Chapter : 59
The transition from the echoing formality of the estate’s upper levels to the controlled pandemonium of the main kitchens was like stepping through a portal into another world. The air, thick with the competing aromas of roasting boar, simring root vegetables, sharp onions, sweet baking spices, and the underlying tallic tang of blood from the butchery section, hit Lloyd with almost physical force. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, just… overwhelming. A stark contrast to the rarefied atmosphere of his father’s study, which slled primarily of old paper, beeswax, and unspoken judgnt.
Right, Operation: Soap Tycoon, Phase One, Lloyd thought, his internal eighty-year-old strategist kicking into gear. Secure primary resources and essential personnel. Step one: acquire Agent J.
He paused just inside the massive arched doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dimr light and the whirlwind of activity. Cooks in sweat-stained white aprons brandished knives with terrifying speed, pot boys staggered under the weight of steaming cauldrons, maids scrubbed furiously at unseen gri, and overseeing it all, like a conductor leading a particularly boisterous orchestra, was Martha, the Head Cook. Her expression, currently fixed on a pot that threatened to boil over, suggested imminent eruption.
Best avoid the General for now, Lloyd decided. He needed subtlety, not a public interrogation about his sudden interest in kitchen operations.
His presence hadn't gone unnoticed. The relentless rhythm of chopping and stirring faltered slightly as nearby staff registered the incongruous sight of the Young Lord, Arch Duke Ferrum's heir, standing hesitantly in their domain. Whispers erupted like escaping steam.
"Look! Young Lord Ferrum!"
"Again? What's he doing down here?"
"First the wolf-chicken business, now this…"
"Maybe he's finally developed an interest in decent food?" A snort followed this.
"Hush! Martha'll have your hide!"
Lloyd ignored them, letting the whispers fade into the background noise. He scanned the room, his gaze thodical, sweeping past the pastry section where delicate tarts were being assembled, past the huge hearth where spits turned rhythmically, towards the far end of the vast, cavernous space. The butchery section. Less glamorous, slling more intensely of raw at and iron, often populated by tougher, quieter staff. His target wouldn't be center stage. She preferred the shadows, the periphery.
Where is she… Ah.
There. Almost hidden behind a massive side of beef hanging from a thick iron hook, a slender figure worked with focused intensity. Head bowed under a plain white cap, dark hair escaping in damp tendrils, apron liberally stained. Her movents were precise, economical, as she wielded a long, wickedly sharp trimming knife with a dexterity that belied her unassuming fra. thodically separating fat from muscle, her concentration absolute.
Jasmin.
Target acquired, Lloyd confird internally. He began to move, weaving through the organized chaos, nodding politely but vaguely at any staff mber whose eye he caught, deliberately projecting an air of purpose that hopefully discouraged interruption. He sidestepped a boy carrying a tray piled high with skinned rabbits, skirted around a puddle of questionable origin near the scullery sinks, and ignored the increasingly curious stares directed his way.
Why was the Young Lord heading there? Towards the butchery corner? Towards Jasmin? The quiet girl? The whispers intensified, curiosity piqued.
Jasmin, utterly absorbed in her task, didn’t notice his approach until his shadow fell directly across the thick wooden chopping block where she worked. She looked up, startled, her hand freezing mid-slice. Recognition dawned in her large, dark eyes, quickly followed by wide-eyed alarm. The trimming knife clattered onto the block as she hastily wiped her hands on her stained apron, her breath catching in her throat. She dropped into a deep, flustered curtsy, her head bowed so low her cap threatened to slide off.
"Y-Young Lord Ferrum!" Her voice was a thin thread of sound, barely audible above the kitchen's roar. She trembled slightly, like a startled fawn cornered by a wolf – or perhaps, in her eyes, sothing even more intimidating: nobility descending into her mundane world.
Okay, calm down, Lloyd, he coached himself. Need her relaxed, not terrified. Project calm authority, not 'potentially insane heir demanding weird things'.
He rembered her from his first life. The quiet competence beneath the crippling shyness. After the assassinations, when Rubel’s faction tightened its grip and paranoia reigned, she’d been one of the few faces he instinctively trusted. He’d discovered her secret then – not just her surprising skill with a butcher’s knife, but her uncanny ability to navigate the estate’s hidden passages, her knowledge of the servant grapevine, her quiet loyalty to the mory of the main family. A hidden gem. One he intended to polish and utilize far earlier this ti around.
Chapter : 60
"Jasmin," he began, pitching his voice low and calm, deliberately gentle. He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though smiling didn’t co naturally to his default eighty-year-old internal setting. "Please, stand up. There’s no need for such ceremony between us."
She rose hesitantly, still avoiding his gaze, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor near his boots. She fidgeted, twisting a corner of her apron between her fingers. Pure, unadulterated intimidation radiated off her in waves.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you," Lloyd continued, glancing around pointedly, acknowledging the curious onlookers without directly engaging them. Most quickly looked away, pretending renewed interest in their tasks, though he knew ears were straining. "I wished to speak with you privately, if possible."
"P-privately, my lord?" Jasmin echoed, sounding even more alard. What could the Young Lord possibly want with her privately? Had she done sothing wrong? Was she about to be dismissed? Or... As long as she knows Lloyd doesn’t have any scandal record. In fact before his marriage he never had even a single female friend or attendant. Her mind likely raced through a thousand terrifying possibilities.
"Just for a mont," Lloyd assured her. "I have a proposal. A project, you see. Separate from your usual duties here." He leaned in slightly conspiratorially, lowering his voice further, forcing her to focus on him rather than her fear. "A personal venture of mine. And it requires soone with… particular skills. Soone discreet."
Jasmin blinked rapidly, confusion replacing so of the fear. Skills? Her skills? "My lord, I… I only work with the ats," she stamred, gesturing vaguely at the carcass nearby. "I butcher, I trim… it is simple work."
"Simple?" Lloyd allowed a hint of amusent in his tone. "Perhaps to you, Jasmin, because you possess a rare talent. But crucial for my initial phase." He paused, letting the implied complint sink in before delivering the hook. "I require your assistance, Jasmin. Directly. And I am prepared to compensate you generously for your ti and discretion."
Her eyes widened again, flickers of hope warring with ingrained disbelief. Compensation? Directly from the heir?
"How generously?" Lloyd preempted her unspoken question. "Let's say… triple your current wages. Paid directly by , for as long as you assist on this project."
A soft gasp escaped her lips. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes round as saucers. Triple? It was a fortune beyond imagining. Enough to… enough to perhaps finally afford…
"And," Lloyd pressed his advantage, playing the card he knew held the most weight, the information in own his own dim mories, "there is the matter of your mother."
Jasmin flinched as if physically struck. Her head snapped up, eyes locking with his, fear flooding back, mixed now with desperate hope and profound confusion.
"Your mother," Lloyd repeated softly, holding her gaze. "The River Cough worsens, doesn't it? The damp winters are cruel. She needs specialists, the physicians at the Grand Infirmary in the capital. Their fees…" He let the sentence hang, the implication clear.
"How…?" she whispered, her voice trembling, raw. "How do you know of my mother's illness, my lord? Who told you?" It was a closely guarded family sorrow, spoken of only in hushed tones, a constant, gnawing worry.
Lloyd offered a small, enigmatic smile. He needed her to see him not just as the Young Lord, but as soone capable, knowledgeable, perhaps even slightly dangerous in his awareness. "Jasmin, I assure you, I do my research. When I choose soone to work closely with on a sensitive project, I make it my business to understand their situation, their motivations, their… needs." He let the unspoken ssage linger: I see things. I know things. Working with brings benefits beyond re coin. "Let's just say I believe in rewarding loyalty and competence appropriately."
He watched her process this. The shock, the hope warring with fear, the dawning realization that this impossible offer might actually be real.
"If you dedicate yourself to assisting faithfully," Lloyd continued, his voice firm but kind, "consider your mother's dical expenses covered. I will personally ensure she sees the best physicians the capital has to offer. Whatever treatnt she requires, it will be provided. Consider it… part of your compensation package."
The combination was overwhelming. Financial security beyond her wildest dreams, coupled with the potential salvation of her ailing mother. Tears welled instantly, blurring her vision. She swayed slightly, overco.
Got her, Lloyd thought with grim satisfaction. A bit manipulative? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. Loyalty bought with coin is fleeting. Loyalty bought with hope, with the life of a loved one… that runs deeper.
"So, Jasmin," he asked gently, but with an underlying firmness that demanded an answer. "My offer stands. Triple wages. Your mother's care secured. In return, your skill, your ti, and your absolute discretion for my project. Are you willing?"
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