My Lord! Please! (A Character Driven Kingdom Building Novel)

Lucien's eyes slowly opened at the same time the door did.

Sera peeked her head into the room, pale eyes scanning the study once before she gave a small nod to herself.

“Dorian isn't here, Sera.”

Her pale eyes flicked to him briefly, before catching on the bow secured at his back.

When she tilted her head, Lucien let out a breath. “I just forgot that I had it on me...there were more important matters to worry about.”

Sera stared at the bow for a moment before her gaze met his own.

He rubbed his temples. "...No. I can't just 'forget' about it and wear it all the time during meetings, Sera."

A soft exhale left her lips, which from Sera was apparently enough to convey disappointment, before she continued over to sit by the windowsill.

She drew her knees up, staring outside while paying no mind to the fact that she was wearing a wrap skirt now.

At the sight, Lucien averted his eyes before muttering, “Alicia is going to have words with you for sitting like that, Sera.”

The corner of his mouth lifted when the hunter immediately brought her legs down, her posture going still as her head turned faintly toward the corridor beyond the study. After a moment, she gave a nod before looking outside again.

He rose from his chair, shaking his head. “Are you really using your hearing just to see where she is in the manor?”

Sera pointedly ignored him, though she did move a little to the side when he approached, giving him space to sit as well.

He didn't take that offer, of course, choosing to remain standing beside her instead.

For a time, they remained silent, simply staring out at the village beneath the orange light of dusk. Sounds from the refugees who had arrived earlier that day had already begun to fade, while smoke trails curled upward as people prepared their dinners.

Standing beside her at the window like this, he found himself remembering when he had returned from Helvarn.

Lucien's gaze remained fixed on the sight even as he spoke. "Did you hear anything from the meeting with Dorian just now?"

She glanced at him before shaking her head.

"...I see."

When the hunter continued looking at him, he exhaled faintly. “The guards who were escorting the people from Helvarn spotted signs of beasts, Sera.”

Sera showed no outward reaction except for a small nod.

Lucien's eyes moved to meet her own. “We concluded that it was likely orcs.”

At his words, the faint light that had slowly returned to Sera’s eyes over the past few months seemed to fade. The change was so sudden that he was briefly startled by it.

Her posture, always so still, seemed to draw even tighter than usual.

It was almost exactly like the time when he had first met her in Alicia's room all those months ago.

“Was it orcs that...”

He cut himself off mid-sentence, though it seemed too late regardless when her dull eyes met his own before she gave a slow nod.

Lucien's brow creased faintly as he looked away.

Resting his hands on the windowsill, he leaned against it. “They were found near the forest by the Easthollow River.”

Beside him, he heard her shift slightly. Knowing that if he had to ask, he would do so while meeting her eyes, Lucien dragged his gaze back to her.

The hunter had not looked away from him for a single moment since he had mentioned the orcs.

“...Would you be able to find out where they are crossing the river, Sera?”

Without hesitation, she gave a firm nod.

The furrow in Lucien's brow only deepened. “...It is not an order. You can say no if you are not up to it or simply don't want to.”

For a long moment, they looked at each other until her hand moved to the side of her satchel to take out the charcoal stick and parchment she always carried.

She wrote in deep, deliberate strokes before turning the parchment to him.

I want to.

Lucien stared at the words before shifting his gaze to her once more.

“If that is truly what you want to do then...alright.”

His words had barely left his mouth before she was already rolling up the parchment and putting away her writing tools.

After that, she made to leave, only to stop at his words.

“Not today, Sera. You can leave tomorrow at dawn instead.”

Without turning back, she only tilted her head slightly before leaving the study, the same certainty guiding her steps as always.

As the door closed, Lucien turned back to look at Ashridge once more, the village blissfully unaware of what had just occurred.

The faint light in Sera's eyes never returned before she left.

By the time the sun had barely risen over the village, Sera had already left the manor.

During dinner, he had told both Alicia and Talia about the signs of orcs and that he had asked Sera to track them. The hunter had been present as well, though her eyes continued to stare out the window as though she wasn't truly there.

A disturbed look formed on his junior's face, while the maid glanced at Sera with worried eyes.

Lucien only heard the details from Alicia after he came down for breakfast, but it seemed she had prepared food wrapped for the road and made sure to give it to Sera before she left at dawn.

He exhaled faintly as he stepped out of the manor, adjusting his cloak before his hand stilled against the shoulder strap he had somehow carried with him again.

Shaking his head, he decided it was too much trouble to go back inside and leave it with Alicia, so he continued on his way to Harlon's workshop.

The meeting place had been changed at the last minute when a runner came by to tell him just moments ago.

Despite the new wave of refugees and the fresh construction still spreading across the village, Harlon's workshop had fewer people around than usual now that the sawmill had taken over most of the timber processing.

Where men had once crowded around rough logs with axes and saws, only a handful of carpenters remained, working over boards that had already been cut down at the sawmill.

One man planed a plank smooth with long, steady strokes, while another checked a stack of beams against a marked length of cord stretched across the table.

Near the wall, a younger worker sat shaving wooden pegs into a basket already half-full.

The smell of fresh-cut timber still lingered in the air, though it was no longer thick enough to drown out everything else. Instead, the sharper scent of resin mixed with oiled tools, wood shavings, and the faint smoke from Harlon’s pipe.

Lucien’s eyes moved over the pieces laid out along the benches.

Door frames, shutter boards, roof braces, and several marked patterns had been stacked in groups.

Some of it must have already been part of Harlon’s usual work, but the arrangement looked more deliberate now, each group set apart as if meant to be repeated until the new longhouses no longer had to be treated as separate problems.

It seemed Harlon had wasted little time turning his suggestion into practice.

Lucien made his way deeper into the workshop to the small back room where they usually held their meetings.

The carpenter himself stood near the table, one hand braced against the edge while the other held his pipe.

Across from him stood Joren, who looked even more ragged than usual. His beard had been combed only in the loosest sense while dark circles sat beneath his eyes.

Behind the blacksmith, a rough cloth-covered bundle lay across one of the side benches, half-buried beneath spare planks and a coil of cord. In Harlon’s workshop, it didn't look out of place enough to make him linger on it.

When he stopped at the threshold of the room, Harlon looked up first.

The corner of his mouth twitched around the pipe. “Lord.”

Joren grunted without turning, though when Harlon glanced at him, the blacksmith's head lifted just enough to glare.

“Whatever it is you're about to say, I don't want to hear it, old man.”

The carpenter merely huffed, amusement clear on his face though he remained silent.

Lucien paused at the doorway, then decided that whatever had happened after the older smith reached Joren’s forge was probably better left untouched for the moment.

At least he now knew why the meeting place had suddenly changed.

His attention shifted instead to the table between the craftsmen.

Alicia’s copied drawing of the scorpion lay there, surrounded by rougher sketches, shaved wooden pegs, and a few iron brackets Joren must have brought from the forge.

Several portions of the frame had been marked in charcoal, the neatness of Alicia’s lines broken by heavier strokes from the craftsmen.

Making his way over to them, he gestured toward the drawing. “Has there been any progress so far?”

At his words, Harlon exhaled through his nose. “Not as much as we'd like, Lord.”

The carpenter moved Alicia's drawing aside to reveal a smaller parchment beneath it. This one showed only the scorpion’s frame, with the central body and arm supports drawn separately in clearer detail.

“I asked Alicia to draw this specific part instead. Easier to figure out how the whole thing is supposed to work if we take it piece by piece,” the older man clarified at Lucien's questioning look.

His hand pointed toward the arm supports. “Wood flexes when too much force is put into it, Lord. The original drawing doesn't show that. Once both arms are pulled, the frame won't stay politely where the lines say it should.”

Joren grunted, crossing his arms with an unreadable expression. “She draws what she sees, not what the wood suffers through,” he muttered, glancing toward Lucien.

Lucien’s gaze paused on the blacksmith for a brief moment before returning to the frame. He folded his arms behind him. “But you can correct that given time, Harlon?”

When the carpenter gave a nod, Lucien turned to Joren, who placed a crude-looking bracket over the marked anchor point in Alicia’s drawing.

“I tried making the anchor points for what she drew. This part, at least, I can test without knowing exactly how the twisted bundles are meant to work.”

He tapped the bracket once with a thick finger. “It holds under light strain easily enough...about as much force as the militia crossbows.”

Lucien shook his head. “But the force for this would be far greater than the crossbows, Joren.”

The carpenter stroked his beard, gaze fixed on the parchment with the frame drawings. “We can ask the lass if she can draw just the bundled parts for it...might be easier to see how-”

“No need for that,” Joren cut in.

Harlon's brow lifted before he turned to the smith, studying him closely. “Why not? It would be easier to build it if we had a closer look.”

The blacksmith's jaw tightened, but before he could speak, Lucien interjected.

“Have you two figured out how the whole mechanism works once assembled? I explained the concept to Alicia, but asking for more details before we understand the failure points ourselves may only give us another drawing we cannot use properly.”

At his words, Joren shot him a look before giving the smallest nod.

Harlon rubbed at his beard, gaze returning to the drawing. “I can see how the frame would hold it...the problem is how the strain travels through. Once I know that, I will know where to brace it.”

He let out a tired breath. “But unless we build smaller versions to test first...it will take time, Lord.”

Joren crossed his arms. “We have time. Winter is still months away, and we should be more than ready to have one built by then.”

“No. We don't, Joren.”

Both craftsmen turned to look at Lucien. He exhaled faintly before continuing.

“Yesterday, while the guards were escorting the refugees to Ashridge, they spotted signs of orcs.”

Lucien looked at the two men, whose eyes had hardened at his words. “We need something stronger on the walls...in case there is a variant among the band.”

“The windlass crossbows cannot be made quickly enough. We only have two so far, and that is not enough to rely on if a variant appears.”

He didn't bother mentioning the other crossbow.

The silence within the room lingered for a moment before Joren spoke through gritted teeth.

“I have something that might help, Lord.”

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