In another part of the castle. A young man at the door of a chamber gave two subtle knocks, and the door opened just slightly before he was ushered in without a word.
Inside, the room was dimly lit by a lone brazier casting faint, dancing shadows on the marbled walls. Marquess Scott stood by the window, his arms crossed behind his back, fingers twitching in barely veiled agitation.
"They're moving too fast," he said in a low voice, sharp and deliberate. "Faster than I anticipated. We may have less time than we thought."
The young man, slender, sharp-eyed, and dressed in the unassuming robes of a palace scribe, closed the door quietly behind him. "Is it the crippled one?" he asked, his voice hushed.
Scott finally turned, his eyes shadowed but alert. "He was captured, yes. And now I hear that he's begun to talk. I don't know what they offered him, but it's enough to make him consider betraying us, or perhaps he already has."
