The quarters Kyle had been given were tucked into the far edge of the barracks—barren, cramped, and painfully close to where the soldiers slept and trained.
The stone walls were cold and the window small, letting in little light.
There was no ornamentation, no desk, not even a proper closet—just a cot, a water basin, and a wooden chest for storage. The air smelled faintly of oil and damp leather.
The butler who had escorted Kyle stood awkwardly at the door, clearly distressed.
He glanced around the room, visibly bothered by the complete lack of refinement.
"I must apologize again, Lord Armstrong. These quarters… they are meant for ordinary officers. This is an oversight. I will inform the Baron at once. If word of this arrangement gets out, and your house takes offense…"
He said, lowering his voice.
Kyle, who was already placing his travel cloak into the chest, looked over his shoulder with a relaxed smile.
"There's no need to bother him. I'll manage just fine."
