Mechanical Heart

1. After midnight

"Breakfast is ready, sir."

The calm, measured voice roused Wilhelm from sleep. He pried his eyes open with effort and squinted against the harsh sunlight seeping through the curtains. His head throbbed, and his entire body trembled with weakness.

"Breakfast is ready, sir," the young man in the black suit repeated, slightly louder this time, bowing politely.

"I heard you the first time," Wilhelm grumbled, pushing himself upright in bed. "And you are...?"

"Lucius, the butler of this house."

The young man straightened. Wilhelm attempted to stand, but his limbs refused to obey him. Weakness overcame him, and he collapsed back onto the mattress.

"Right... that girl..." Wilhelm tried to focus his eyes on Lucius. "I mean, milady. Hmm. Judging by the state I'm in, we must have had quite a night." He scratched the back of his head. "Though I don't remember much. Tell me, butler... was milady loud?" A smug grin spread across his lips. "And where is she, anyway? I wouldn't mind refreshing yesterday's memories."

Lucius's hands clenched into fists. Every muscle in his body tightened as he fought to suppress the surge of fury and preserve his composure.

"Breakfast has been served downstairs, sir. Please come down when you are ready."

Without another word, he closed the guest room door behind him.

An aromatic breakfast awaited Wilhelm below.

The dining hall was unexpectedly vast for a manor that, judging by the silence, housed only a handful of residents. The lofty ceiling vanished into shadow. Brass heating pipes ran between dark oak panels, softly ticking as steam coursed through them. Against the far wall stood a clock nearly as tall as a man—ancient, black, its dull bronze pendulum swaying with steady precision.

Wilhelm shivered involuntarily. The house was magnificent. But it was far too quiet. No maids. No cooks. No footsteps. Only the muffled pulse of machinery somewhere deep within the walls.

At the centre of the long table, draped in dark green cloth, dishes already awaited him, wisps of steam curling lazily into the air. Thick slices of toasted bread with crisp golden crusts rested in a silver basket beside a small glass dish of amber butter. Sausages crackled softly in a heavy cast-iron pan, bathed in rich onion gravy, while fried eggs seasoned with dark spices and fresh herbs released an enticing aroma. Platters of smoked river trout, thinly sliced cheeses, and still-warm sweet rolls dusted with powdered sugar completed the feast.

From a narrow copper kettle rose the scent of strong black tea infused with unfamiliar herbs—slightly sweet, pleasantly bitter, and unlike anything Wilhelm had tasted before.

"Well, now..." he muttered, sinking into his chair. "Your mistress certainly knows how to cure a hangover."

He reached for his fork, but his hand trembled with weakness. Strange. It felt less as though he had spent the night drinking and more as though he had been bedridden with fever for days.

Lucius stood nearby, motionless as a shadow against the wall. In the morning light, the butler appeared even younger. No older than twenty-five, perhaps. His dark hair was neatly combed back, his black suit impeccably tailored, and the silver watch chain across his waistcoat glimmered faintly. Only his eyes seemed wrong—far too cold for a man his age.

"Your carriage is waiting at the front entrance, sir," he said calmly.

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. "Throwing me out already?"

"Milady dislikes prolonged farewells."

Wilhelm chuckled. "A shame. After nights like that, ladies usually become much more affectionate."