Page 2 of Honeythorn
Raphael frowned slightly in response, making it clear that such open shows of emotion were perhaps not appropriate in this culture. It dampened Milan’s expression, but he didn’t let it discourage him. It was the way of these people. It wasn’t personal.
“Welcome,” Raphael replied, his voice low and quiet, before turning away and striding into the manor.
Milan blinked, startled, and sent a questioning look towards Orson.
“Please, follow Lord Ledford. Your bags will be taken to your room.”
“Uh, right.” Before doing as suggested, however, Milan turned back to the crawler, smiling at Stephen. The old man had been a constant companion for much of the journey, the forced proximity building a friendship of sorts between them.
“Stephen. It has been a joy to spend these weeks with you. Thank you for all your help.” Milan grasped one of Stephen’s hands in thanks, making the man smile.
“It has been my pleasure. I hope you find a home here, Mister Pryor. It will be lucky to have you.”
Milan squeezed his hand. For a moment, a strange, sudden fear overtook him. Stephen was the last link to his land. Not because he was from the South, but because his departure meant that the journey was over. There was no turning back, now. This place marked his new life.
Stephen’s face softened. “It will be all right, Mister Pryor. Trust an old man’s instincts,” he said quietly.
Milan nodded, forcing himself to keep the tears at bay. “Thank you.”
With a last squeeze, their hands parted. Milan managed not to look over his shoulder one last time as he walked towards the manor. His new home.
Milan hadn’t quite known what to expect to find inside, but he paused to take in the immense entry hall. The room could only be described as grand, with a high ceiling from where a massive chandelier hung and glinting floors giving an impression of light despite the foggy day. With interest, Milan could see that the manor used steam technology, the sconces on the walls clearly electrical. Two curving staircases on either side of the room led to the second floor, some of which could be seen from the balcony that lined the furthest half of the room.
Despite its grandeur, however, there was something impersonal about the place. With such ample space, it seemed bare. The only decorations looked like relics of past family members. It almost looked recently stripped, and Milan wondered if Raphael wanted him to decorate. He would be sorely disappointed in Milan’s lack of skill in this area, but it would be a nice gesture.
Perhaps his husband-to-be was not cold—just subtle.
With a smile, Milan approached Raphael, who seemed to have been waiting for him. He opened his mouth to apologise for the delay, but Raphael spoke before he could.
“Melissa will take you to your rooms. She has been appointed to you, so any doubts can be handled by her. I will see you at dinner.”
With that, Raphael left through one of the side doors as if he had been counting down the seconds to leave. Milan felt the pit in his stomach grow heavier. Dinner was hours away, and he had hoped to spend some time with Raphael as there was only a week until their wedding. He’d had a long journey, however—Raphael was probably being considerate in letting Milan rest.
“Sir…” he heard from his side and turned to find a shy-looking Omega looking at him uncertainly.
“You must be Melissa?”
“Yes. I can show you to your rooms.” Her brown, wavy hair fell forwards slightly to frame her thin face as she bowed.
“All right, I am eager to see more of my new home.”
The room Melissa guided him to was truly beautiful. Large windows with heavy, deep-green drapes, an opulent bed in the middle, wooden, well-cared for furniture. Milan smiled as he saw that his luggage was already there.
“Is Raphael’s room beside this one?” Milan wondered.
“No. Lord Ledford resides in another wing.”
“Right.” Propriety, he guessed.
Melissa moved towards Milan’s bags, but he stopped her with an outstretched hand.
“Don’t worry about that. I can see to it myself.”
Melissa looked at him with wide eyes, and Milan watched with some amusement as she seemed to struggle between which was more inappropriate—protesting, or not letting Milan demean himself with such a task.
“Please, do not worry,” Milan assured her. “I look forward to getting acquainted with you—I think we will become good friends.”
Melissa only seemed more startled, blushing bright red, before bowing and leaving with a stuttered goodbye.
