His Lordship enjoys playing the expert as you demonstrate deference. [+Bisqueath] He continues without much change in affect. "I hear that thou'lt regale us with thy gifts at some apropos juncture during the feast."
"True enough, m'lord," you shrug. Wherever is the gentleman going?
He burnishes his starry amulet as he explains that His Majesty and Lady Gramercy are likely to engage in some discussion about the spoils resultant from the victorious Flenish Wars, which naturally touches on affairs of the Treasury in which, as Brenton's chief taxmaster, he has a keen interest.
"Participant I'll be in open talks, but sure as sunrise 'twill be tête-à-têtes between our gentle King and fiery guest that no ears save their own will ever mark." He presses his hand against the wall and sighs. "If past affairs have taught me aught about our noble King, then I would bet ten pounds that 'tis in intimate exchange he might be swayed."
"Beg your pardon, but swayed how?"
"Into some deal injurious to the Crown," Bisqueath says, "'twill mortgage future strength for present calm."
He steps closer and puts two meaty hands on your shoulders. "All I ask, young fool, is that you help me do my duty to the realm my best," he says. "Say yes that thou will be my eyes and ears, and give intelligence on what is being said between our King and Hotfoot and her train, as much as thou can muster."
You take a moment to process what's being requested.