Ryley stiffened at once.
"She was clever enough to build an entire influence network under the guise of charity," the old woman continued, calm and unrepentant. "Is that not the kind of foresight you need, standing beside a Sovereign?"
"I'm not trying to rule the empire," Ryley shot back, his voice sharp, eyes narrowing as if her words had just drawn blood. "And I will never betray Clyde for any throne."
That made her pause.
Madam Beckett blinked, the slightest flicker of surprise crossing her face—so fleeting it might have been imagined.
Then came her exhale, slow and heavy, and she rose from her seat.
Ryley couldn't quite understand why Madam Beckett had suddenly turned the conversation that way. It felt like an accusation cloaked in curiosity, a subtle probe disguised as idle musing.
As though she was waiting for him to slip. To confess some hidden ambition. To prove her right.
But instead, he gave her something else.
