The silence that followed my request seemed to stretch for an eternity, though it probably lasted only seconds. Archduke Leopold Astoria's expression remained perfectly composed, but I noticed something shift in his eyes—a subtle hardening that suggested my request had triggered thoughts I probably wouldn't appreciate.
"Grandmaster Nightingale," Leopold said with the kind of diplomatic smile that experienced politicians used when they were about to deliver uncomfortable truths. "Before I answer your request, might I ask you a question?"
"Of course, Your Grace," I replied, though something in his tone made my instincts scream warnings.
"I understand you have a daughter," Leopold continued, his voice carrying a casual interest that felt anything but casual. "An adopted daughter, if I'm not mistaken?"
The unexpected direction of the conversation caught me completely off guard. "Yes, I do. Stella. She's nine years old."
