The aide, named Sam, approached where Duke Cedric was seated. Without a word, he crouched low beside the duke and leaned in, whispering something directly into his ear.
Cedric's expression shifted in small, subtle turns—first a frown, then a slow nod, and finally a flicker of amusement lighting his eyes. When Sam straightened and resumed his place beside him, the duke shifted slightly in his chair, resting his chin on one hand, lost in contemplation.
"Something must be up for Rhaegal Blackthorn to show such closeness with a servant," he murmured, more to himself than to Sam.
Sam gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "I don't think he is a servant, my lord. His clothes, his speech, the way he carries himself, it's not how a servant should."
"You're right," Cedric agreed, his curiosity deepening. His gaze narrowed. "Keep your eyes on them. Both of them."
