Lloyd retrieved the dispenser and placed it carefully back on the desk directly before his father. Roy picked it up, his large, capable hands examining it with surprising care, turning it over, feeling the weight, the balance. He tested the pump mechanism again, pressing it slowly, observing the smooth travel of the piston, the precise ejection of another small dollop of soap onto the desk blotter (which he ignored), the clean return of the spring. He observed the seamless join between the warm wood and the cool steel, the elegant yet robust functionality of the design. This wasn't just a soap dispenser. This was thoughtful engineering. This was problem-solving. This was innovation applied to a mundane aspect of life, resulting in a product that was undeniably practical, aesthetically pleasing, and inherently desirable in its novelty. It spoke of a mind capable of seeing beyond the obvious, of creating tangible value where none existed before. This, Roy thought, the assessment clicking into place with cold clarity, is not the work of the unfocused boy I worried about. This is… different.
He placed the bottle back down deliberately, the faint click echoing in the quiet study. He looked at Lloyd, his gaze sharp, penetrating, appraising. "You have demonstrated… potential," Roy conceded finally, the words carefully chosen, measured, delivered with glacial reserve. It was the closest thing to direct praise Lloyd could recall receiving from his father, perhaps ever, and it landed with the weight of a royal decree. "The product," he nodded towards the soap smear on his blotter, "appears effective, as my wife has enthusiastically confirmed." A flicker of dry humor touched his eyes for a fraction of a second. "The delivery mechanism," he tapped the bottle firmly, "is novel. Efficient. Intriguing."
He leaned back in his chair, the stern mask of the Arch Duke firmly back in place, the brief moment of potential paternal approval vanishing. "However," his voice hardened, becoming the ruler again, "viability in the marketplace requires far more than a single successful demonstration in controlled, albeit… unconventional, circumstances." His gaze flickered pointedly towards the lingering scent of dung. "I will have this product, and more importantly, this dispenser mechanism, thoroughly assessed by my own household experts."
He ticked them off mentally, his gaze distant for a moment. "Master Elmsworth must evaluate the economic potential, the cost of production versus projected pricing, the market saturation possibilities. The Alchemist's Guild, perhaps Master Grimaldi himself, should analyze the formulation – ensure its safety, its stability, identify potential improvements or cost-saving ingredient substitutions. Our finest artisans," his eyes returned to the bottle, "must assess the reproducibility of this dispenser. Can it be manufactured consistently, reliably, affordably enough to be profitable yet exclusive? What materials are truly required? Can the mechanism be simplified without losing function?"
He held up a hand, forestalling any potential argument or impatient question from Lloyd. "The investment decision – the one thousand Gold Coins you requested – is therefore suspended pending the outcome of these assessments." He wasn't saying no. The potential was clearly recognized. But he needed data, verification, independent analysis conducted under his direct authority. He was intrigued, perhaps even impressed, but he remained a pragmatist. Hope was not a substitute for due diligence.
He then shifted gears abruptly, the calculating potential investor replaced instantly by the Arch Duke issuing commands. "For now, your… experimentation… has served its purpose." His eyes narrowed. "You have, however, neglected your formal studies this morning. Master Elmsworth awaits. That," his voice regained its familiar, sharp edge of absolute command, "is unacceptable, regardless of the potential merits of your nascent soap enterprise. Your education, your grounding in the established principles that govern this Duchy, remains paramount."
He fixed Lloyd with a commanding stare, leaving no room for negotiation. "You will proceed there immediately. Offer Master Elmsworth your sincere apologies for your absence. Apply yourself diligently to his instruction." The unspoken addendum was clear: Prove you can manage both innovation and duty, or this venture dies before it begins.
Lloyd felt a flicker of disappointment – no immediate influx of desperately needed Gold Coins – but quickly suppressed it, recognizing the strategic victory beneath the delayed gratification. His father hadn't dismissed the idea; he was taking it seriously. Seriously enough for expert review. That was huge. The assessment phase was logical, even necessary. And he had undeniably impressed his mother, potentially securing a powerful internal advocate for the product's refinement and eventual launch. Progress. Significant progress.
"Yes, Father," Lloyd replied immediately, bowing respectfully, accepting the command without a hint of argument. Demonstrating obedience and diligence in his formal studies now was absolutely crucial to maintaining the fragile, newly forming perception of competence and responsibility. "I understand completely. The assessments are prudent. I will go to Master Elmsworth at once and redouble my efforts."