Lucian Veilwood never wanted responsibility. He had spent years perfecting the fine art of doing just enough to pass as competent while ensuring no one ever expected much from him. His greatest ambition in life? A quiet, uneventful existence where he could sleep until noon, enjoy a steady supply of tea and pastries, and avoid anything resembling effort.

  Which is why, when the Emperor himself assigned Lucian as the Lord of Duskwatch County, he was convinced there had been a mistake.

  "Duskwatch? That abandoned wasteland at the edge of the empire? That Duskwatch?" Lucian had asked, half-hoping someone would correct the clerical error.

  The royal messenger, a stiff-backed bureaucrat with the personality of damp parchment, merely nodded. "Yes, Lord Veilwood. His Majesty has deemed it appropriate for you to oversee its restoration."

  Restoration. That implied the place was worth fixing. Lucian recalled vague rumors about Duskwatch—bad soil, frequent bandit raids, and a tax system so convoluted that even the Imperial Treasury had given up on collecting dues. It was the kind of place no sane noble wanted to govern.

  Lucian sighed. He had two choices: refuse the position and risk angering the Emperor (a famously short-tempered man), or accept the role and pray that the county was so far gone that no one would care what he did there.

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  The latter seemed less likely to result in execution. Barely.

  "Fine," he said. "I’ll take it. But don’t expect miracles."

  The messenger bowed and left without another word, leaving Lucian alone with the crushing weight of impending doom. He sat in his favorite chair, staring at the ceiling, and contemplated his fate.

  Maybe, just maybe, he could find a loophole. A way to appoint a steward to handle things in his absence. Or better yet, a distant cousin with an unfortunate gambling problem who would happily take the title for a small bribe.

  But as he mulled over his options, a memory surfaced.

  Years ago, at one of the many tedious court gatherings, Lucian had once made the mistake of laughing—just once—at the Emperor’s terrible joke about agricultural policy. It was a dry, painful joke that no one else had dared react to, and Lucian, having been halfway through a particularly strong cup of tea, had chuckled purely by accident.

  The Emperor had turned to him, grinning, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, Veilwood! A man of wit and vision!"

  Lucian had nodded. Because what else could he do?

  Now, years later, he realized with dawning horror that this was likely the result of that single ill-timed laugh. Some long-forgotten clerk must have filed his name under “trustworthy nobles who enjoy agricultural matters,” and now, here he was.

  Destined for Duskwatch.

  Lucian groaned and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

  Little did he know, his half-hearted attempts to avoid responsibility were about to make him the most legendary ruler Duskwatch had ever seen.