Mirk hadn't figured anything out.

He sat slouched over a tall palomino roan draft horse with feathery legs. The mare possessed a striking wide blaze that extended over her eye, adorned with tiny white dots resembling a splatter of white paint on her warm, almost pink roan coat. Her tail and mane were so light they almost appeared white.

He didn't particularly care about the destination of the ride. The fae had assured him that the mare knew the way, so he was merely along for the journey. Secretly, he hoped they might venture in the opposite direction or even get hopelessly lost. Mirk had no qualms about getting lost; he relished exploration, considering it one of his favorite pastimes.

The only scenario he envisioned was if he managed to pilfer something expensive from the fae—surely, the fae must possess golden picture frames, antique decor, or pure silverware. If Mirk could gather enough, he might pay off a witch to create a scent-hiding pendant, a costly item.

And witches always overpriced their goods.

He groaned and buried his face in the horses thick mane.

Suddenly, he sat upright on the horse, struck by a brilliant idea. Until he got his money, he would do anything in his power to annoy the fae, and if there was one thing he knew they didn't like, it was filth.

He dismounted the moving horse, which stopped as soon as his feet touched the ground. He scampered up a small hill, the horse trotting closely behind him, snickering quietly, as if encouraging him to climb back on. Despite nearly slipping a few times, Mirk chuckled to himself as he reached the top.

"What do you think, Horse? Is this grass good enough?" he asked thoughtfully as he let a couple of strands fall from his scarred fingers.

Mirk wore the same leather pants from the day before, albeit with different suspenders and a billowy shirt. Over it all, he had a long, dark coat stolen from a drunk lord a while ago, still in somewhat great condition.

So, he laid down and rolled himself down the hill.

The horse slowly followed, making sure not to slip as Mirk giggled to himself once he made it to the bottom of the hill. The world spun for a few measly seconds, his clothes were now covered with grass stains, perfect.

He cared little about his appearance. However, he was certain a fae would be bothered by the dirt, he hoped it would help him along in throwing Mirk out of his surely pristine home.

As he pushed himself up, the horse nudged him, her dark, wet eyes seemingly accusing.

"What? It's just for fun, can't believe even the horses of the royal palace are stuck-up snobs."

She nudged him again.

"Fine, fine, relax. I'm getting on now." he shook his head, he had barely managed to seat himself before the horse started moving again, as if eager to reach the fae's home.

Once more, he paid little attention, resting his head on the horse's mane. Too soon, they passed the old tree and the self-made totems hanging from its branches.

"Do you have to take me to my doom, Horse? You could have started grazing on the lush fields, no? Would have much better life roaming the grounds as a free horse. But no, I guess the high and mighty life has gotten to you as well huh." he asked bitterly, getting no answer.

Treadfully fast did they exit the calm forest road, high gates towering in the distance, behind them, enormous manor or a small castle towered behind the gates.

On either side of Mirk were large paddocks with numerous animals, strange looking horses and cattle. The front of the small castle had lush rose bushes and what seemed like a water fountain of a mythical merhorse or a hippocampus as they were called. In front of the gates were two, stoic looking men who kept a keen eye on Mirk.

More buildings were behind the castle; he suspected one of them was stables and some sort of workers' residence. Maids hurried along the gardens, some picking pears and apples from the trees. It was overwhelming, too much to take in. Too soon, the guards halted them.

"State your name and business," one of them said in an odd accent.

"Max, Razaël invited me." his voice did not come out as strongly as he wished, their harsh gazes intimidating. At first, he wasn't sure if they'd let him pass. He secretly hoped they wouldn't. But they did and the horse continued walking.

An older man and a young boy stood in front of the two large doors. Mirk did his best to absorb everything happening around him—the gardens stretching far and wide, an apple orchard extending to the hills behind the castle. Peacocks strolled through the front yard, some flying down from the rooftop of what he suspected was a blacksmith's area.

His wandering gaze landed on the butler as the horse became to a stop right in front of the little boy who was already waiting with a nice, juicy apple as a treat.

"Greetings, Sir Max. My name is Galahad Tashdale; I am the butler of the estate. If you have any worries or questions, you may turn to me. I am instructed to bring you to Grand Lord Razaël immediately. Would you need help getting down, sir?"

Mirk was just staring down at the old man, a human. He was at a Grand Lord's estate. A Fae Lord's castle or manor—he wasn't entirely sure yet. A human was asking him if he needed help dismounting a horse?

Mirk said nothing as he threw his leg over the horse and smoothly slid down.

"No," he said simply, watching dreadfully as the little boy started pulling the horse away. He had grown fond of the beast.

"Very well, come along then. The Grand Lord is expecting you," the butler pushed open the two large, dark blue doors with intricate ironwork. The iron twirled from the edges of the door, so smoothly it seemed nearly impossible to bend it so fluidly. He didn't miss the dragon head craved from iron, snarling towards the people entering. He was sure he could see the scales on his head move and shimmer slightly.

Now that Mirk knew he was actually dealing with a Grand Lord, he had to tread carefully. He had gotten himself into a right mess.

The hallway was long, with humongous paintings adorning the walls, lush plants he had never seen decorating the corners. A lot of metal statues of different animals were on display, although the same motive of one and the same dragon was heavily overweighting others. The floors were of dark, polished rock, golden lava seemingly flowing through them. 

Never before had Mirk seen anything so grand and alive with pure, ancient magic. He nearly yelped as one of the metal birds that had been resting on a particularly huge plant started flying towards him. He ducked, and the bird flew over his head, returning to its perch immediately.

The butler was amused but said nothing as Mirk glared at him, as if daring him to say anything.

Mirk wondered how much be could sell the bird for.

"The dining hall, Sir. The food will be brought out momentarily." the old man said, opening another door with metal swirls on them. This time, it was butterflies. Their wings gently moving as they crawled over the door slowly.

He wasn't sure if he could pry one off the door, or should he take the whole door with him.

Mirk found himself gently ushered into the room, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. The warm ambiance of the cozy space enveloped him, with a floor patterned in dark rocks, deep red walls, and a majestic fireplace emitting comforting warmth. He started at the fireplace, the open mouth of a majestic lion, it had dark, glistening ruby eyes. Never before had he seen  fireplace that resembled a lion, it was a bit extreme in his opinion, but the rubies could be worth a lot if they were real. Even if they weren't, a naïve bakers daughter would for sure give him her last savings to get her hands on something shiny. 

The walls were adorned with paintings depicting beautiful hills and colorful dragons, although there were creatures he wasn't sure even existed. A soft-looking couch with fluff pillows occupied one corner, and a dark whiskey bottle sat on the table. Razaël's voice interrupted his observations.

"Hello, Max," the Fae Lord greeted from behind a circular table adorned with tall candles, three empty plates, and silverware.

His hauntingly silver eyes were solely focused on Mirk, giving him time to take in the room. Razaël, no longer concealed by a cloak, wore dark pants and an emerald green silk shirt with intricate black patterns. Numerous golden rings adorned his fingers, catching the light from the open fireplace. His well-kept hair and regal attire bespoke his fae lineage.

His hair, just like the day before, looked too put together. He looked every bit of the Fae Lord he was.

"yeah, hi, hello, uh- greetings?" Mirk stammered, unused to being in the presence of a royalty. Well, not in a way that they could actually see him. In presence of such aristocrats he would stay in the background, blend in with the blind corners and cloak himself in shadows. His nervousness elicited a smirk from Razaël. Before their conversation could progress, the door behind Mirk burst open, nearly torn from its hinges.

A man with red hair rushed in, freezing at the sight of Mirk. The man's mismatched eyes widened as he appraised Mirk, and a dimple appeared on his cheek as he took a step closer, causing Mirk to instinctively step back. Something sparked between them, something unknown as he narrowed his eyes at the stranger. Mirk felt the need to shift and hide somewhere, the unease making his skin crawl. 

He wasn't sure what species the stranger was, but he was not human, nor was he a hybrid like Mirk. Mirk was too tense to scent the air and try to identify his background. A pink tongue tarted out between his velvety lips, moistening them as if he was a wolf licking its chops  as he peered down at him, taking a step closer as Mirk took yet another step back. 

"Don't you just look ravishing." he purred out, the sound making Mirk shiver as he took yet another step back. His eyes were ablaze with fire, almost daring Mirk to run. 

"Kian!" Razaël scolded, the sound of chair being pushed out reaching their ears.

But then Mirk planted his feet on the ground and scowled up at the man. It was strange, he was used to being the tall one with his 6ft height, the man had a couple of inches on him. These people were taller than him, and this made him feel uneasy. 

"Well, don't you just look stupid." was the best Mirk could come up with.

But it worked, as the man, Kian, froze, eyes wide as he stared at Mirk with unreadable expression.

A roar of laughter caught both of their attention, it was Razaël who tried to compose himself, coughing into his elbow as he looked at them.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you speechless, Kian. Come, give our guest his space, please." he said, a smile still lingering on his lips as he pointed toward the empty plates and pulled out chairs.

Kian stood back, gesturing toward the table.

"After you, Smartarse." the name earned him a glare. And although Mirk didn't like the fact that he was behind him, he moved towards a spot at the table. Walking around Razaël he sat opposite from the door, making sure he could seen it at all times.

"I hope your journey went smoothly?" The Grand Lord asked, sitting down to Mirk's right, whilst the red-haired man was on his left.

"Aye, it was. Why the h- why am I here?" he asked, ignoring the blatant staring and starry eyes from left.

"We made a deal," Razaël responded. Mirk's accusatory tone persisted, questioning the abnormal circumstances.

"Ye, I know that, but why here, behind your eating table? What is this?" be sounded accusing, because he was.

This wasn't normal. 

"Wow, the kid's got balls." Kian said, leaning back in his chair casually as he smirked at the brief attention he was granted.

Razaël sighed, "Behave, Kian. Because you promised to work for me. And I do tend to get to know my workers well. There is no underlying nefarious plans here, I assure you of that."

"Yeah, he likes getting to know his workers real well, Max." Kian said, earning a warning look from the Grand Lord.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, trying to figure out his importance.

"Kian, the question is, who are you, Max?" his mismatched eyes were bright with mischief. Mirk had never introduced himself. 

"None of your gods damn business."

When Kian's nostrils flared as he scented the air, Mirk hunched into himself. They were all a bunch of freaks. And for the first time in a while, his snappy answers and threats only amused the two.

He felt insecure, knowing it must be because he was a hybrid, a half-breed. Abnormality. And their undivided attention to him was making him feel silly. 

"When Raz said you needed to be taught some manners, I didn't think it was this bad. However, I believe we're going to have a lot of fun."

Mirk narrowed his eyes, what, exactly, was The Grand Lord planning?

"As well be working closely for a year, I deem it important that you get to know my court. Deimos, unfortunately, cannot join us today, but I wished for you to properly meet Kian, Max." Razaël said formally, gesturing towards the ginger who clearly had eyes only for Mirk.

His skin crawled at the attention.

"Uh, pleasure to meet you, sir..." it felt wrong to call him a Sir as he didn't look much older than Mirk himself. But a spark of interest lit in his blue and hazel eyes.

He held out his hand, and to Mirk's surprise, he could see numerous callouses and burns on his skin. Something that didn't go well with the high court clothing Kian was wearing.

"Kian Oakfern of the Northern Moors." while saying that, his eyes briefly connected with Razaël's as if they communicated in silence, before he turned his attention back to Mirk.

What an odd title, Mirk knew that there were some supernatural species who owned pieces of land or moors, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint which of those was Kian. The red hair indicated that he could have been a hell hound, but his title was of the Moors. An enfield? A kitsune? Definitely not a centaur.

Realizing Kian was still holding out his hand patiently, Mirk hesitantly reached out his own. As soon as his fingers wrapped around Kian's hand, a jolt of warmth seemed to spread down his arm all the way up to his chest, golden tendrils caressing his mind in a soothing manner.

"M-Max." he said, forcefully pulling his hand away as if he got burned. Kian looked hurt for a second. "Just Max"

Razaël observed the interaction with curiosity, running his thumb thoughtfully over his chin. The realization dawned on Mirk that both were impeccably dressed, dampening the allure of the once-bright idea of rolling down a hill.

"Well, Just Max, do you have any allergies the chefs should know about?" Grand Lord Razaël inquired and as if on cue, the doors burst open, startling him.

"No, no allergies!" he exclaimed, drawn to the tantalizing aroma of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. Kian's audible chuckle didn't escape him, earning the title of a pompous ass in Mirk's mind.

Mirk didn't let it bother him. If the fae lord offered food, he would take it.

"Max." a stern voice made him look up as one of the maids placed a plate in front of him. "Do you, or do you not have allergies?" the fae was weirdly stressed.

"Nay, I don't." he responded honestly for the first time in a decade. Razaël seemed satisfied as their food was revealed. Water was poured into his golden goblet and he felt his fingers twitch in anticipation. He had to remind himself that he was still in the Grand Lord's palace-manor, and his knowledge about eating etiquette was zero. He peered to his left and right, where the two men chose the outer silverware, so Mirk did the same.

The food in front of him was like a plate of heaven. He tried to refrain from wolfing it down too fast, but he couldn't help but hunch himself slightly was his eyes skimmed over the people in the room after every hurried bite, waiting for someone to try and snatch it away from him. He had to hold back a growl when a maid stepped too close to fill his goblet with water again.

He sensed the silence, not minding it but rather wondering why the two hadn't attempted to keep up their small talk.

In all honesty, he didn't care. He cared much more about the mashed potatoes, gravy, roasted chicken and peas that sung to him like a choir in human churches.

He briefly wondered if he could find kitchen and possibly, maybe, grab something for the long way home.

The silverware had an elegant silhouette of a peafowl graved into it. One of these would get him a whole silver from the right buyer.

"So what do ya want me to do?" Mirk asked with his mouth full. Razaël was elegantly eating his piece of chicken and kale. Who even eats chicken elegantly?

"We don't speak of work behind dining table, Max."

He answered, which was a weird rule. He imagined Razaël was someone who wouldn't even eat pretzel while walking the streets. He'd have to find a spot to sit down.

"Uh, but why did you call me here for lunch?" he asked, suddenly looking down at the food suspiciously.

Kian snorted, "Why all the questions?"

He snapped his gaze on Kian who looked happy with himself that he had managed to gain Mirk's attention again.

"What eejit would blindly dive into a job without asking any questions?" he knew his use of language might not have been appropriate but fairly enough, he didn't much care.

Kian, relishing the attention, leaned in with a smirk, "You already sealed the deal, darling." Mirk scowled at the term of endearment "are you calling me an eejit?"

"Your words, not mine. "

"Boys." Kian didn't like to be addressed as a boy obviously as he gave Razaël an annoyed look.

"Behave, please. Are you finished, Max? Or would you like some more? Don't be hesitant to ask if you need anything." Mirk had finished up his food already, it was obviously a bit too much for him but he wouldn't let it go to waste.

"Yeah I'm full." Kian mumbled something incoherent.

"Splendid, would it be okay if we talked in the gardens? I always found them quite pleasant." the fae asked, leaning back as the maids took away the empty plates, Mirk noted that his plate was the only empty one.

"Yeah that's fine." he said dismissively, standing up to get it over with, he wanted to escape Kian's annoying presence. He didn't like the looks nor the comments the man had made.  

"Kian will also be joining us."

The red haired man simply smirked as another heated glare was sent his way. 

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