After the banquet last night, I returned to Luxembourg Manor with Lyle. The crisp midnight air still clung to my skin as we crossed the manicured lawns, the manor looming ahead like an ancient sentinel. I informed him in a measured tone that I would no longer need his assistance quite so often—after all, he was no longer my knight, and I had carefully appointed Abelard as my personal butler. Abelard, a man of few words but exceptional ability for gathering intelligence, was to serve not as a subordinate but as an indispensable extension of my plans.
Yet Lyle, ever loyal and unwilling to be dismissed so easily, insisted on staying by my side. "I will merely observe, Your Grace," he said, his tone hinting at a protective concern that I had once relied upon.
