The Dowager's composure did not falter, but Osric caught the flicker in her eyes; the fragile space between truth and denial. He might have shielded her in the audience hall, but he was not blind. He could read her like a book. After all, he had raised her. She would never grow too clever for him.
"That key?" she repeated, lips tightening. "I've no idea how it ended up with them."
And for once, it wasn't an act. Her plan had been meticulous: her men were to seize the boys and deliver them to her own in a neutral place. Only her guards held the key. Yet somehow, the key had found its way into mercenary hands.
But now that she knew Lorraine had been in the library, she could already trace the invisible threads, leading back to that single, inconvenient woman.
Osric gave a dry chuckle, tilting his head as though watching a fox discover its own snare.
"So," he drawled, voice smooth as silk stretched thin, "there is someone cleverer than you in this city."
