As the night deepened, Zafron found himself unable to sleep, his mind churning with the day's events. He sat by the window, moonlight casting long shadows across the room, mirroring the dark thoughts that plagued him.
"Blackthorn isn't happy about my hiring," he murmured to himself, his brow furrowing. "And I know the reason for this. He probably sees me as some threat. But that's what I don't understand? Why is he being quick to judge? Shouldn't I at least be given a chance to prove my worth?"
Zafron knew the likely reason for Blackthorn's disapproval. It was a truth he had been avoiding, a reality of the world he lived in.
In their society, males were divided into two distinct categories: the potent and the impotent. The potent were at the peak of their species, revered and respected. The impotent were the runts, often treated with disdain or pity.
'But where do I fit in?' Zafron wondered, his reflection staring back at him from the darkened window. 'I haven't been tested yet. I should have been at eighteen, but...'
His thoughts drifted to his stepmother, how she had never brought up the subject of testing. Was it out of kindness or fear of the result? He couldn't be sure if he was affected by the XY virus that determined potency.
"I'm not impotent," he whispered fiercely to his reflection. "At least, not yet. I don't know if I am."
Zafron's mind wandered to Lord Blackthorn. Despite never having officially met, he could feel the man's disapproval radiating from the mansion. 'Does he see me as competition?' Zafron mused. 'Or just as a threat to the established order?'
He thought about the women in his life, how they viewed him. Was he nothing more than a prized possession to them? He was acutely aware of his looks, the way women's eyes lingered on him.
"But who really cares for me?" he asked the empty room. "Mara and Matilda, they seem to. But the others..."
His mind drifted to Mara's recent visit. He remembered the way she had looked at him, a mixture of admiration and something else... concern, perhaps?
---
"Zafron," Mara had said, her voice low and urgent. "You need to be careful. Not everyone here sees you the way Lady Matilda does."
"What do you mean?" he had asked, confused.
Mara had hesitated, her eyes darting around as if afraid of being overheard. "In our world, males are special, Zafron. Respected, even revered. But only if they meet... certain expectations."
---
Now, in the quiet of the night, Zafron understood what Mara had been trying to tell him. In this world, a male's worth was measured by his potency. And he... he was an unknown quantity.
'Is that why my stepmother and sister were so kind in those last days?' he wondered. 'Did they know I was being sent away because I might measure up? I know lady Matilda and my stepmother came into some agreement. I wonder what the deal was. I never was informed. Just told to pack my bags and follow this rich, beautiful lady to her mansion out of the blue.'
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Was this why he now found himself here, in hiding? Was Matilda protecting him not just from Blackthorn's wrath, but from a society that might cast him aside?
Zafron's gaze fell on his reflection once more. He studied his face, his body, searching for the signs of inadequacy that others seemed to fear.
"Is this all I am?" he whispered, a wave of despair washing over him. "A potential runt, someone to be hidden away and pitied?"
But even as these dark thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, another voice rose in his mind. Matilda's voice, soft and kind, telling him he was valued.
---
"Zafron," she had said earlier that evening, her eyes filled with warmth. "I feel safe around you,"
---
Zafron closed his eyes, clinging to that memory like a lifeline. Matilda had seen something in him, something worth protecting. She had risked her own position to give him this chance at a new life.
'Perhaps,' he thought, a glimmer of hope breaking through his despair, 'perhaps there's more to me than what society dictates. Perhaps Matilda sees a truth that others, including myself, have been blind to,'
Zafron made a silent vow. "I will prove my worth," he said aloud, his voice gaining strength.
Zafron finally allowed himself to rest.
As the first light of dawn began to seep through the curtains, Zafron's newfound resolve was suddenly interrupted by a faint sound from outside. His eyes snapped open, body tensing as he strained to listen.
*Scrape... shuffle... whisper*
'What was that?' he thought, heart racing. 'An intruder? But who would dare...'
Zafron's mind whirled with possibilities. 'The cart driver? No, Mistress Matilda came alone, right? Then who?'
Without hesitation, he slipped out of bed, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. 'I can't wake Mistress Matilda. This is my chance to prove my worth.'
He crept towards the door, wincing as a floorboard creaked beneath him. 'Smooth, Zafron. Real smooth. Might as well announce yourself with a trumpet.'
Pausing at the top of the stairs, he considered his options. 'Weapon. I need a weapon.' His eyes darted around, landing on a delicate vase. 'No, too fragile. And Mistress would have my hide if I broke her antiques.'
An idea struck him. 'The kitchen!'
Zafron tiptoed down the stairs, each step carefully placed to avoid noise. As he reached the kitchen, he scanned the countertops.
'Aha!' His eyes locked onto a heavy stone pestle. 'Not exactly a sword, but it'll do.'
Gripping his makeshift weapon, Zafron approached the back door. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. 'Alright, hero. Time to earn your keep.'
With exaggerated care, he turned the doorknob, wincing at every minute squeak. As he eased the door open, a cool breeze kissed his face.
The pre-dawn world was shrouded in mist, lending an eerie quality to the familiar garden. Zafron's eyes darted from shadow to shadow, pestle raised defensively.
'Left clear... right clear...' he thought, creeping forward. 'Wait, what was that?'
A bush rustled to his right. Zafron froze, his knuckles white around the pestle. "Come on out, you scoundrel!"
The bush rustled again, and out hopped... a rabbit.
Zafron let out a shaky laugh. "Great job, protector. You've saved the garden from the dreaded bunny invasion."
Just as he was about to turn back, movement caught his eye. Two silhouettes, unmistakably human, were hurrying away from the property.
"Hey!" Zafron called out before he could stop himself. The figures quickened their pace, heading towards... 'The twins' house?'
Confusion replaced fear as Zafron watched the intruders disappear into the mist. "Were they... spying on me?"
He stood there for a moment, pestle dangling forgotten at his side. "Well, this is a fine mess. What do I do now? Wake Mistress Matilda? Chase after them?"
After a moment's hesitation, Zafron decided against both options. 'No, I'll keep this to myself for now. But I'll be on my guard.'
As he turned to go back inside, a thought struck him, and he couldn't help but chuckle. 'I wonder what they saw? Me, the great defender, armed with a pestle and wearing... oh no.'
Zafron looked down, realizing for the first time that in his haste, he'd rushed outside wearing nothing but his usual see through garment.
'Wonderful,' he thought, hurrying back inside. 'Not only am I the mysterious new male in town, but now I'm the mysterious, pestle-wielding, half-naked new male in town. That'll certainly get the gossip mill turning.'
Back in the safety of the kitchen, Zafron replaced the pestle and leaned against the counter, his heart rate slowly returning to normal.
'Well, Zafron,' he thought, a wry smile playing on his lips. 'You wanted to prove your worth. I suppose "vigilant but ridiculous" is a start.'
As he made his way back to his room, Zafron's mind buzzed with questions. Who were those figures? Why were they spying? And most importantly, how was he going to explain to Mistress Matilda why her prized pestle was now stationed on his bedside table?
'One thing's for sure,' he mused as he climbed back into bed, 'life here is certainly never going to be boring.'
With that thought, Zafron closed his eyes, ready for a few more hours of sleep before facing whatever new adventures – or embarrassments – the day might bring.