Episode-774
Chapter : 1547
"I am just a man who hates paperwork," Lloyd shrugged. "But I hate cages more. So? Do we have a deal?"
"Write it up," Seraphina commanded. "Make it look official. Use big words. I will stamp it."
"Excellent," Lloyd finished his coffee. "I love it when a plan comes together without explosions."
He pushed off the railing.
"I have to go check on my team," Lloyd said. "Ken is probably trying to sharpen a spoon, and Jasmin is likely having a panic attack about royal etiquette. I should go supervise."
"Go," Seraphina said. "I have a kingdom to clean."
Lloyd walked away, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. The physical war was over. Now, he just had to win the war of ink and stamps. And honestly, he preferred the ink. It was harder to get out of clothes than blood, but it smelled better.
----
The Royal Library of Saber was usually a place of quiet contemplation, dusty scholars, and the occasional snoring noble pretending to read. Today, it was the headquarters of the "Committee for the Repatriation of Displaced Minors," a committee Lloyd had invented approximately forty-five minutes ago.
He sat at a large mahogany table, surrounded by stacks of official parchment, pots of ink, and enough wax seals to sink a small boat. Opposite him sat the Royal Scribe, a wizened old man named Bartholomew who looked like he was made entirely of parchment and disapproval.
"This is highly irregular," Bartholomew squeaked, adjusting his monocle. "Form 7-B is for the transfer of livestock. You cannot use it for children."
"Nonsense," Lloyd said, waving a quill with confident flourish. "Children are small, they eat a lot, and they make noise. Legally speaking, the definitions overlap significantly in subsection C. Besides, I crossed out 'cattle' and wrote 'very important small people'. See?"
He pointed to the document where he had indeed scribbled over the text.
Bartholomew looked like he was going to have a stroke. "Doctor Zayn, you cannot simply amend royal decrees with... with scribbles! This requires a vote from the Council of Peers!"
"The Council of Peers is currently busy trying to explain why they spent the last three years ignoring a death camp in their backyard," Lloyd said coldly. "I imagine they will be quite eager to sign anything that makes them look like humanitarians. Do you really want to be the one to go ask them? I hear General Kaelen is in a very... chopping mood today."
Bartholomew paled. The news of the purge had spread fast. Everyone knew that hesitation today could be mistaken for treason.
"Perhaps... perhaps an exception can be made," the scribe stammered. "For the sake of... expediency."
"Expediency is my middle name," Lloyd lied. "Actually, it's 'Danger', but 'Expediency' is a close second. Now, stamp this."
He slid the paper across the table. It was a masterpiece of bureaucratic nonsense. It declared Risa and the three other children—now named 'Subject A', 'Subject B', etc., to protect their identities—as "Honorary Wards of the Northern Territories" due to a "clerical error regarding border lines drawn in the Year of the Badger." It made absolutely no sense, but it sounded official, and it had a lot of "heretofores" and "whereases."
Bartholomew sighed, a sound like dry leaves rustling. He picked up the heavy Royal Seal. He breathed on it. He stamped the paper. THUMP.
"There," Bartholomew said miserably. "It is done. I shall probably be executed for this."
"On the contrary," Lloyd grinned, snatching the paper. "You just saved four lives. That usually gets you a medal. Or at least a very nice fruit basket."
He stood up, gathering his stack of freshly minted legal fictions.
"Thank you, Bartholomew. You are a credit to the profession of ink-staining."
Lloyd swept out of the library, leaving the confused scribe behind. He walked briskly through the corridors, heading for the nursery. He had the Golden Ticket. Now he just needed the passengers.
The Royal Nursery was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. It was bright, colorful, and currently, extremely loud.
Lloyd opened the door to find chaos. Jasmin was sitting on the floor, surrounded by piles of toys. Risa was wearing a tiara that was definitely real diamonds and probably worth more than Lloyd's entire clinic. The two boys were using priceless antique cushions to build a fort. And Ken Park...
Chapter : 1548
Ken Park, the mute assassin, the King-Level warrior, the man who killed chimeras with his bare hands, was sitting in a small rocking chair. He was holding a tiny teacup. A little girl was putting a flower crown on his head.
He looked up as Lloyd entered. His face was a mask of stoic suffering.
"Don't say a word," Ken grunted.
"I wouldn't dream of it," Lloyd said, suppressing a laugh that threatened to rupture his spleen. "You look... majestic, Kasim. The flowers bring out your eyes."
"The girl insisted," Ken said defensively. "She has a very strong grip."
"Of course," Lloyd said. He waved the papers. "Pack up the tea party, ladies and gentlemen. We are legal."
Jasmin scrambled up. "You got it? The papers?"
"Signed, sealed, and delivered," Lloyd said. "According to the laws of Altamira, these children are now officially misplaced northerners who are simply returning from a very long, very traumatic vacation. We have diplomatic immunity, a royal escort, and a carriage that doesn't smell like fish."
"We can go home?" Risa asked, adjusting her tiara.
Lloyd knelt down. "Yes, Risa. We can go home. Real home. No more cages. No more bad men."
"And Jasmin comes too?" Risa asked, grabbing Jasmin's hand.
"Jasmin goes where you go," Lloyd promised. "She is stuck with you. Like glue."
Risa smiled. It was the first real smile Lloyd had seen on her face. It was missing a tooth, and it was the most beautiful thing he had seen all week.
"Okay," she said. She took off the tiara and placed it gently on the floor. "I'm ready."
"Ken," Lloyd said, standing up. "De-flower yourself. We move in an hour. The carriage is waiting at the south gate. We need to be gone before the political hangover sets in and people start asking why the 'Doctor' has a private army."
Ken stood up, shaking the flowers off his head. "Finally. I prefer the rats in the tunnel to this... tea."
"You loved it," Lloyd teased.
"I will deny it under torture," Ken said.
"Get the kids ready," Lloyd ordered. "I have one last stop to make. One last loose end to tie up."
"The Queen?" Jasmin asked.
"The Queen," Lloyd nodded. "I can't leave without saying goodbye. And... I need to tell her the truth."
"The truth?" Jasmin looked worried. "About who you are?"
"She deserves to know," Lloyd said. "She trusted a ghost. She deserves to meet the man."
"She might kill you," Ken pointed out. "Queens don't like being lied to."
"She might," Lloyd admitted. "But at least I'll die honest. Keep the engine running, Ken. If I'm not back in an hour... well, name the soap factory after me."
He turned and walked out. The fun part was over. Now came the hard part. The confession.
The walk to the Queen's private audience chamber felt longer than the infiltration of the Orchid House. Lloyd Ferrum had faced demons, assassins, and angry shopkeepers, but the prospect of telling a Queen—a Queen he had actively deceived for weeks—that he was actually a foreign nobleman and a spy was making his palms sweat.
He reached the heavy double doors. The guards, now loyalists handpicked by General Kaelen, snapped to attention. They knew him as Doctor Zayn, the Savior. They saluted.
"The Queen is expecting you, Doctor," one said with reverence.
"Thanks," Lloyd muttered. "Wish me luck."
"Luck? You saved the kingdom, sir. You don't need luck."
"You'd be surprised," Lloyd thought.
He pushed the doors open.
The room was the same solar where he had first treated her, but the atmosphere had changed. The heavy curtains were pulled back, letting in the blinding afternoon sun. The air smelled fresh, no longer stagnant with lavender and fear.
Seraphina stood by the window. She wasn't wearing her mourning black today. She wore a dress of deep royal blue, embroidered with silver thread. On her head sat a simple, elegant circlet of platinum. She looked like a ruler.
She turned as he entered. Her face lit up.
"Zayn!" she exclaimed. She walked towards him, hands outstretched. "I heard you secured the papers. The children are safe?"
"They are, Majesty," Lloyd said. He didn't take her hands. He bowed, deeply and formally. "They are preparing for departure."
Seraphina stopped. She sensed the shift in his mood. The wall he had put up.
"What is it?" she asked, her smile fading. "Is there a problem? Did the Council refuse the treaty?"
"No," Lloyd said, straightening up. "The treaty is sound. The problem... is me."