when there was another knock.

A servant entered carrying his lunch.

"My lord."

He placed the tray on the table.

"Your meal."

"Thank you."

The servant hesitated for a moment.

His eyes moved briefly over Cassian before he seemed to realize he was staring.

Cassian noticed.

"You may leave."

The servant immediately bowed.

"Of course, my lord."

The door closed behind him.

Cassian looked at the meal.

It was considerably better than anything he had been accustomed to in the Arena.

He ate quietly.

There was no need to rush.

No one was waiting for him to finish.

No one was going to take the food away because another fighter needed the table.

It was a small thing.

Yet after twenty-one months of living according to the rules of the Arena, even small things felt different.

After lunch, his tutor arrived.

The man introduced himself formally before taking a seat.

"I understand you have already been informed of what is expected of you."

Cassian nodded.

"Then we shall begin."

The first lesson concerned language.

Not simply vocabulary.

Formal speech.

Titles.

Forms of address.

The distinctions between speaking to a duke, a marquess, a count, or a member of the royal family.

How one addressed an unmarried daughter of a great house.

How one addressed a married woman.

Which expressions were considered respectful.

Which were merely formal.

And which, despite sounding perfectly polite, carried an implication that could offend someone who understood the language properly.

Cassian listened.

Then repeated each phrase.

His tutor corrected him.

Cassian repeated it again.

The corrections quickly became fewer.

The tutor studied him briefly.

"You learn quickly."

Cassian inclined his head.

"I have had some experience with languages."

The tutor nodded.

The lesson continued.

History followed.

The great houses of Milicia.

Their territories.

Their alliances.

Their rivalries.

The families that had supported Lawrence from the beginning.

Those that had remained neutral.

And those whose loyalty currently belonged to the Crown Prince’s brother.

Cassian remembered everything.

Names.

Relationships.

Titles.

Debts.

Old grievances.

He asked questions when necessary.

The tutor answered them.

--

The following morning, the lessons continued.

Court customs.

Dining etiquette.

The order in which guests were seated.

How introductions were made.

Which houses could be approached freely.

Which required an intermediary.

How long one should remain at a gathering.

When it was appropriate to leave.

What subjects were considered safe.

Which political questions should never be answered directly.

Cassian absorbed each lesson quickly.

Some things were unfamiliar.

Some were merely different.

The underlying principles, however, were not.

Rank was still rank.

Courtesy was still courtesy.

Pride was still pride.

Ambition remained ambition.

The language changed.

The customs shifted.

But people were still people.

At times, the tutor would stop him.

"Here, we do this differently."

Cassian would nod.

"Understood."

Then he would adjust.

No argument.

No confusion.

No repeated correction.

By the end of the second day, the tutor had begun to understand something.

He had expected to teach a young nobleman from a remote county how to conduct himself in the capital.

Instead, he was teaching a man who already understood the fundamentals of nobility how to conduct himself as a Milician.

That distinction made all the difference.

--

The lessons continued to the day of the event at the Valmieri’s.

By afternoon, the tutor was more surprised with how much progress they made and that he was more than confident that Count Carlo would definitely not bring shame to the ducal house of Kensington.

By late afternoon, the final pieces of Cassian’s wardrobe had arrived.

He stood before the mirror.

A formal evening coat had been laid across the bed.

Dark trousers.

A crisp shirt.

A waistcoat chosen to complement the coat.

Everything was distinctly Milician.

Everything was unfamiliar.

Yet when Cassian dressed, the clothes settled naturally against him.

He adjusted his cuffs.

Straightened his collar.

Then looked at his reflection.

The face in the mirror was still his.

The same blue eyes.

The same black hair.

The same features that had once made him recognizable throughout the Empire.

But the man looking back at him now was no longer the Arena fighter who had arrived in Milicia under the name Carlo.

Tonight, he would enter a room filled with people who knew nothing of Cassian Ashford.

They would see only Count Carlo of Almery.

A distant cousin of the Kensington family.

A minor nobleman who had arrived in the capital after years away from society.

That man had not existed on paper two days ago.

Tonight, he would.

There was a knock at the door.

Cassian turned.

Marcus stood outside.

His gaze passed over Cassian once.

A faint approval appeared in his expression.

"You’re ready."

Cassian inclined his head.

"Yes."

"Good."

Marcus stepped aside.

"We shall leave shortly."

Cassian looked once more at his reflection.

He thought of Marian.

Then he quietly pushed the thought aside.

Not because she mattered less.

Because she mattered too much.

He could not afford to let longing make him careless.

There was a road in front of him.

And he would walk it.

One day, it would lead him home.

Cassian turned away from the mirror.

Tonight, he would simply walk into a room.

And let them meet Count Carlo of Almery.

--

Tbc