The Man Who Observed

Leroy sat in his study, half-shrouded in candlelight, sleeves rolled up and jaw locked in quiet thought. Papers lay open before him, maps and letters smeared with ink and intent. The air smelled of old books, iron, and war.

Cedric stood before him, wringing his hands like a man caught in a storm without an umbrella.

"Lord Tareth swears the letter is a forgery," Cedric said, eyes darting from the prince's blank face to the floor. "He admits he was reluctant about marrying Lady Avelyn, but says he eventually accepted it out of duty to his father. He claims he had no lover… swears on the gods he never wrote a letter to any woman."

Leroy didn't look up. He tapped the tip of his pen on the desk, one… two… three times. The rhythm was maddening.

"It doesn't matter," he finally said. His voice was flat, quiet—like snow settling on a grave. "No one believes him. The Viscount believes the letter, and that's all that counts."