From his high perch in the royal court, Paulus Maximus assessed the embattled soldiers who stood before him. Malchus Lorne had proven a sore disappointment, but only against the unknown gnat of a noble who had determined to thwart the high counselor's plans. Perhaps one of the nobles on his council, or perhaps an outlier who did not hold a place of honor in the court.

Up until the most recent fiasco, Malchus had performed well, and to relieve him of his duties would remove a valuable asset from the counselor's arsenal. And who else could so convincingly play Lord Capigan? Still, Paulus could not completely exonerate the young man without some form of punishment. Humiliation would suffice for now, and with the deep bruises across his face and purpling eyes, Malchus bore enough humiliation to avoid any repeat of the circumstances that brought him to such a state.

“I trust, Sir Lorne, that you have constructed a strategy to deal with any situation similar to the one at Glowigham?”

Though Malchus recognized the reprimand, he could not deny that he deserved worse, and he had to appreciate such forbearance from the newly sovereign counselor. “I have, your excellency. In fact, I have determined a way to render the errant noble impotent to interfere any farther in your plans.”

Paulus leaned forward, intrigued by the man's intrepidness.

“It is a matter, your excellency, that requires the utmost discretion.”

Though Paulus had no desire to humor the failed conspirator, he had run out of ideas of his own to deal with the noble. Withdrawing to a private chamber behind the grand room, Paulus waved Malchus back for a confidential moment. “Enlighten me, Sir Lorne,” he sneered, “since you have proven so wise.”

Aptly admonished, Malchus drew an irritated breath through his nostrils. “What if, your excellency, the duke's health took a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse? You have waged a successful campaign to defame the man among the populace and to gain the support of the nobles, and now the only thing about this noble that threatens you is that he might restore the duke's good name among the merchants. Well, he cannot do so if Wilmington is dead.”

The word hung in the air between them, for what seemed several minutes, and Paulus merely glared at the insolent young man. Malchus feared he had misspoken, and he stood on tenterhooks lest he portray the wrong impression to his superior. Finally, Paulus rubbed his chin in consideration, gazing at the far corner of the ceiling as if in search of inspiration.

“I think, my dear Malchus, that I might agree with you. Still, I do not know if I successfully acquired the full support that I will need. I would like you to take one more week to find this nobleman. If you can dispense of him, then I will continue with my plan as I had originally intended. There are a few key landowners whose support I still hope to earn, and I am willing to risk a few days of waiting to try and gain it. If I had to choose between their support and my ultimate ascension, however, I would sacrifice their approval.” Paulus paused in thought, trying to decide whether to sanction the young man's ideas. “I understand that no one knows the man's identity.”

“I have one lead on that, though it is a weak one.” If he could track Aylee, he could track the noble. Whatever he found, he would enjoy prying what information he could from the mouths of her family.

“Follow it while I proceed with my courting of these wealthy connections. If you cannot apprehend the noble, then I will enact your alternate idea.”

Pleased, Malchus nodded his approval. With carte blanche from Maximus, Malchus would succeed whether he caught his target or not – a far cry from the censure he had feared only a few minutes before. No matter the eventual scenario, Malchus now held high hopes that his star would rise. Best of all, he had now determined a way to draw Aylee Hembry to himself rather than rush wildly around in search of her.

He had initially resisted going after her family, concerned for his reputation in his own community. After receiving such a promotion in status from the duke's high adviser, Malchus could write his own future. Bennigton could fall into a pit for all Malchus cared – whatever he needed to do to find Aylee, he would do.

If habit still dictated, Everett Hembry would leave town in the next week, and without him, the home would sit vulnerable to any who knew of his absence. As soon as he reached his soldiers, Malchus would dispatch Kirk to monitor the home and report once the father left. Whatever the outcome, Malchus would find a way to win.