At that moment, Lukas understood the situation precisely.
The warmth was gone from the room, and the four men in the corners were tense, their weight shifting.
Whatever this had been until thirty seconds ago, it had become something else, and polite deflection was no longer going to carry him out of this house intact.
Mordred wanted an answer. Not agreement necessarily, but something tangible. Something that made sure he knew that Lukas was aware and had acknowledged what he was offering.
So Lukas gave him one.
"I understand you, my lord," he said. "Perhaps better than you'd expect."
Mordred's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A man in my position doesn't rise on his own," Lukas continued, his voice calm. "I came here from a tier five city with nothing. Whatever I've managed since then, I managed because people in higher places were willing to extend a hand."
