He met Ken's steady gaze. "I appreciate the offer, Ken. Sincerely. And your loyalty." He drew a breath. "But no."
Ken's expression didn't flicker, but Lloyd sensed the silent question.
"This isn't just about satisfying my father," Lloyd explained, his voice low but intense. "This is about perception. About control. About sending a message."
"A message, Young Lord?"
"Think about it, Ken. If I rely solely on your word, what will the whispers be? 'Of course the Duke's man backed the heir.' 'Power protects its own.' 'Maybe the boy did provoke them, maybe he did go too far.' Rubel will spin it that way. Doubts will remain. My authority, my credibility, will still be questioned in every shadow, every corner of this court."
He started walking again, forcing Ken alongside him. "That's unacceptable. I won't let Rubel sow those seeds. I won't let anyone think I acted unjustly or hid behind my father's shield." His fist clenched unconsciously at his side. "They accused me. They brought false witnesses against me. I will dismantle their lies piece by painful piece, publicly, and leave no shred of doubt." His voice dropped further, laced with cold determination. "It's about ego, yes. But it's also about establishing dominance. Rubel needs to understand that attacking me directly, even through pawns, has severe consequences beyond mere physical injury. He needs to understand that his games won't work."
Ken absorbed this, his impassive face giving nothing away, but Lloyd felt a subtle shift in the man's stillness, an understanding passing between them.
"Understood, Young Lord," Ken said finally, the subtle weight back in his voice. "You intend to make a public demonstration."
"Precisely," Lloyd confirmed. "And for that, I need ammunition." He retrieved the folded parchment from his tunic again, the list of names feeling heavier now. "The witnesses. Rubel chose them for a reason. Find that reason." He handed the list over.
Ken scanned it quickly, his eyes missing nothing. "Standard background reconnaissance? Financials, affiliations, known vulnerabilities?"
"Everything," Lloyd commanded. "Debts, gambling habits, sick relatives needing expensive care, grudges against the Arch Duke, secret allegiances, land disputes, illicit affairs… any potential lever Rubel might have used. Focus especially on any connection, however faint, to the Viscount himself or his known business interests and associates. I need to know who was bought, and who was squeezed."
"Timeframe?" Ken asked, tucking the list securely away.
"Before sunrise," Lloyd stated flatly. "Discreetly. I need that information laid out, analyzed, potential pressure points highlighted."
"It will be done, Young Lord," Ken affirmed. The certainty in his voice was absolute. "My resources are yours to command for this task."
"Thank you, Ken," Lloyd said, relief mixing with the cold resolve. Ken Park's 'resources' were legendary within the estate – a network of eyes and ears, access to records both public and private, and the skills to extract information others couldn't. "With that data, I can craft the counter-narrative."
He turned towards the wing housing the estate's extensive records archive. "Now, phase two. While you handle the human intelligence, I'll handle the paper trail. Guild registries, property deeds, tax records… sometimes the most damning connections are hidden in plain sight, buried under mundane bureaucracy."
Ken nodded once more. "I shall proceed immediately." And with that, he seemed to flow backwards into the deeper shadows of the corridor, vanishing as completely and silently as mist dissipating in sunlight.
Lloyd watched him go for a moment, then turned towards the archives, his mind already racing, sifting through strategies, planning his approach. Twenty-three hours. The clock was ticking, but the board was set, and the pieces were beginning to move according to his design. Rubel thought he was setting a trap. He was about to discover he'd merely provided Lloyd with a stage.
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The heavy oak door of Arch Duke Roy Ferrum's study swung inward, revealing a scene thick with calculated tension. Sunlight streamed through the tall, imposing windows, illuminating motes of dust that danced like oblivious sprites in the charged air. The very atmosphere felt compressed, heavy with unspoken accusations and simmering animosity. The rhythmic ticking of the grand clock on the mantelpiece seemed unnaturally loud, each measured beat marking the passage of the twenty-four hours Roy had granted.