The oak doors of Marquis Lorenzo's mansion opened.
Tristan walked in.
The cold wind and wet snow outside were shut out by the heavy doors.
The old butler waiting in the foyer bowed, ready to take the second young master's coat.
But his hands stopped mid-air.
The old butler looked up, his eyes widening slightly.
He looked at the second young master.
The Master Tristan of his memory, though he appeared nonchalant, always kept his head down, pretending to be uninterested in the people and affairs of the Marquis's household.
But today, his back was ramrod straight.
His gray-blue eyes stared straight ahead, past the foyer, toward the lights in the depths of the mansion.
The old butler quickly lowered his head, taking the coat with more reverence than ever before and handing it to a young servant nearby.
He felt his heart begin to race.
'The second young master... is different now.'
From the side hall on the first floor came the sounds of a harp and low whispers.
