The memory of his own reaction a few nights ago still clawed at him.
"How could the Sovereign do this to us?" he had demanded, his voice trembling with fury he couldn't contain. "This isn't fair! Why would he suddenly withdraw at the last minute? This must be Ryley's doing!" Mervyn had hissed at the time, the accusation slipping out before he could restrain it.
Madam Beckett did not share his agitation. She merely exhaled slowly, her expression calm, almost indifferent.
"Don't overthink it," she said. "What matters now is that Young Master Morgan's birthday celebration will still be held here in Berlin, and every noble elite will be attending."
Her gaze lingered on him pointedly.
"You know what that means."
Of course Mervyn knew.
Even if the sting of Clyde's absence still lingered like an open wound, he forced it down the moment the guests began to arrive.
