THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

A steaming bath, a fragrant concoction of herbs and flowers, awaited David. Katrina, the picture of efficiency, had anticipated his needs. Shedding his sweaty clothes, a touch of luxury unknown in his previous life, David submerged himself with a satisfied sigh. This, he mused, was the life of a noble, a life he was quickly beginning to enjoy.

Katrina reappeared, bearing a two-piece ensemble of black and red. Victorian in style, it screamed power and refinement. As she expertly dressed him, nimble fingers gliding over his bare skin, David felt a thrill, not entirely unpleasant. He stood ramrod straight, a statue come alive under her ministrations, feeling her every touch that led to a small tent forming beneath his pants.

Katrina schooled her expression into professional neutrality after seeing a bulge on the young master's pants. The young master, she knew, would never consider her as anything but a servant, and she wouldn't allow herself to dwell on such foolish notions. A final flourish – a flick of the wrist, a tuck of the shirttail – and Katrina stepped back.

David strode to the mirror, surprised by the transformation. The man staring back was undeniably handsome, the dark clothes accentuating his small frame and the sharp lines of his jaw. Now he understood the "charm" stat on his stat window. "Ready, Young Master?" inquired Katrina, her voice ever-so-slightly softer than before. David, feeling a flicker of amusement at the title, surprised her further.

"After you," he said, gesturing towards the door. The head maid blinked, a flicker of astonishment crossing her face. In all her years, the young master had never displayed such courtesy. A silent understanding passed between them. With a subtle nod, Katrina led the way, her steps measured, David intending to enjoy the view from behind.

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Even if Katrina's voluptuous body was hidden by her maid uniform, David could clearly make out the shape of her protruding ass, relishing the view as they walked towards the family dining room. Cool air, a welcome contrast to the steamy bath, ruffled David's unbound white hair as he strode through the echoing halls.

Lost in thought, he replayed the life of the fictional David, a life he now inhabited. For his plans to take flight, he needed to rebuild his reputation in the eyes of his father. It wouldn't be easy. General De Gor, the Solarian Empire's war hero, valued strength above all else. Yet, within this masquerade lay an opportunity.

What better way, than to find the assassin who attempted to take David's life and prove his own will, his hunger for martial prowess, than by playing the part of an avenger seeking justice with an iron hand. A heavy, double oak door, emblazoned with a sword held aloft by winged warriors, creaked open under Katrina's touch.

"We have arrived, Young Master," she announced, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "Please, take a seat. Your breakfast will be served shortly." With a silent bow, she glided from the room, leaving David alone. David blinked away the last tendrils of his internal debate, his gaze finally focusing on the room before him. Opulence wasn't just a word here, it was a symphony.

Golden light from the magnificent chandeliers rained down, reflecting off a polished wooden table that stretched across the room like a gleaming brown river. Fine china blushed under the light, glittering alongside polished silver and crystal that held the glint of captured rainbows. The air itself seemed to whisper of wealth.

Plush chairs, upholstered in a tapestry woven with scenes of battles and victories, beckoned like thrones. Every detail, from the intricate carvings on the table legs to the way the heavy drapes whispered secrets in the gentle breeze, whispered of craftsmanship and a taste for the finer things. Even the walls boasted.

Lavishly framed mirrors doubled the opulence, reflecting the chandelier's brilliance. Paintings of stoic ancestors and epic battles adorned the space, their gilded frames echoing the warm tones of the room. Elegant cabinets in the corner displayed treasures – porcelain with a whisper of the Orient, glinting silver heirlooms, and the occasional curio with an air of forbidden knowledge.

This wasn't just a room, it was a statement. A declaration of power, of wealth, and perhaps, of a slightly excessive fondness for crystal. David perched on the edge of the luxurious chair, his excitement a caged bird fluttering against his ribs. Breakfast in his old life was a bowl of lukewarm gruel, a far cry from the feast promised before him.

His gaze danced over the fine china and gleaming silverware, a stark contrast to the chipped mugs and dented spoons he'd grown accustomed to. A small smile played on his lips – being the master wasn't all bad. Meanwhile, a symphony of clinking porcelain and feather-light steps echoed through a different room. Vivian, her youthful figure swaying gracefully, dusted a collection of crystal vases.

Her mind, however, was far from the task at hand. David's fleeting compliment, his unexpected gentleness, it all swirled like a potent potion in her heart. But was it real? Could the notoriously aloof master truly find her name beautiful? Or was it just a cruel trick, a fleeting whim of a privileged lord? Just as doubt began to solidify, a voice broke the silence.

Meissy, a fellow maid with hair the colour of burnished chestnut, peeked around the corner. "Vivian, there you are! I've been searching everywhere for you." Vivian turned, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "Meissy, is everything alright?" she inquired, noticing the urgency in her friend's eyes.

"Are you well after serving the young master yesterday?" Meissy pressed, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. Vivian rolled her eyes, a hint of amusement slipping through her carefully constructed facade. "I am fine, as you can see," she replied, expertly maneuvering around a particularly ornate vase. "Why all the urgency?" Meissy, ever the gossip hound, paused for dramatic effect.

"Oh," she began, "clumsy me, I almost forgot! Gareth, you know, the guard? He's been looking for you." A grimace briefly contorted Vivian's features, though she quickly smoothed it over. "Gareth," she echoed, feigning indifference. "Right, well, thank you for letting me know, Meissy." But Meissy wasn't about to give up so easily. Her curiosity burned brighter than the morning sun.

"So," she pressed, leaning in closer, "tell me everything! Did the young master… well… mistreat you?" Vivian sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. How to answer without revealing too much about the master's confusing change in demeanor? This, she realized with amusement, was a whole new challenge in the game of being a maid.