Hector Bayes

I took a moment to breathe deeply as the servants murmured among themselves, my gaze choosing to settle on the cobalt orange of Edna’s hair before dropping to her surprisingly steady gaze.

“You,” I grunted, nodding at the smirking woman when she pointed a shaky index to her purple and white-chromed frock.

“Rundown,” I deadpanned, crossing unsteady fingers over the width of my chest.

“Heard the lot of them running up Your Highness, sounded like a whole camp, quiet too, organized if you ask me, sir, these ain't no spring chickens,” Edna reported, fisting the linen of her frock between her fingers as she finished off her rap...