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He knew he looked monstrous.

Swoosh. He yanked the curtains shut and the chamber returned to darkness. Ambrose growled, but not at his appearance. He had long since stopped caring what other people saw when they looked at him. He was irritated that a servant’s carelessness had caused this.

“Please—please forgive me, Your Grace,” the man pleaded miserably. “I—I shall accept whatever punishment you deem fit. I merely wanted to kill the damned bird.”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed. He glanced toward the window, where the silhouette of the innocent creature still perched upon the sill.

“You wished to kill an innocent creature that has done you no harm?” he asked, voice even lower now.

“I—” The footman tried to defend himself but then his face crumpled, at a total loss for words.

Ambrose stared at him for several more seconds. The anger within his chest gradually transformed into something else… It was no longer hot and furious, but darker. He turned toward the window again. The bird was merely a creature born into a world it had never asked to be a part of, seeking nothing more than some warmth and a place to rest its wings. It simply wanted to exist without being bothered.

None understood this better than Ambrose.

“You will leave the bird alone.”

“But it dirtied the sill and would not leave.”

“If it wishes to leave, it will leave.”

The footman blinked, silent for a moment, before daring to ask in a barely audible voice, “And if it does not? If it makes a nest?”

“Then you will learn how to tolerate it,” Ambrose replied matter-of-factly.

The young man’s lips parted. For a moment, something almost like confusion etched his features. Then the footman lowered his gaze once more, as though meeting his master’s gaze would cost him his life.

“Leave,” Ambrose commanded dismissively, and gratitude spread across the footman’s face. His slight frame scrambled up from the floor, knee brushing the fallen candleholder in the process.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he muttered before retreating through the door.

The door closed after his departure, returning silence to the room. For several moments, Ambrose remained where he was, broad chest rising and falling. He could still feel the sun’s rays on his face. His fingers curled tightly at his sides. Then footsteps approached, stopping right beside him.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Ernest. He had disappeared when Ambrose had told him he’d handle the situation. Ambrose understood now that he’d seen the signs of contact with the sun on his skin and left to get remedies.

“I have ice and ointment,” he said.

And without a word, Ambrose accepted both before moving to the large bed positioned in the center of the room. He lowered himself, drawing in a silent breath.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Ernest said solemnly, breaking the silence. “The footman is new. He was informed of the rules, though I fear he did not consider them seriously.”

Ambrose’s lips curved into a humorless half smile. “I wonder if he truly meant to remove a bird from a sill. Or maybe it was something else that drew him here. Perhaps he wished to discover whether I truly am the Beast of Griffin,” he remarked dryly.

Ernest shook his head at once. “But you know you are not, Your Grace,” he replied gently.

This time, a sullen chuckle escaped Ambrose. Finally, he raised the ice to his burning cheek. The butler stepped closer, maintaining the respectful distance expected of a servant while somehow managing to possess the audacity of an uncle.

“Another matter, Your Grace. Tomorrow is December 1st. Christmas is approaching,” he began. “It has been years since last we celebrated. I thought perhaps this year we might? It would be marvelous to have some of the local nobles spend an evening with you. It might dispel these ridiculous rumors about you.”

Ambrose looked away. Here came Ernest again with his schemes to find him friends.

“Or perhaps merely a quiet Christmas with the servants,” Ernest offered more carefully. “The servants would enjoy it.”

Ambrose slowly turned his head, and that alone silenced the butler. It was just a look, but Ernest had always been brilliant enough to decipher the warning underneath it. Which was why he respected his butler, who had shared his household for years without ever confusing the privilege of knowing his master well with the right to challenge him.

“Very well,” Ernest surrendered with a faint smile. “I shall leave His Grace to his solitude. Rest well,” he added, bowing before leaving.