Rick stepped into the room. "Master Godfrey, I’m sorry to disturb you, but His Royal Highness, Prince Walter of the United Kingdom and acting Mr. London on the High Council of the Seven Heads has sent an invite to the House of Order, officially requesting to meet the master of the House."
Godfrey looked at the neatly dressed butler. "Wow. You should have just said the prince has agreed to use our aid."
Rick drew a deep breath. "I must address the prince with the prestige he deserves. In his presence or without it."
Leaning back, Godfrey nodded. "I can see that. You called me Master Godfrey, quite respectfully."
Rick nodded. "Because you deserve it. I’ve seen the way you treat Lady Selyne and the steps you’re currently taking. You’re like the young Arthur."
Rick’s facial expression relaxed the moment he mentioned Arthur.
Godfrey came down from the bed, facing the window. His bare muscular back became wider as he flexed, massaging his shoulders.
Exhaling heavily, one word left his lips.
"Maybe."
***
After preparing, they all left Manhattan for London. When they got there the next day, Godfrey went straight to Windsor Castle, where Mr. London was waiting for him.
Tall trees decorated both sides of the paved road. They tried their best to restore the castle to what it once was before the apocalypse. Things weren’t as good here as they were in the United States.
The main reason was because not everyone wanted to submit to a monarchy anymore when they had already begun to see themselves as rulers.
Due to this fracture, the state of the royal family was fragile, while on the surface, it all looked like nothing could go wrong.
When he alighted, they led him straight to the Crimson Drawing Room. The Crimson Drawing Room looked like a chamber carved from gold and draped in red silk. Deep crimson walls, matching curtains, and glittering chandeliers filled the room with a warm, regal glow. Gold-framed mirrors and intricate gilded decorations covered nearly every surface, while the polished floor reflected the light like a still pool.
The chairs were equally lavish. Their frames were coated in gold leaf and carved with twisting vines, leaves, and elegant scrollwork. Thick red silk cushions matched the room’s walls, making the chairs seem to emerge from the sea of red and gold. With their curved legs, sweeping arms, and richly padded backs, they looked less like furniture and more like miniature thrones fit for royalty.
As Godfrey walked through the hallway into a massive room flooded with light, his eyes fell on a blonde man.
His hair was slicked back. He wore a white shirt, black pants, and crossed one leg over the other while leaning on a chair.
He turned to Godfrey, gesturing for him to sit on a chair not far from his.
Godfrey sat down and examined this man, who looked like he was in his early thirties when he was actually in his mid-forties.
"I saw what you did on screen. It was impressive." Mr. London smiled gently, but his tone was condescending, which made Godfrey’s eyes narrow.
"It brought me here." He replied.
"Well, you offered to fight a grave danger on my behalf. Any reasonable man will be happy about that. If you fail, it won’t exactly be my fault."
"Quite blunt for a politician." Godfrey’s reply made Mr. London chuckle.



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