The heavy velvet cape of King Secondo draped over the flanks of his black warhorse, absorbing the damp chill of the fog. He sat slumped in the leather saddle, looking around with a gaze heavy with exhaustion and pure, unadulterated boredom. The dreary landscape of Ya-Lo-Fard offered no amusement. The endless rows of crooked huts and twisted bare trees only mirrored the bleak irritation festering inside him. He had officially run out of patience. ​With a sharp, dismissive wave of his gloved hand, Secondo banished his last two remaining ghouls into the mist. He ordered them to take the remaining parchment notices and scour the final, untouched edges of the village—to drag back anyone left who could hold a broom. The demonic, faceless servants dissolved into the shadows, leaving the king alone with his thoughts and the rhythmic, hollow clopping of his horse's hooves. ​The past few weeks had been an absolute nightmare of incompetence. It was grueling work, sitting through hours of terrified, clumsy villagers who couldn't even dust a mantle without trembling. Yet, beneath his grumpy exterior, desperation was settling in. The castle was slipping into disarray, and Secondo’s meticulous nature couldn't handle it. The king was in desperate, bitter need of a maid—and as he pulled the reins, guiding his mount back toward the looming, gothic silhouette of his castle, he prayed the ghouls would return with someone actually worth his time.