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"You met His Highness yet?" Dry Devil asked, leaning against his pitchfork."...Who?" Henry asked, sweat running down his face. The heat was unbearable to the point he could barely feel himself sucking in desperate breaths of air.
As if on cue, the door to the main house banged open and a blonde man of around Henry's age strutted out, he was wearing a yellow shirt with black checkers, aviators perched over a perfectly straight nose and a white cowboy hat.
"Hans Fucking Capon." The Dry Devil actually spat on the ground, "He's set to inherit the whole thing once the world ends or his uncle fucking croaks it."
Henry watched as Hans jumped down the last two steps, his head swiveling around as he looked at his surroundings with the air of someone who knew who he was and the position he held.
Oh. So that was the famous Hans that Henry was supposed to work with.