The sun's warm rays streamed through the curtains, painting Zafron's room in a golden hue. He stirred, consciousness slowly returning as a melodious voice drifted up from below, accompanied by the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread and something sweet.
'Mmm... what is that heavenly smell?' Zafron thought, his eyes fluttering open. It took a moment for realization to dawn. 'Wait, the sun's up? How long did I sleep?'
He bolted upright, memories of the night's events flooding back. The intruders, his impromptu pestle-wielding adventure – it all seemed like a distant dream now.
As he hurriedly dressed, the voice from downstairs grew clearer. It was unmistakably Mistress Matilda's, but he'd never heard her sing before. The gentle melody wrapped around him like a comforting embrace, momentarily making him forget his tardiness.
'I didn't know she could sing like that,' he marveled, fumbling with his buttons. 'And that scent... is she cooking?'
Zafron made his way outside, following the aromatic trail to the kitchen. He paused at the doorway, momentarily stunned by the sight before him.
Mistress Matilda stood at the stove, her back to him as she swayed gently to her own melody. Apron wrapped around her curvy waist as she glided back and forth.
Her usually immaculate hair was tied back in a simple braid. The kitchen counter was laden with an array of dishes – fresh bread, what looked like berry preserves, and something sizzling enticingly in a pan.
"Good morning, Zafron," Matilda said without turning, a smile evident in her voice. "I trust you slept well?"
Zafron blinked, wondering how she'd sensed his presence. "I... yes, Mistress. I apologize for oversleeping. I should have been up to prepare breakfast for you."
Matilda turned, her face lit with a warm smile that made Zafron's heart skip a beat. "Nonsense, dear boy. After yesterday's excitement, you deserved the rest." She gestured to the table, already set for two. "Please, sit. Breakfast is almost ready."
Still somewhat dazed, Zafron complied, watching in amazement as Matilda effortlessly plated their meal. "I didn't know you could cook, Mistress," he ventured.
She laughed, a sound like tinkling bells. "There's much you don't know about me yet, Zafron. A lady of my standing is expected to oversee the household, true, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the simpler pleasures of life."
As she set a plate before him, Zafron's eyes widened. Golden pancakes drizzled with berry compote, crispy bacon, and delicate herb-flecked eggs filled the plate. A basket of fresh bread and a pot of fragrant tea completed the spread.
"This looks incredible, Mistress," Zafron said, his mouth watering.
Matilda beamed as she took her seat across from him. "Thank you, Zafron. I do hope you'll enjoy it. Now, please, eat while it's hot."
As they began their meal, Zafron found himself stealing glances at Matilda. In the morning light, with a few wisps of hair escaping her braid and a slight flush on her cheeks from cooking, she looked younger, more carefree. Yet she retained an air of elegance, her table manners impeccable even as she savored her own cooking.
"Is everything to your liking?" Matilda asked, noticing his gaze.
Zafron nodded enthusiastically. "It's delicious, Mistress. I've never tasted anything like it."
She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Well, we can't have Lord Blackthorn thinking I'm incapable of caring for my household, can we? Even if that household consists of just the two of us for now."
As they ate, Matilda regaled him with stories of her youth, of learning to cook alongside the manor's chef despite her parents' initial disapproval. "They came around eventually," she said with a wink. "Especially when they tasted my raspberry tarts."
Zafron found himself captivated, not just by her tales but by the way she told them. Her eyes sparkled with humor and warmth, her hands gesturing gracefully as she spoke. He was struck by how she made him feel – not like a servant or a charge, but like a cherished companion.
As their plates emptied, Zafron's thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous night. He debated whether to mention the intruders, but looking at Matilda's serene expression, he couldn't bring himself to disturb her peace.
"Zafron?" Matilda's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Is everything alright? You seemed lost in thought for a moment."
He smiled, pushing away his concerns. "Everything's perfect, Mistress. I was just thinking how grateful I am to be here."
Matilda reached across the table, placing her hand gently on his. "I'm glad you're here too, Zafron. Now, what do you say we clean up together, and then I'll show you around the grounds properly? There's a lovely little garden I think you'll adore."
As they cleared the table, working in comfortable tandem, Zafron felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the excellent breakfast. In Matilda, he'd found not just an employer or a protector, but something he'd never dared hope for – a true friend, and perhaps, in time, even family.
The mystery of the night's intruders could wait. For now, Zafron was content to bask in the glow of Matilda's kindness, looking forward to whatever the day might bring in her company.
As Zafron finished tidying up the kitchen, Mistress Matilda excused herself to change. "I'll just be a moment, dear. Why don't you wait for me in the foyer?"
Zafron nodded, making his way to the entrance hall. He smoothed down his translucent servant garment, a gossamer-like material that was both practical and, as he'd come to realize, somewhat revealing. It was the standard uniform for male servants in this society, designed to showcase their physique while maintaining a veneer of modesty.
As he waited, Zafron's mind wandered back to the night's events, but his musings were abruptly halted when Mistress Matilda appeared at the top of the stairs.
His jaw dropped.
Matilda descended the staircase with effortless grace, her movements fluid and elegant. She wore a flowing sundress that seemed to capture the very essence of a summer's day. The fabric was a soft, buttery yellow that complemented her fair skin perfectly, adorned with delicate white floral patterns that danced with each step she took.
The dress's neckline was modest yet flattering, hinting at her collarbone, while the hem swirled around her calves, revealing a pair of intricately designed sandals that laced up her ankles. Her hair, earlier confined in a simple braid, now cascaded in gentle waves over her shoulders, catching the sunlight streaming through the windows.
But it wasn't just her attire that left Zafron speechless. There was an aura of tranquility about her, a serene beauty that seemed to radiate from within. Her eyes, the color of warm honey, sparkled with gentle mirth as she noticed his stunned expression.
"Is everything alright, Zafron?" she asked, her voice as melodious as her earlier singing.
Zafron blinked, realizing he'd been staring. "I... yes, Mistress. You look... radiant," he managed to say, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.
Matilda's smile widened, a soft pink tinting her own cheeks. "Thank you, dear. You're very kind." She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood beside him, the top of her head just reaching his shoulder. Despite the difference in their attire – his revealing servant's garb and her summery elegance – she made him feel completely at ease.
"Shall we?" she said, gesturing towards the door. "The gardens are lovely this time of day."
As they stepped out into the warm sunshine, Zafron couldn't help but marvel at the calming effect Matilda had on him. Her presence was like a soothing balm, washing away his lingering concerns about the night's mysteries.
She walked beside him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender and vanilla that seemed to surround her. Her movements were unhurried, each step purposeful yet relaxed, as if she had all the time in the world to enjoy this moment.
"It's time to show you the beauty of your new home," Matilda said, her voice carrying a note of excitement. "There's so much I want you to see."