Chapter 6: Preparing for Ryn

The letter arrived on the third morning, delivered by a royal courier bearing the Duke's seal.

Cael took it with hands that he forced to remain steady, though his heart was already racing. The courier waited impassively while Cael broke the seal and unfolded the heavy parchment.

To Count Vance Ashford and the Ashford Estate,

In accordance with the terms established by Tax Assessor Marcus Rell, a representative of the Duke's office will conduct monthly inspections of estate improvements and financial progress.

Lord Ryn Alde, Commander of the Royal Knights and brother to Duke Theron Alde, will arrive at Ashford Manor in four days' time to begin these inspections. He will be accompanied by a contingent of knights and will require accommodation for the duration of his stay.

Lord Ryn's authority in this matter is absolute. He will have full access to all estate records, projects, and personnel. Cooperation is mandatory.

By order of Duke Theron Alde

Cael read it three times, each time hoping the name would somehow change. It didn't.

Ryn Alde. Of course it was Ryn Alde.

"Well?" Lady Mavena asked from across the breakfast table. "Who is it?"

Cael set down the letter carefully, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Lord Ryn Alde. The Duke's brother. He'll be here in four days."

The silence that followed was deafening. Even Count Vance, who'd been having a better morning, went pale.

"The Commander of the Royal Knights," his father said quietly. "The Duke's enforcer. They're sending the most powerful man in the kingdom, aside from the Duke himself, to inspect our estate."

"That's... that's a compliment, right?" Lillian tried, though her voice wavered. "They wouldn't send someone that important unless they thought we were worth the attention?"

"Or they're sending their best weapon to destroy a potential threat," Lady Mavena said grimly. She looked at Cael. "Lord Ryn Alde is known for three things, Sarek: his skill with a sword, his absolute loyalty to the Duke, and his complete lack of mercy for those who waste his time or deceive him. If he suspects you're hiding something, or if he decides your improvements are somehow threatening to the Duke's interests..."

She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

Cael's mind was racing through everything he remembered about Ryn Alde from the novel. Cold. Brilliant. Deadly. A master swordsman trained from childhood to be the Duke's perfect weapon. In the original story, he'd been a minor character, appearing briefly to sign the Ashford execution warrant, then later fighting in the war against the foreign invasion.

But even in those brief appearances, Ryn had been memorable. The author had described him as beautiful in a dangerous way, with silver-white hair and steel-gray eyes that seemed to see through any deception. He'd been portrayed as almost inhuman in his dedication to duty, someone who'd sacrificed everything personal for the sake of the kingdom.

And now that person, that dangerous, perceptive, utterly incorruptible person, was coming to inspect Cael's impossible knowledge and revolutionary projects.

"We need to prepare," Cael said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "If Lord Ryn is as thorough as his reputation suggests, he'll examine everything. Every project, every plan, every decision. We need all our documentation organized and ready to present. We need our best workers prepared to explain their training. And we need our story absolutely consistent."

"What story?" Lillian asked.

"The story where I'm just a reformed noble who happened to find his grandfather's construction notes and got lucky with some innovations. It's much more believable than telling him I studied these things on my own. Which I did."

Lady Mavena studied him intently. She didn't believe he had studied on his own either, whether between drinks or trips to the casino. But she didn't press it. No one in the family did. He'd told them he learnt it from reading book and somehow, miraculously he'd understood everything. He’d also told them that he burnt all those books in a fit of rage." Can you sell that story to someone like Lord Ryn Alde?"

Cael thought about it. In his previous life, he'd presented projects to skeptical investors, hostile board members, and government inspectors looking for reasons to shut things down. He knew how to be convincing, how to frame information, how to anticipate questions and prepare answers.

But those had been normal people in a normal world. Ryn Alde was described in the novel as having an almost supernatural ability to detect lies. Some kind of magical talent or just extreme perceptiveness, the novel had never been clear. Either way, trying to deceive him would be incredibly dangerous.

"I don't know," Cael admitted. "But we don't have a choice. We either convince him our projects are legitimate, or we die. So I guess I'll have to be very, very convincing.”

The next four days were a blur of frantic preparation.

Cael organized every document they had, construction plans, financial records, training schedules, resource inventories. He created presentation materials explaining each project in terms that would make sense to a medieval audience, carefully avoiding anything that would sound too modern or too advanced.

He rehearsed explanations with the workers who'd been most involved in the projects. How to describe the well filtration without mentioning germ theory. How to explain crop rotation without referencing nitrogen cycles. How to present the water mill as a logical evolution of existing technology rather than a revolutionary leap.

The manor was cleaned top to bottom. Guest rooms were prepared for Ryn and his contingent of knights. Jocelyn supervised the staff with military precision, making sure everything would be perfect for their high ranking, potentially deadly guest.

And through it all, Cael tried to control his anxiety. He was about to meet the man who, in the original timeline, had signed his family's death warrant. The man described as the kingdom's finest warrior and most loyal enforcer. The man who'd been raised to be a weapon rather than a person.

A man who, according to the novel's descriptions, was also devastatingly handsome.

Cael tried not to think about that last part. He had enough problems without his traitorous hindbrain deciding that the person most likely to execute him was attractive.

On the evening before Ryn's scheduled arrival, Cael stood in his room reviewing his notes for what felt like the thousandth time. Every explanation, every justification, every carefully crafted answer to potential questions. It all had to be perfect.

A knock at the door interrupted his spiral of anxiety.

"Come in," he called, not looking up from his papers.

"You're going to wear holes in those documents if you keep staring at them."

Cael looked up to find Lillian leaning against the doorframe, her expression sympathetic.

"Can't help it," he said. "Tomorrow determines whether we live or die. Seems like a good time to be thorough."

Lillian crossed the room and gently took the papers from his hands. "Brother, you've prepared everything humanly possible. The projects are good. The documentation is impeccable. The workers are trained. At this point, you're just making yourself more anxious."

"Anxiety is appropriate when facing potential execution."

"True. But paralyzing anxiety isn't helpful." She set the papers down and met his eyes. "Lord Ryn Alde is coming to evaluate our progress, not to execute us immediately. You've accomplished incredible things in less than a month. Show him that. Show him the truth that you're transforming this estate and saving lives. That's not threatening. That's impressive."

Cael wanted to believe her. But he kept remembering fragments from the novel. Ryn Alde had been described as someone who saw the world in stark terms of duty and threat. Innovation could easily be interpreted as dangerous unpredictability. Success without clear explanation could seem suspicious.

"What if he asks questions I can't answer?" Cael said quietly. "What if he sees through the grandfather's notes excuse? What if he decides my knowledge is somehow heretical or dangerous?"

"Then you'll deal with it." Lillian squeezed his shoulder. "You've dealt with everything else so far. Even though we all find it unbelievable, you've learnt so many unbelievable things while we thought you were purely worthless. I think you can handle one suspicious knight."

Despite his anxiety, Cael felt a smile tug at his lips. "When did you become the optimistic one in this family?"

"Someone has to be, since you're too busy catastrophizing." She headed for the door, then paused. "Get some sleep, Sarek. Tomorrow you need to be sharp, not exhausted."

After she left, Cael tried to follow her advice. He put away his notes, changed into sleeping clothes, and lay down. But sleep was elusive. His mind kept conjuring images of Ryn Alde, silver hair, steel eyes, a sword that could end his life with a single stroke.

In the novel, Ryn had been fascinating even as a minor character. The perfect weapon, trained from childhood to serve the Duke without question. But there'd been hints of something beneath that cold exterior. Moments where the narration suggested Ryn wasn't quite as inhuman as he appeared. A brief mention of loneliness. A description of his eyes showing pain before he shuttered it away.

The author had treated him as a tragic figure, someone who'd sacrificed his humanity for duty and didn't even realize what he'd lost.

Cael found himself wondering what that would be like. To be shaped into a weapon so thoroughly that you forgot you were supposed to be a person. To have no choice in your own life, no freedom to pursue your own desires or dreams.

It sounded lonely.

And dangerous. Because someone who'd been trained to be nothing but a weapon wouldn't hesitate to eliminate threats, wouldn't be swayed by appeals to mercy or compassion.

Cael finally fell into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of silver hair and steel eyes and a sword falling toward his neck.

He woke before dawn, unable to sleep any longer. Today was the day.

The manor was already bustling with activity when Cael made his way downstairs. Servants rushed about making final preparations. The kitchen was producing enough food for a feast and In the courtyard, stable hands prepared for the arrival of horses and knights.

Cael found his family gathered in the formal dining room, all dressed in their finest clothes. His mother looked every inch the noble lady, his father was upright despite his weakness, and Lillian was the picture of proper young nobility.

"You look terrified," his mother observed.

"I am terrified," Cael admitted. "Trying to decide if honesty or bravado is the better approach with someone who can detect lies."

"Both," Count Vance said quietly. "Be honest about what you can, brave about what you must. And remember, you've done nothing wrong. You've saved lives and improved the estate. Those are objectively good things. Anyone judging you fairly would see that."

"The question is whether Lord Ryn Alde judges fairly or judges based on what serves the Duke."

"I suppose we'll find out."

They didn't have long to wait. Just after midmorning, a servant rushed in with news: riders approaching. A lot of riders.

Cael joined his family at the manor's entrance, trying to project calm confidence despite the anxiety churning in his stomach. In the distance, he could see a column of mounted knights approaching, their armor glinting in the sun, pennants bearing the Duke's crest snapping in the breeze.

And at the head of that column, riding a massive warhorse, was a figure that could only be Ryn Alde.

Even at a distance, Cael could tell the novel's descriptions hadn't been exaggerated. Ryn sat his horse with perfect military bearing, his silver-white hair unmistakable against his dark traveling cloak. As they drew closer, Cael could make out more details—the sharp aristocratic features, the powerful build of a warrior, the easy confidence of someone who'd never lost a fight.