William's arms throbbed with exhaustion after fanning August for hours. Across the room, August lounged comfortably in his chair, his boots propped up carelessly atop the polished wooden table.
"Your Highness, night has already fallen. I doubt any of them remain within the district at this hour," William ventured, lowering the fan slightly.
"Your assistant has not returned either," August replied coolly. He shifted his gaze toward Samir, who sat quietly in a nearby chair. "Tell me... Why does it feel as though they are all scrambling to scrub away the evidence of their true crimes?" A sharp, wicked grin spread across his face.
"Not at all, Your Highness," William insisted, shaking his head with a slight tremor in his voice.
"Fret not. I shall simply send you to the guillotine if anything goes awry," August pronounced in an intimidating tone.
