Frederick looked once more toward the distant hills beyond the yard walls.
“For now,” he echoed.
He did not like uncertainty.
But uncertainty could be managed.
What could not be managed was hesitation.
He turned back toward the yard, gaze hardening.
“Double the watch tonight,” he said.
“It will be done.”
The clang of steel resumed. The yard returned to motion.
Frederick stood a moment longer, measuring everything, committing the morning to memory.
Then they left the yard together, the clang of steel fading behind them as they crossed into the inner corridor.
For several steps, neither spoke.
Stone walls cooled the air, muting the sounds of the castle to a distant hum. Frederick kept his pace steady, hands clasped loosely behind his back.
Lennox glanced sideways at him. “Ye are thinking too loudly.”
Frederick did not slow. “That is a foolish sentence.”
“Aye,” Lennox agreed easily. “But accurate.”
Frederick shot him a look that would have silenced most men. Lennox merely adjusted his stride.
Lennox shrugged. “So, ye brought two new residents into the heart of the castle today. That changes the shape of things around here.”
“It changes nothin’,” Frederick replied.
“It changes optics,” Lennox countered. “And optics matter.”
Frederick stopped walking.
They stood at the intersection of two corridors, sunlight cutting through a narrow window between them.
“Speak plainly,” Frederick said.
Lennox met his gaze without flinching. “The child looks like ye, Frederick. Exactly like ye. Stubbornness and all.”
Frederick’s expression did not shift. “Many children have dark hair.”
“With a white streak?” Lennox lifted a brow.
Silence.
“I am nae blind,” Lennox continued, though his tone remained controlled. “Nor are the guards. Nor is yer mother.”
Frederick resumed walking.
“And?” he said evenly.