Roy listened, his expression unreadable once more. He tapped his quill again, the rhythmic sound filling the study. He looked at Lloyd, truly looked at him – the newfound confidence, the sharp intellect suddenly on display, the ambitious scope of the proposal. He compared this young man to the hesitant, unremarkable boy of only a few weeks ago.
"You propose a significant gamble, Lloyd," Roy stated quietly. "Based on an untested product and your own… newfound business acumen."
"Every venture carries risk, Father," Lloyd countered respectfully. "But the potential reward here is substantial. And," he added, playing his final card, "I am willing to stake my credibility on it." He met his father's gaze squarely. "If I can present you with a prototype product – a bar of this luxury soap, demonstrably superior to anything currently available – within less than one month, will you grant the investment?"
He paused, letting the challenge hang. "A product that could, quite literally, change the history of personal hygiene in this Duchy, perhaps beyond. If I deliver that proof of concept, will you back my venture?"
Roy Ferrum considered his son. The audacity of the request. The confidence behind it. The strange, almost unbelievable transformation Lloyd had undergone since his marriage. This wasn't the boy who fumbled sword drills and barely scraped through lessons. This was someone different. Sharper. More focused. More… Ferrum, in a way Roy hadn't anticipated.
Since the marriage, Roy mused internally, his gaze distant for a moment. Is it her? Rosa Siddik? That cold, talented girl… has her presence somehow ignited this change in him? Pushed him? Challenged him? He recalled the reports of Lloyd sleeping on the sofa, the tension between them (Only known by him and his trusted informant) . Perhaps adversity was the catalyst. He mentally praised the Siddik girl – sharp, powerful, seemingly capable of provoking reactions, intended or not.
But no, Roy corrected his own thoughts, his gaze sharpening again as it rested on Lloyd. The girl may be a factor, a catalyst perhaps, but this… this comes from within him too. This newfound maturity, this strategic thinking… it wasn't just Rosa. He remembered the confrontation with Rubel day before yesterday. The way Lloyd had dismantled the accusations, exposed the witnesses, cornered Rubel with ruthless precision. That hadn't been childish defiance; it had been calculated political maneuvering. Lloyd hadn't just stumbled into helping Roy pin down his treacherous brother; he had orchestrated it. Roy had known Rubel was a viper for years, circling, waiting, but had lacked the concrete proof, the political leverage to act decisively without risking wider family schism. Lloyd, in one afternoon, had provided both.
He thought of the succession. For years, he'd worried. Lloyd seemed… inadequate. Unsuited for the burdens of the Arch Duchy. He'd considered alternatives – grooming Jothi despite the challenges of a female heir in their patriarchal society, even looking towards talented youths in the branch families, like Rubel's own ambitious son, Rayan, before his recent disgrace. But now… seeing this spark in Lloyd, this unexpected growth… maybe, just maybe, the direct line wasn't doomed after all.
A flicker of something rare stirred within Roy Ferrum's chest – hope. Tempered with caution, yes, but undeniably there. Perhaps this 'soap' venture, however bizarre, was another test. Another chance for Lloyd to prove this transformation was real, lasting. And if it succeeded? Profit was always welcome. If it failed? A costly lesson, perhaps, but maybe still a valuable one in Lloyd's development.
He made his decision.
"One month," Roy stated, his voice firm, cutting through the silence. "Present me with this miracle soap. Demonstrate its superiority. Convince me of its potential." He leaned forward, pinning Lloyd with his gaze. "Do that, Lloyd, and you will have your one thousand Gold Coins."
He offered no encouragement, no smile. Just the stark terms of the agreement. A high-stakes gamble, placed squarely on Lloyd's shoulders.
"Thank you, Father," Lloyd replied, relief washing over him, quickly masked by calm determination. "I will not disappoint you."
"See that you don't," Roy retorted dryly. "Now leave me. I have actual Ducal matters to attend to, beyond the speculative future of soap."
Lloyd inclined his head respectfully and turned, walking out of the study with a newfound spring in his step, the weight of the promise settling comfortably beside the thrill of possibility. He had the chance. He had the deadline. Now, he just needed to figure out the tricky bits. Like sourcing pure olive oil and not accidentally creating explosive glycerin reactions in the process. The path to wealth and power, it seemed, was paved with potential chemical hazards.