Oliver set his fork down and looked straight at Gerard. His expression was calm, though his mind was already running through possibilities. A trap? A political ploy? Or a genuine gesture of thanks? Still, refusing outright would likely cause more trouble than it solved.
"...Alright," Oliver said finally. "We’ll accept the invitation."
Gerard’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Excellent decision. The viscount will be pleased." He dipped his head respectfully. "I shall send a carriage this evening to escort you to the estate. Please be ready by then."
With that, he turned sharply on his heel and departed, his footsteps crisp against the wooden floor until the door closed behind him.
The silence he left in his wake lasted only a few seconds.
Then Serena leaned across the counter, eyes wide. "You’re going to the viscount’s estate?! Do you realize what a big deal that is?"
Oliver blinked. "...Not really."
"That was Gerard Volvick," she continued, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "The head butler of the Valtaine family! Do you know how powerful that house is? Gods, I thought my heart would stop when he introduced himself!"
Oliver rubbed his temple, already regretting his decision to eat downstairs. "Yeah, he had that air about him."
Serena ignored him completely, turning instead to Isolde with a sudden gleam in her eye. "And you! You can’t show up at a viscount’s estate in... whatever that is." She gestured vaguely at Isolde’s outfit — which, as usual, leaned more toward seductive than formal.
Isolde arched an eyebrow, smirking. "What’s wrong with it? I think I look plenty fine."
"You look like you’re going to seduce the viscount’s entire court!" Serena snapped, grabbing her wrist. "No, no, no. If you’re representing adventurers in front of nobility, you need proper attire."
Isolde’s smirk widened. "You an boring attire."
"I an noble attire." Serena tugged harder. "Now, co on. We’re going shopping. Nyra! Grab my purse!"
"Yes, mom!" Nyra chirped, dashing back behind the counter. She snatched up a small leather purse and hurried after them, her new dress swishing around her legs as she fell into step with Serena.
Oliver opened his mouth, then closed it again as the three won swept toward the door like a sudden storm.
"Wait, what about—"
"You’re in charge of the inn until we get back, Oliver!" Serena’s voice rang out just before the door slamd shut behind them.
Oliver stood frozen for a mont in the suddenly quiet inn, staring at the closed door.
"...What the hell just happened."
A sigh escaped him as he slumped back into his chair, muttering dejectedly, "... in charge of the inn. Great."
~~~~~~
The streets were alive with the hum of the afternoon crowd as Serena tugged Isolde along by the wrist, Nyra trailing behind with the purse clutched tightly to her chest.
"Slow down, landlady," Isolde drawled, though she didn’t resist. "You’re acting like the viscount himself is waiting for us already."
"That’s because preparation is everything," Serena shot back without slowing. "You can’t walk into nobility’s estate looking like you’re about to blast holes in their walls."
"I wouldn’t blast their walls. Probably."
"Exactly why you need a proper dress," Serena said firmly.
Nyra giggled softly, the sound light and airy. "Big sis Isolde in a dress... I want to see that."
Isolde cast her a side glance, smirking. "You sound awfully eager, little one."
"I think you’ll look pretty," Nyra admitted without hesitation.
That earned her a chuckle from Isolde, who ruffled her hair lightly.
Before long, they reached Valebridge’s main square, where shops with colorful signs and polished windows lined the street. Serena steered them straight toward a boutique with neatly displayed gowns behind glass, the na Moonlace Atelier written in elegant script above the door.
Inside, the air slled faintly of lavender and fabric dye. Rows of dresses shimred in every hue, so simple, others lavishly embroidered. A young attendant bowed quickly. "Welco, honored guests. Are you looking for sothing specific today?"
"Formal wear for a noble estate visit," Serena answered briskly, before pointing to Isolde. "For her."
The attendant’s eyes flicked to Isolde — tall, striking, and far too self-assured for soone being dragged into a dress shop. "Of course," the attendant said with a polite smile. "This way."
And thus began the parade.
Dress after dress was brought forward, and Serena evaluated each with a sharp, critical eye. Nyra watched with growing excitent, clapping softly whenever Isolde erged from the fitting room.
A deep blue gown with silver embroidery.
A sleek black dress with a slit up the leg.
A pale lavender ensemble with flowing sleeves.
Every ti, Isolde spun slowly, smirking at the way Serena fussed and Nyra’s eyes sparkled.
"Too revealing," Serena scolded at one.
"Too modest," Isolde complained at another.
"That one’s perfect!" Nyra said for nearly all of them.
Eventually, they settled on a dark crimson gown that hugged Isolde’s form yet carried an unmistakable air of elegance. The neckline was daring, but the embroidery and cut scread nobility rather than seduction. Even Serena had to nod approvingly.
"That one. That’s it," Serena said.
Isolde turned before the mirror, admiring her reflection. "Hmm. I do look good."
"You look terrifyingly good," Serena muttered. "Which is exactly what we need."
While the seamstress took Isolde’s asurents for final adjustnts, Serena guided Nyra to a different rack. "And you — you can’t keep wearing the sa plain dress every day."
Nyra blinked in surprise. "Eh? But I—"
"No buts. You’re part of our family now." Serena smiled warmly. "And I won’t have my daughter looking shabby."
Nyra’s throat bobbed as she tried to speak, but her words ca out broken. "...Thank you."
They picked two light dresses for her — a simple sky-blue one with white trim, and a soft green with a ribbon at the waist. Nyra clutched them to her chest as though they were treasures.
By the ti they stepped back out into the evening light, the bags were heavy with fabric and the three of them were laughing together.
"You know," Isolde said, adjusting her bundle with ease, "this wasn’t as painful as I thought."
"That’s because you’re secretly a noblewoman at heart," Serena teased.
Isolde smirked. "Or maybe I just enjoy making Oliver’s jaw drop."
Nyra giggled, the sound ringing bright through the busy street. "Big brother’s eyes will pop out!"
~~~~
anwhile back at the inn Oliver was having his patience tested.
[Few hours ago]
The afternoon sun slanted lazily through the windows when Oliver found himself slumped behind the counter of the inn, arms crossed, chin on the wood.
How did this happen again?
Oh right. Serena had left him in charge while she dragged Isolde and Nyra off for shopping. He still rembered her parting words — "You’re in charge, Oliver!" — followed by that damn cheerful smile of hers.
Now, here he was.
The door creaked open and a pair of burly hunters stomped in, boots muddy, voices loud.
"Oi, kid," one of them barked, "two mugs of ale and sothing hot to eat."
Oliver blinked. "...Do I look like a waitress?"
The man narrowed his eyes. "What was that?"
"Ah—nothing, nothing," Oliver backpedaled quickly, fumbling for the mugs Serena had left ready. He poured ale, sloshed half of it on the counter, and shoved them forward. "There. Enjoy."
The hunters exchanged looks, then shrugged and took their drinks.
A few minutes later, another guest ca down from the rooms — a prim, sharp-faced woman who looked like she had swallowed a lemon.
"My pillow was too lumpy," she said with an accusing glare.
"...And I’m supposed to... fix that how?" Oliver muttered.
"Excuse ?"
"I an, ah—absolutely, ma’am! I’ll, uh... fluff it?"
She sniffed, clearly unimpressed, and marched off.
By the ti the third custor ca asking if there were any "extra towels," Oliver was considering throwing in the towel himself. So this is what Serena deals with every day...? No wonder she likes teasing so much.
Just as he thought things couldn’t get worse, a pair of young adventurers sauntered in, grinning mischievously.
"Hey, you’re the guy who dumped a Fire Drake corpse in the guild hall, right?" one of them asked.
Oliver blinked. "...Yeah?"
The two leaned in closer, eyes gleaming. "So it’s true what people are saying? You’ve got an S-rank mage as your girlfriend?"
Oliver nearly choked. "S-she’s not my—!"
"Thought so," the other cut him off, smirking. "Man, you’re one lucky bastard. Bet you don’t even need to fight, huh? Just let her handle everything."
Oliver’s face twitched. He gripped the counter so hard it creaked. "...Get out."
The two laughed all the way to their table, clearly not taking him seriously.
By the ti Serena, Isolde, and Nyra finally returned, Oliver was half-dead behind the counter, dark circles under his eyes and a look that scread never again.
"Well, well," Serena teased, setting down her shopping bags. "Looks like you survived, innkeeper."
"Barely," Oliver groaned. "I’m never doing this again. Next ti, drag Nyra instead."
Nyra giggled behind her hands, looking almost refreshed compared to his battered state.
Serena smirked, leaning lazily against the counter. "You lasted longer than I expected. Now you know how hard is to manage an inn."
Oliver looked at her with pity. She has to go through with this every day. Life sure is hard for her.
"Hey, what’s with that look. Why are you looking at like so abandoned puppy" Serena said noticing his gaze full of pity towards her.
"You poor woman"
"Hey, what’s that supposed to an"
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