Zzz
Zzz
Zzz
“Dante…”
A whisper in the darkness called as Dante felt a soft embrace envelop him, and a sweet, calming scent.
“Dante…”
“Mmm …” he heard his own moan.
I should get up.
…
Just a minute, so soft.
So comfy.
Dante nudged his head, trying to press himself into the soft world of scented sweetness.
THUD
Dante felt his body leave the soft world and collide with a hardened and cold world.
Ouch
He slowly opened his eyes to see an amused expression on Samantha’s face, the corners of her lips slightly curved.
“Your coffee is here.” She said calmly.
“Pfft.” Dante sat up and glanced at the side where Clare struggled, containing a laughter.
Regenald came back holding the coffee in one hand and carrying Sai on the other shoulder.
Wasn’t Sai on the right shoulder before?
“When working out remember to exercise both proportionately, young master.” Regenald said, answering Dante’s unasked question.
Dante glanced at Sai, who seemed like a small animal who had simply accepted captivity.
I wonder if he helped at all.
“He did absolutely nothing beyond sir, in fact he gave advice on your coffee, only to give the wrong advice since I know for a fact you like your coffee black mixed with caramel and melted chocolate. He told me to add steamed milk and forgot the melted chocolate.” Regenald once more answered the unasked question.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“Sounds about right … on every account. Thank you, Reggie.” Dante stood up, brushing his cloth softly before taking the cup and saucer.
Dante took a sip of the cooled down coffee, its rich bitterness softened by the buttery sweetness of caramel. The dark chocolate followed after, leaving a dry, bittersweet finish that lingered in the back of his tongue. The coffee’s warmth spread through him leaving him satisfied.
“Thank you Reggie I—”
“Young Master Durrant Mercier has arrived!” A deep call came from the entrance, cutting off Dante’s words.
Durrant entered the drawing room with the exaggerated poise of a man born in the wrong century. Atop his green-haired head sat a pristine top hat, detailed with gold and diamond stitching. His dark red ascot was tucked neatly into a tailored black waistcoat, and a white gloved hand tapped rhythmically against a golden cane tipped with a ruby.
Ah, my brother Durrant is in charge of steam tech innovations. The newspapers call him the “Steampunk Child.” Judging by this new look, I’d say he’s letting it go to his head.
I’ll admit out of all my siblings, he is the most creative when it comes to technology. He even invented a special steam-powered mech. If it wasn’t for the fact it cost too much to make, he could have gotten a military contract.
With that said, the rest of his talents are barely passable. If it were not for his mother's political and more subterfuge talents aiding him from behind the scenes.
Well, he wouldn’t have been able to gain the funds needed for half his inventions.
“Samantha, Dante, do the two of you not come to greet your older brother? Honestly Samantha you're 20 years old now I expected you to have gained some manners, Dante is still only 16 and his mother is of common cloth so I expect a lapse in manners from him but you should be an example of the ruling class tsk tsk.” Durrant waved a finger side to side as his violet eyes stared at her.
Samantha opened her mouth to speak when she was cut off by another announcement.
“Young Master Corso Mercier has arrived!” The deep call rang once more, announcing the arrival of another Mercier.
Thud
Thud
Heavy boots could be heard on marbled floors, going silent on soft carpets. In entered
Corso Mercier, a tailored black long coat with subtle grey circuits running from top to bottom. He too had an ascot of grey that complemented his charcoal shirt nicely. His muscular body was barely contained under his attire, giving him an intimidating look. Every movement of his arms showing the lined muscles of a warrior.
His hair, like Dante’s, was slicked back but with a few strands rebelliously separated in front. Unlike his other siblings, he was not clean-shaven but had a well-trimmed goatee.
His left hand was covered in an exosuit glove, making mechanical sounds as he opened and closed them.
Corso.
Neither the smartest, most innovative, nor the most dangerous of my siblings. But he is arguably the strongest. In charge of the family's security firm.
“And here I thought you would have been the first one here Corso.” Durrant said as he stared at the nearly 6 foot tall man.
“I was busy. Father has me taking point on the new mercenaries.” Corso said as he stared Durrant down. The two entering a staring contest neither one willing to look away or blink. Two violet eyes competing, Durrants light shade and Corso’s other darker shade.
These two are always at each other’s throats, both 25 years old, and because they were the same age they have both been competing. A rivalry that transcends any of the other siblings.
Unlike Durrant, who continued his studies, Corso joined the military as soon as he could. He wanted to take advantage of a war that had started so that he could use it to sharpen himself.
Honestly, I don't know what to think of the man. He literally used war as a training tool, taking the saying what doesn't kill you makes you stronger a little too seriously, maybe.
Hmm?
Dante glanced at the side where a large man and an older man wearing a monocle began staring at each other with their own rivalry.
I still find it amusing that father gave the strong ex-military butler to Durrant and a butler who is also an engineer to Corso.
“You’re weak brother.” Corso’s voice turned Dante’s attention again as he saw Durrant clearly annoyed.
Seems Corso won the staring contest.
Dante took a sip of his coffee as he watched his siblings.
“I can announce myself thank you very much!” a song like voice rang through the halls, the voice making Samantha twitch.
Even Corso and Durrant stopped their bickering, turning their gazes to the door.
That voice
…
The door of the drawing room opened. Dante stared at the figure entering the room, with only one word in his mind.
Fuck.
