Noon.
Sunlight passed through the windowpanes, casting several stripes of light across the floor of Philippe's study.
The acrid smell of burnt parchment filled the air. In the fireplace, the ashes of several secret pacts still glowed a final, faint red.
Philippe paced back and forth in his study, the cashmere carpet swallowing the sound of his leather boots.
"If we can't verify that priest's background, we can't ignore the risk. We have to leave, but we can't just run off without a plan."
He spoke, his voice low. "Someone has to stay behind to draw the Inquisition's attention."
In the shadows, his intelligence chief was hunched over.
"My lord means…?"
Philippe stopped pacing. His gaze pierced through the window, settling on another mansion in the distance.
"That brute Valerius is covered in trouble and his hands have never been clean. He's the perfect choice. No one is more suitable to be the bait."
