"Lord Annan, will this one do?"
Annan turned to look at Peterson, who stood beside the servant.
How to put it... Some people could dress like a prince, hold a prince's Royal Sword, and have servants address them as a prince, yet still look like a pickpocket who had stolen a prince's clothes.
Peterson knew it too. This was the outfit he thought looked best, and he was already braced for a few barbs from Annan.
But a hundred years later, as an aged Peterson lay in bed surrounded by his concerned children and grandchildren, he still found himself remembering what Lord Annan had said that day: "Why are you dressed so well? Are you trying to steal the spotlight from me?"
"No, no! I could put on ten thousand outfits and still not draw as many eyes as you!" Peterson grinned so broadly his whole face seemed to move. Even the servant had to lower his head to hide his reaction.
Annan waved a hand. "All right, change into something plainer. I'm just making an appearance at the banquet. I won't need you for much."
"You treat your subordinates well," Olin said.
"Why keep a stern face all the time? Isn't it tiring?"
"Shouldn't a leader inspire awe?"
"Is there a book called One Hundred Things Leaders Must Do and One Hundred Things They Must Never Do?" Annan asked. When Olin shook her head in confusion, he said, "Then black cat or white cat, a good cat catches mice."
Evening soon arrived. In the end, Peterson changed back into an ordinary formal outfit.
The trouble was that Peterson had short limbs and a stunted build, along with the belly he had acquired from eating well in Free City. Add the two short whiskers he had grown to look mature,