The manservant waited for him in the tiny armoury, Isaac’s armour gleaming brightly on its stand and his sword neatly sheathed on the table. His face was still set in that faint disapproval. Without a word, he held out the padded undergarments for the armour.
He took a deep breath upon seeing his newly shined armour, his eyes widening as he reached out to take the undergarments. Methodically putting them on without thinking about it too much, he allowed his mind to wander, thoughts of Summer filling his head. Before long, he was dressed and gazing at his sword, breath hitching just a little at the thought of the imminent battle.
Rafael knelt to clasp the sword belt around Isaac’s waist. He walked a circle around his lord, checking for loose straps or edges sticking out that might catch on something, and resettled one shoulderplate. “That’s it, Master Isaac.” He cleared his throat. “Er. Good luck.”