While the others began their lesson on hexes, Paul remained on the first floor with Berasta, arms crossed as he stared at the boy sitting stiffly in his chair. For all his professionalism around guests, he had failed to keep his true irritation under wraps.
“What was that attitude earlier?” Paul asked. Though he made sure to maintain the proper master-servant dynamic, he was still a brother to both Ben and Berasta. “That was no way to behave—especially in front of the daughter of a duke.”
“Well, they’re not here for me, are they?”
“You still have to greet them.”
Paul sighed, while Berasta, who had only recently turned six, pursed his lips and hung his head. The boy clearly had mixed feelings toward his elder brother, and the adults of the Draco family were equally frustrated with his unusually early rebellious phase. A household of researchers seemed poorly equipped to understand the delicate emotions of a child so young.
He’s the polar opposite of Tania, Paul thought.
Tania was stouthearted—nothing like sensitive Berasta—and her manner of speaking was proper enough to rival most adults. To Paul, she was as brassy as they came, but the family’s elders adored her.
Though they were twins, Tania and Berasta couldn’t have been more different. Berasta struggled to express his thoughts and feelings, and being surrounded by headstrong women only pushed him further into his shell.
Paul stared vacantly.
To think he’d fall in love at first sight—and with the crown prince’s fiancée candidate, of all people. Not that he seems to realize it.
The steward had witnessed the exact moment his inexperienced younger brother became captivated by the prim and proper girl. He had no intention of enlightening Berasta, though; he wasn’t about to burden the boy with feelings he wasn’t ready to understand.
“And didn’t I tell you to stop breaking doors?” Paul said.
“It’s the doors’ fault for being there.”
“Don’t kick them, and don’t reinforce your leg with magic. What about your daily practice to better control your mana? You can’t keep applying it to everything.”
“My teacher said I’m improving...” Berasta mumbled, his voice barely a whisper, lowering his head and puffing out his cheeks. Having a relative as talented as Ben must have frustrated him to no end. He was an angel in his mother’s eyes, but apparently he couldn’t stand that either.
“If your emotions make you lose control, then you still need more practice.”
Berasta knew Paul was right, which only made him sulk harder. The steward massaged his own temples as though trying to soothe a headache.
“So, what brought you here?” Paul asked. “These days, you don’t visit Ben unless you have business with him.”
“Well, it’s nothing important...” the boy began. He looked up, saw the steward patiently waiting for more, and continued in a quiet voice, “I heard Tania plans to start properly studying magic.”
Paul wasn’t surprised. Tania had gained control of her mana unusually early; taking her studies seriously was the natural next step. For the impressionable Berasta, however, the news must have made him feel more inferior than ever.
In House Draco, education was based on ability rather than age, especially when it came to magic and hexes. Children received tutors as soon as they learned to control their mana. Ben, being the genius he was, had gotten one at five years old—five years before most people managed basic control.
“Did you request a tutor too?” Paul asked.
“He refused...” the boy muttered at last, frustrated.
Again, Paul wasn’t surprised. Ben was more obsessed with research than anyone else in House Draco and paid painfully little attention to other people. He treasured his family—especially his younger brother and sister—but the steward often wondered whether they noticed. For all his chattiness, Ben struggled to get to the point, and his brilliance made him poor at reading ordinary emotions. Even Paul occasionally misunderstood him or took offense, though it had become less common over the years.
Berasta gritted his teeth, clearly still stewing over the rejection.
Paul stifled a sigh, not wanting to deflate the boy’s already shaky confidence. “I’m not proficient with magic, but I’ve heard there are three reasons someone might struggle to control their mana.”
The boy looked up in surprise, meeting the steward’s gaze directly for the first time. Tears welled in his eyes as he resisted the urge to cry.
Paul had never studied magic formally, and what little he knew he’d picked up from Ben over drinks. In House Draco, the basics were considered such common knowledge that no one bothered to explain them. Tania would learn them soon enough from her tutor.
“The first is a lack of aptitude,” the steward went on. “The second is proficiency with offensive magic. And the third is having a tremendous amount of mana.”
Berasta’s eyes widened. Paul silently chastised the elder of his foster brothers for not explaining all this sooner.
“I can’t say which applies to you,” he continued, “but most people only learn to control their mana around the age of ten. Why not take things at your own pace?”
Berasta gave a slight nod. He seemed only a little encouraged, but the rest of his worries were his own to work through; Paul had no more comforting words left. Deep down, he sympathized with the boy—it couldn’t be easy growing up in such a talented family.
“Right,” he said, moving the conversation along, “have some cookies while you wait for your coach.”
“You made cookies again?” Berasta asked, rising from his chair in surprise.
“Too many, in fact.”
“Were you stress baking again?”
“Oh, be quiet.”
Hearing the bitterness in Paul’s voice, it was Berasta’s turn to sympathize.
The more Ben Draco lost himself in research, the more work fell on the steward. And it wasn’t just chores—Ben frequently sent him to procure herbs, minerals, and books from far-flung countries. The lack of sleep took a noticeable toll on Paul’s mental health, and baking sweets in abundance was one of his usual ways to cope.
“I just hope he comes back to his senses before it’s anything worse...” Berasta muttered.
“I’ll call you as soon as my next five-layer cake is ready.”
“Please don’t.” Berasta grimaced. “I can’t stand the thought of more cream.”
Seeing him finally make a face appropriate for his age, Paul reached out and tousled the boy’s hair. Berasta wriggled away and made for the kitchen.