The Frontier Lords had become aware of Adam's Talent of Contracts that he'd stolen from Eric – although they didn't know it was a plagiarized ability. If anything, they likely believed it to be his original Talent, and that his Lord Talent was Aspreay's, willingly passed down from father to son.

More convenient this way, Adam thought. His legs twitched with nervous anxiety as he awaited the Frontier Lords' arrival. One of their conditions for this meeting was a simple yet deadly Contract:

Adam, Lord of Penumbria, may not use Divine Knowledge on the five visiting lords for the duration of their visit – or he shall perish.

"It is common to arrange precautions like this," Aspreay muttered with a shrug. "That is why meeting in another lord's territory is so rare, especially when they outrank you in Talent as you now outrank them."

Which meant that even back before they were reunited, and despite everything, Vasco and Aspreay had still trusted one another. Or else they wouldn't have met in Penumbria.

"Suppose it's fine," Adam said. "Probably works out in our favor that they insisted on this Contract."

"That it does. And forget not what we went over. The Frontier Lords flock behind Edmundo, so we must–"

"–Show them a bluer sky," Adam finished.

"–Trap them in a cage," Aspreay finished.

Both men looked at each other with raised eyebrows. A silence stretched on that neither was willing to break.

Most fortunate, then, that the Five Frontier Lords took that moment to enter the meeting room.

The lords and ladies moved with the ease of people who'd never been denied anything. They claimed their seats without acknowledgment, their focus already fixed. Aspreay stood just behind Adam, evoking a quiet menace that screamed at them not to dare try anything.

Adam sat still, ready to meet their scrutiny head-on – and readier still to earn their loyalty.

One by one the Lords spoke, none offering so much as their name. They each acted with entrenched arrogance, the kind that came so naturally it wasn't even accompanied by a taunt, as if their mere presence was enough of an introduction.

Adam hated that they were right. A single glance around the table was enough to confirm their identities, and the feeling was only reinforced when they spoke.

He went over his notes in his mind, matching them to each noble one at a time. It was an easy enough job, to be honest. Aspreay had given him a...perhaps colorful, but seemingly very accurate description of them all.

"War is hardly ever good business," said the oldest of the lords, "and these accommodations are hardly convincing me this time is the exception." His fingers tapped against the table with an almost unconscious rhythm, and his lips curled slightly as amusement flashed within his gaze.

The smile wasn't kind. It was sharp, it was precise, it was a weapon – and it was aimed at Adam. "I pray you convince me otherwise."

When you see a scarecrow dressed in old velvet, Aspreay had said, then your eyes are unfortunately gazing upon Gregório Montefrio, Lord of Nevoa. His face is stuck in a permanent scowl; probably because the old bastard thinks any other expression would cost too much.

"Now, now," said the noble Lady to his left. "Must you start a conversation like that? We could at least discuss the accommodations, make idle chatter first. Why are you like this?"

The fabric of her dress clung on to her like the ambition in her eyes – smooth, deliberate, and rather on display. Her neckline dipped dangerously low, an invitation and a warning in equal measure. The Lady's jewelry caught the light, casting shards of brilliance that seemed to cut the air around her. She crossed her legs, confident, unyielding–

And then slammed her heels onto the table, leaving a noticeable dent at the point of impact. "We've come a long way. Must we speak of business so soon, before even so much as a feast?"

If you wonder whether you've stepped into a brothel, fear not. The woman testing the limits of how much skin you can show – while draping the rest in silk far too fine for her ilk – is, unfortunately, Beatriz das Ondasfrias, Lady of Serramar.

Despite his venom, Aspreay's tone had been surprisingly respectful that time. You'll know her by her smile. It's sharper than the knife she's probably hiding.

Adam made a mental note to speak to Aspreay about how he chose to describe women, then recalled what he knew of Serramar. The port city was built nearly into the very mountain that separated Penumbria and Gama, yet dealt little with either due to poorly-maintained roads, focusing more on sea trade with the Imperial capital.

"It's baffling that others complain of your city so much – the food is amazing." This next lord spoke casually, smirking at Aspreay. "You there, could I have some more of that baked dessert from earlier?"

"I am not your servant," Aspreay fired back in disgust. "You may ask for more after the meeting. No one else is allowed in this room."

Adam hardly needed to confirm this one's identity with his tablet. He was the Frontier Lord that Aspreay had described with the most disgust.

If the woman will make you question whether you're in a brothel, then give her grace when you are burdened with witnessing Gaspar's existence – for discovering that his job was to sit upon a throne instead of a cock will make you want the Emperor hanged. He wears less than the woman...and of worse quality, too.

Adam almost felt ashamed to understand what Aspreay's rant referred to, as if deciphering it meant agreeing with it. The young Gaspar das Cinzas, Lord of Asteria, wore an outfit that would have been considered too casual on Earth, let alone the Painted World.

His shirt wasn't worn – it was draped, slipping off one shoulder and revealing his bare, sculpted chest, not a single button done up. He lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back, his posture so relaxed it bordered on disrespect. His smirk only deepened the impression.

Aspreay's true distaste for the man went beyond how he dressed. The former Lord of Penumbria simply couldn't admit his true reason, lest he come across as too earnestly interested in the good of the people.

Although he had admitted it to Adam, albeit reluctantly. Gaspar is a Lord in title, and in Talent, yet not in reality. The mongrel stays at Edmundo's court nowadays, drinking and whoring as if he hadn't allowed his entire city to be swallowed by the Rot. He ruled over Asteria, once...but you know what happened to it.

Adam was aware, in the vaguest of terms, and some quick research refreshed his mind. The City of Asteria, to the south of Penumbria, had fallen to the Rot very recently – so recently that Adam was in Aspreay's court when a refugee attempted to ask for mercy.

Which Aspreay had strongly denied, banishing the woman with a Royal Order and sending her flying into the wilderness.

Sometimes I forget that he's a monster. Should keep that in mind.

"Now, now!" said another Lady, whose concerned eyes shifted between Gaspar and Beatriz. "Our time is limited, and this matter is serious. Mayhaps we can focus on the issue of the Emperor and the Rot?"

At some point, Aspreay had warned, you'll look at that troupe of clowns and notice a normal human among them. She is Helena Terraforte, Lady of Almarades. Poor woman is better fit for a central court than one in the Frontier, but her elder sister inherited the city's ancestral claim. This was her consolation prize.

Adam couldn't help but marvel at how normal the woman seemed. She wore a dress of soft lavender; elegant, modest, and with flowing lines that didn't betray the tension in her posture. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the table once, then twice, before finally settling into her lap.

In a room filled with exaggerated gestures and cutting words, her simple confusion felt like a calm amidst the storm. The others thrived on theatrics, chaos, and thinly-veiled threats. However, she looked – at least outwardly – as Adam himself felt: baffled at those around them. I deeply sympathize.

"How long of this farce must I endure," said the last Lord, "before you give me back my son's bones?"

Silence shrouded the room. Adam needn't have remembered Aspreay's words to know who the final nobleman was. He was the last one to enter the room, yet had no difficulty sitting at the foot of the table – none of the other four even tried taking the spot from him.

They all agreed the one sitting directly opposed to Adam would be him.

"Lord Edmundo Crepusculo, Ruler of Coimbargo," the Painter addressed, in a formal tone. "I am pleased you've found the time to join our meeting. It will be done when matters regarding the lives of thousands are dealt with, and not a moment sooner."

Crepusculo's response wasn't violent. "Then let us deal with it," he spat out, his voice frigid as winter. "Quickly, so I can ride to the capital and petition the Emperor." Not immediately violent, anyhow.

Adam closed his eyes. This man – each of the five – had the Talent of a Lord. All could call upon a Realm, and all save for Gaspar could conjure up armies with a hoisting of their banner.

Be a lord. Don't let him push you around.

"You would do well to heed your words, Lord Crepusculo," Adam began, filling his wine glass with disinterest. He held the silence for a second, gazing into his cup, then looked up to extend the bottle toward Edmundo. "Right now, you stand before the King of the Frontier. Making jest about seeing the Emperor is akin to treason."

Edmundo Crepusculo smiled. "I do not have to acknowledge your ridiculous claims, my lord."

"Nostalgic," Adam said, pulling away the bottle and placing it on the table. "That response of yours. I heard it once before." Be a lord, said a voice in his mind. Be a king, said a louder one. "The bones of its owner will reunite with you soon, should you prove reasonable."

Crepusculo stood up. Aspreay's training had been effective – Adam could feel the other man's Canvas stirring, his soul staining itself in preparation for violence. It was the same as if his hand had fallen on a sword handle, ready to draw, and just as offensive of a gesture.

Yet he had not unsheathed that blade. "Sit down, my lord," Adam warned him in a low voice. "Your poor manners are betraying your station."

Something about his raspy tone caused Beatriz and Gaspar to withdraw their feet from the table. Crepusculo, it seemed, needed more incentive. "You may have made your proclamation of Kingship, boy," said the Lord, "but it is my choice whether to acknowledge it or not. Coimbargo will kneel only if I decide."

"Correct to the former, wrong to the latter." Adam lowered his voice, yet projected it across the room. "You may acknowledge me or not – but Coimbargo will kneel."

Crepusculo's cheeks flushed in anger, his lips trembling with disgust. When he spoke, his tone was surprisingly calm. "Do you think I will serve under the man who murdered my son?"

"Aye," came Adam's reply. "I do, indeed, think you would put the lives of your people ahead of personal revenge. Or do I presume too much of your qualities as a ruler?"

A sudden clap cut through the tension. "Insults and threats," started old, scowling Gregorio, so quietly that the others hushed themselves to hear him. "Ah, I have danced these steps before. The tune changes every decade or so, you see, but not the steps. No...the dance itself is always the same. Lords bicker, shouting of pride, duty, revenge, and goodness."

He shook his head. "Horseshit, all of it. Let us discuss business, first and foremost. Edmundo – you need to hear him out in order to get your son's bones, don't you?"

"You would have me endure this indignity, Gregorio?"

"Yes," the old lord swiftly answered. "Better a quick indignity if it will avoid several slower ones. If the deal is bad, it's not as though I'll have any interest in it...and the threats will remain as coming from a Painter, not a king."

Adam picked up on what had gone unspoken. While the four lords deferred to the Lord of Coimbargo, he did not rule over them as Aspreay had alluded to. Moreover, there was another insinuation in Gregorio's words – that, given enough incentive, he could accept Adam as his king.

The weight of his implication grew heavier with every passing second. Adam decided to cut it off before it could settle. "Lord Gregorio speaks wisely. Tensions are high, but we might as well speak frankly."

Frankness was seemingly one of Gaspar's favorite characteristics, judging by how he perked up in his chair. "By the Dragons," he said, "let's get on with it then! What is your proposal?"

It stood out that he wasn't addressing Adam as either a lord or a king. Considering his mannerisms, this could either be callousness or caution. His carefree smirk and lazy posture – leaning back as far as his chair would allow – left room for both options.

"Emperor Ciro does not care for the Frontier," Adam said. "This is no news to any of you. The Empire is to our west, the advancing Rot is to the east, and our doom is to our future if we refuse to do anything. Each year the Emperor taxes us more heavily for the Imperial inventions that stave off the Rot...and each year it becomes harder to prevent our territories from becoming swallowed whole."

Despite Penumbria being mostly protected, and despite how Adam had been hard at work to undo the Rot's damage, many of the city's buildings remained Stained. Prevention is so much easier than cure. The Frontier Cities simply didn't have the economy to keep up with the Emperor's increasing demands – and even that technology had its limits.

Beatriz raised her chin. "Not all of us are in such dire straits. Serramar enjoys healthy trade with the Empire, second only to Almarades."

"Healthy so long as Ciro deems it so," Adam said. "You live beneath his whims."

"And yours would be better? What would make your whims less dangerous than his?"

Adam unfurled a map onto the table. "Geography," he said, meeting her eyes. I need more than words to win them over – I need proof. "Penumbria is the eastmost city in the Frontier, aside from Almarades."

He glanced at Lady Helena when he said this, observing as she bit her lip in concern."Keeping the Rot away from Penumbria isn't an option for me," Adam continued. "Were I to allow it to grow unfettered, it would reach my city. The Emperor is safe, far to the west from us; he can afford to let the frontier lands be swallowed whole. It wouldn't affect him in the slightest."

"Pardon," said Gregorio, leaning forward ever so slightly. "But that isn't quite true. The Emperor can damn our cities, true, but think of the financial loss – the sheer amount of Orbs he would lose! I have a hard time believing he would go to such lengths...hard enough, in fact, that it makes me wonder why I'd wager my position in a desperate gamble for independence from the Empire."

Adam had prepared for that argument. "You will recall, Gregorio, that the Emperor had no trouble using your men in his last war against me. Do you think he will not do so again?" It was much cheaper for the Emperor to commandeer local levies than to march his armies down from the capital, and they both knew it. "How much did you lose in taxes when your men perished?"

"I suppose that is a fair point," Gregorio admitted. "Those men who died–"

"Died," Edmundo repeated angrily. "You make it sound so natural, my lord. As if it were an accident. Your men killed our men in war. Just like you killed my son."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Adam grit his teeth. He understood the man's anger, but he could not abide by his hypocrisy. "Why, yes, Lord Crepusculo – we killed those who tried to raze my city to the ground. Have you forgotten that you assisted the Emperor in trying to destroy Penumbria? That hundreds of good men died because every single one of you lent your men to his mission of genocide?"

The Painter glared, his voice thundering. "Mistake not my forgiveness for meekness. That I have yet to execute you all on the spot is a charity!"

A silence fell that remained for long after Adam's shout had finished echoing inside the room. Each of the lords appeared...if not ashamed, then at least hesitant.

They knew he had slain a Hangman in single combat, after all.

Gaspar's hand shot up in the air. "I lent none of my men in that war," he said, with a heroic voice. Then, in a more honest tone – but without wiping the smirk off his face – he added, "Well, I didn't really have any men to send. My city was destroyed, you see, as were most of my forces. So I don't think this is a moral victory on my part. But it is a legal one, in case Your Highness is keen on executing people today."

"What did you just call him?" Edmundo grunted.

Lord Gaspar shrugged and yawned in response, which would have resulted in an argument had Adam not chosen to interrupt. "This isn't a matter of titles, coin, or revenge!" he shouted. "We have wronged each other. We have bled each other. But should we do nothing, the Emperor will kill us and all the people we swore to protect. I have acquired the means to save us and Ciro wants me dead for it – does that not tell you who you ought to follow?"

Gregorio heaved a long, heavy, and saddened sigh. "Were it only so simple...yet the world never is." He drew a deep breath. "You are young still, Lord Adam, and understand not the weight of a lord. I was young once too – I understand the fiery appeal of rebellion, of dying for freedom, of the promise of better days. But with age you learn that sometimes it is better to live, even under painful compromise."

"It doesn't matter what compromises you're willing to make! You won't live under the Emperor's rule at all!"

"Ah, we will. There is no reason to panic. He will hang the threat of the Rot over our heads to extract more Orbs, of course, but he will not let us die – that would be economically unwise! "Do you think he would sacrifice lives and the economy on a whim?"

Adam grabbed his own head in exasperation. "Yes! You already saw him do that!"

"That was as far as he'd go," Gregorio insisted stubbornly. "He wouldn't do anything beyond that."

"Are you this much of a coward? Just looking for excuses to justify your cravenness? Surely you don't believe that–"

Gregorio flashed a yellow smile at him. "But I do. You mistrust the Emperor because of his lofty claims, his trail of blood, and your past clash. Understandable, but much too naive. Everyone can be reasoned with – we need not resort to war."

A disarming chuckle punctuated his words, as if Gregorio found the very notion of Imperial aggression absurd. "If anything, you might want to consider surrendering to the Emperor, oh Painter! I understand, yes, and even admire your desire to fight for a better tomorrow...but I am afraid reality is not so simple. This world is far more complex than your young eyes can see, and morality is hardly so black and white."

A crashing sound rang out. Aspreay had walked up behind Gregorio. He stomped his heel onto the desk – dangerously close to the lord's head. "Mayhaps we ought to drain the color from it, then."

"Aspreay–!" Edmundo cried out, rising to his feet once more. "You dare threaten us?"

The Head of the Arcanjo family went on as if he hadn't heard him. His heel still on the desk, he slowly and gently lowered his hand onto the man's bald skull–

Then enclosed his grip, tightening ever so slightly with each passing second.

"Dye the world black and white, or plainly admit you'll let it die," Aspreay whispered, his voice carrying sweetness and murder both. "I care not which. It must be done, and it cannot stop. Not until we can again say that villains are villains and cowards are cowards."

He pushed the older Lord forward, nearly – but not quite – forcing his hand against the wooden surface. In the same breath, he started walking around the circular table as if studying his prey...until he stopped behind Adam, flashing a smirk that was equal parts amusement and challenge. "I, for one, cannot stand a world where such vermin are allowed to claim the titles of Emperor and Lord."

The room held its breath, each lord caught between their pride and their fear. Aspreay's voice was sharper than any blade, and the tension that suffocated the room was another of the weapons he wielded. Their table seemed too small to contain the weight of the nobles' thoughts, the suspense stretching thinner than glass.

"It is rather...precious to watch you stand by your son's decisions so much," Edmundo said, with a derisive laugh. "I thought you too much of a lady to father a child – I had fathered seven by the time you still invited men to your bedchambers. Outgrew that habit, I hope?"

Adam flinched as he felt Aspreay's Canvas whirl in disarray. Easy, he thought, in a wordless plea. Don't murder him. I get it, I really do, but please don't.

With great effort, Aspreay put on a smile. "As you have pointed out, my lord, your famed virility has sired many heirs. I must congratulate and thank you for it."

Lord Crepusculo stiffened. "Why thank me for that? Do you have any ill intentions towards my–"

"Because it means keeping you alive is an option that Penumbria need not exercise. Your death would still result in another Frontier Lord inheriting your Lord Talent...and who's to say? Mayhaps fate will be kind, and your Talent shall be the only thing they inherit from you."

He swept his gaze across the table. "Your Talents, Orbs, and Realms belong to the Frontier – to its king." Aspreay gestured at Adam. "My 'son' is too kind and inexperienced. On that, I agree with Gregorio. Allow me to make his point more succinctly."

The weight of his glare was stifling. "This is not an offer. It is an order. Bend the knee, or it shall be bent."

Edmundo stormed towards Aspreay. "Emperor Ciro will hear of this– "

"Kneel."

The command rippled through the air – a threat to the lords, and a lesson to Adam. This, the action said, is how to Reconstruct your Realm without anyone noticing.

An invisible pressure pulled Edmundo downward, forcing him against his will. The Lord's eyes widened in shock as he met Aspreay's unyielding eyes.

Next came a sound – a harsh, brutal crack that left no doubt as to the damage done. His leg buckled, folding grotesquely beneath him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Edmundo's leg now rested at an impossible angle, his knee digging into the floor and his heel protruding in front of said knee. Fabric clung tightly around swollen joints, discoloration already spreading, strings of flesh dragged straight from knee to foot – almost like a ghastly bow.

One that Aspreay would wield.

"Let us skip the horrified sputtering and jump to your meagre confusion, oh insolent upstarts! Are you confused that I can issue a Royal Order while Adam has my Lord Talent? Allow me to correct your assumption. The Heir of the House of Arcanjo is not like your filthy spawn – he was born with the Talent of a Lord by himself! I still have mine!"

Aspreay knelt beside the agonized Edmundo and grabbed him by the neck. "I'll repeat our orders, and I'll do it slowly so that even you can understand," he began. "Here and now, you will pledge yourselves to my son Adam, to Penumbria, and to the House of Arcanjo. Your Orbs, armies, and cities shall belong to us. You will retain your ranks, and mayhaps your taxes shall even be lowered after the Empire relinquishes its claims on our lands...but only if you prove yourself a worthy vassal."

The room felt like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. The lords' eyes darted between each other, their unease palpable. Aspreay's smirk lingered, fierce and unforgiving, as Adam's jaw clenched. Only the faint creak of wood and the rustle of fabric dared to make a sound.

Only that, and the Lord of Penumbria.

Adam's chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he leapt to his feet, his voice another weapon entering the battlefield. "FATHER!" The word echoed inside the chamber, unyielding in its intensity. He marched forward, every step deliberate. "I object to this slaughter!" His voice cracked like thunder. "I will not rule by fear."

"As you wish, my incompetent son. You are free to pick how to rule – but only after I've secured your throne. Not a second before."

"With all due respect, father of mine, I don't have to listen to your demands. I am king." He looked at Lord Crepusculo, crawling on the ground in pain. "Be healed."

A faint glow wove around Crepusculo's leg, a warm hum that preceded the subtle realignment of bone and tissue. Time itself appeared to flow backwards as the swelling in his leg receded. The healing left him standing, though not whole, with a faint discoloration lingering like a reminder of what had transpired.

Every lord in the room was very surprised, and for two reasons. The first reason was that Adam possessed the capacity to heal others. A lord being able to heal someone besides himself was nearly unheard of.

The second – and by far the most shocking of the two – was that Adam had wanted to heal him.

"I will not rule through fear," Adam declared.

"Have it your way." Aspreay shrugged, turning to the others. "My son might suffer from kindness, yet you know better than to lay such accusations at my feet." He sneered. "Give us your loyalty, soldiers, and Orbs – or I shall march onto your cities myself and burn them to the ground, just as the Dark Captain himself would."

Even without Divine Knowledge, Adam knew exactly what the lords were thinking. They'd heard the rumor that Aspreay single-handedly fought against the Dark Captain back in the Imperial capital. Had that been all, they could have dismissed it as propaganda or exaggerations...

Yet they'd personally confirmed Aspreay to have done so again during the last war.

While they didn't witness the supposed clash, they would know from the chain of command that Valente was dispatched to kill Vasco's troops – and was once again, somehow, stopped by Aspreay alone.

The Frontier Lords had dealt with Aspreay for years as a nobleman. Never once had they clashed with him as a soldier.

They had no idea what he was capable of.

But Adam did. "I apologize for my father," the Painter said, looking at each of the Lords and Ladies.

"You'd better apologize, bastard," said Edmundo, scrambling to his feet. "If you can't control your mad dog, boy, I'll take that offense as if you had assaulted me yourself!"

"See, son of mine?" Aspreay said, with an air of annoyance. "Kindness is taken as weakness."

Edmundo's Canvas stirred. "You will pay for what you have done, you whoreson lover of–"

"Forfeit your tongue."

Aspreay's command was as delicate and as destructive as a warhammer meeting priceless stained glass. Edmundo's mouth opened wide, his scream cut short as his tongue tore itself free. Blood pooled on the floor as he collapsed, eyes wide with terror, shoulders twitching in fear.

At long last, he finally had nothing to say – though not by choice.

"When you cease this blubbering," Aspreay continued, "I pray that your eyes will be more eloquent than your mouth. Look at me with anything other than respect, and those will be forfeit too."

"ENOUGH!" Adam cried out. He stepped between Edmundo and Aspreay, as if shielding the fallen lord. "Be healed," he said again.

When that was finished, he let out a sigh, shifting his gaze to each and all of them. "I assure you that Aspreay will not harm you, no matter what you decide, so long as you are beneath our roof. Penumbria would not betray the sacred law of hospitality. Even should you choose to side with the Emperor. I won't threaten you, nor will I force you to choose now. You may have three days to think on it."

Adam glared at his 'father'. "Leave." The Painter's voice was flat, his finger steady as he pointed at the door. "They need clarity, and you're fogging the room."

Aspreay didn't argue. He didn't have to. The smirk on his lips said everything as he turned and walked out, leaving a facsimile of a funeral in his wake.

He didn't leave alone, however. Adam – after apologizing to the lords once again – exited with him.

A stillness crawled along the hallway, sticking to the walls like tar. Their footsteps were mismatched, Adam walking ahead with too much purpose, and Aspreay trailing behind like a shadow. Neither spoke. The silence was more than heavy – it was alive, a third presence in the corridor, waiting to strike.

And then, when the quiet reached its loudest, it struck.

"I believe that's far enough now," Aspreay began. "Are we alone?"

Adam closed his eyes, sensing the surrounding area with his Realm. "We are. Do you know how it went?"

Aspreay smirked. "Quite. Even if you can't use Divine Knowledge to inspect their minds, I can. My Realm is still within the room. They would probably figure it out if they thought of it clearly, but I imagine they were too distracted by my breaking of Edmundo's knee to do so."

And even if they could, it's not like they could stop it at that point. "They were attempting to think in other languages," Aspreay noted, "but unfortunately for them, I speak them all – and I do a better job of it."

Wait, aren't some of those their native languages? Adam thought. Just how arrogant are you?

"The Ladies of Serramar and Almarades seem convinced," Aspreay continued. "Lord Gregorio of Montefirme appears undecided. Predictably, Edmundo is steadfastly against the idea, which hasn't changed from the start."

Adam slowly nodded. "I suppose that's as good of a result as we could've hoped for." He hadn't expected the good cop / bad cop routine to be so effective, but alas.

"Thank you," he added. "It wasn't part of the plan, but...you still went out of your way to act like a good father to me in front of them. I appreciate that."

Aspreay's brow furrowed deeply. His head tilted slightly, and he studied Adam for a moment with confused fascination, as though his skin had suddenly turned another color. "You think that I was – you think that was a good–"

His own confusion interrupted him. "Dragonfire burn me whole, you think that was good? That it was praise? I...you cannot be serious! I insulted you! I belittled you! I spoke of how incompetent you were!"

Adam stared at the nobleman blankly. What was he talking about? "But you also lashed out when Edmundo spoke ill of me," he pointed out. "And the negative things hardly count."

"HARDLY COUNT?" Aspreay's face twisted with...horror, somehow? "What sort of devil do you hold as your reference to–"

He stopped himself with a firm shake of his head. "To hell with it! It matters not!" Aspreay said, as much to Adam as to himself. "This isn't done yet. We've only swayed three and a half out of five."

Adam didn't fully understand the man's reaction, but he smirked nonetheless. Things were going quite well, after all.