Ambassador Bernardo del Campo y Herrera thought today would be a normal day at the embassy. Spain, after all, was usually peaceful—at least outwardly—and most of the Spanish merchants in London were already under close control. His work mainly consisted of preventing diplomatic incidents between Great Britain and Spain.

This year, however, things had become more complicated. With the sudden rise of the French Republic, his position had grown heavier in responsibility, though still manageable. Both nations were, for now, interested in maintaining their alliance.

When Bernardo entered the embassy, the first thing he saw were two unfamiliar Spaniards. He frowned."Who are you?" he asked sharply. "I don't recall granting permission for any commerce here."

His aide, recognizing the ambassador, hurried forward to explain."Mr. Ambassador, these two are Francisco and Ramiro—the ones responsible for bringing the British agent. They came seeking assistance."

Bernardo was about to dismiss the matter, but then the aide lowered his voice."There's something else, sir. Francisco is a Spaniard from New Granada—grandson of the Duke of Lerma. The Prime Minister has requested a meeting with him personally."

Bernardo's brows knit together. He turned to Francisco, his tone suddenly serious."Do you have any prior connection with the Prime Minister? Have you met before coming to Britain?"

Francisco shook his head. "This is the first time I've heard of such a thing. That's why I came to inform you first, Mr. Ambassador."

Bernardo's frown deepened. "This is troubling," he muttered. Then, more firmly: "Follow me to my office. No one must overhear this conversation."

Francisco and Ramiro exchanged a glance and followed. Even though most of the staff had cleared the hall after the aide's words, neither wished to take any chances. Upstairs, two guards stood sternly by the ambassador's door—an unspoken reminder that whatever was discussed behind it might well shape the course of nations.

The soldiers, upon seeing the ambassador, straightened immediately and gave a brief bow of respect. Bernardo ignored the gesture and stepped into his office, followed closely by the others.Before entering, he ordered curtly, "No one is to come in until I say so.""Yes, sir!" replied one of the guards with crisp formality.

Once inside, Francisco and Ramiro caught sight of what true wealth looked like. The room was elegantly furnished; its centerpiece, a grand desk of dark mahogany or oak with turned legs, its surface covered in green velvet. Silver candleholders, brass inkwells, and neatly arranged quills spoke of order and authority. Behind it stood a large, cushioned chair—clearly made for long hours of work—and above it hung a portrait of His Majesty, King Carlos IV of Spain.

All three men gave a small bow toward the portrait, a gesture of respect toward their sovereign.

Once seated, the ambassador tapped his fingers lightly against the desk."So," he began slowly, "you want me to believe that the Prime Minister—who has never met you—suddenly requested your presence? No matter how I look at it, that sounds highly suspicious."

Francisco nodded in understanding before replying, "Perhaps it has something to do with what happened with Viceroy Ezpeleta?"

The ambassador frowned and cursed under his breath."That fool! Handing the British a perfect opening… Is he completely incompetent?" He muttered a few more insults before fixing his gaze on Francisco. "So you believe they might be planning something?"

Francisco nodded again. "After the attempt on my life in New Granada, I would make an ideal pawn for stirring up independence movements—if that's what they intend."

The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "You speak of treason quite boldly, young man."

Francisco merely shrugged. "I'm not a fool, sir. I know how it looks. That's why I came to speak with you openly. If I tried to hide it, people would grow even more suspicious. And with the Viceroy already showing hostility toward me, that could easily become an excuse to have me executed."

Bernardo leaned back, studying him. "You're clever. Have you ever considered working for the embassy in the future?"

Francisco shook his head. "Not for now. I plan to spend a few years studying in the German Empire."

The ambassador nodded slowly, then frowned again, murmuring to himself, "What am I to do with this…"

Francisco spoke cautiously. "Could you speak to the Prime Minister and refuse the meeting? That way, there wouldn't be any problem."

The ambassador shook his head. "That's not possible—at least not for now. We're in the middle of forming an alliance. If they make a fuss about us denying them an audience, we could find ourselves in an embarrassing position."

Francisco sighed and slumped in his chair. "What if I pretend to be ill?" he asked weakly, though even he didn't sound convinced.

Bernardo shook his head again. After a moment of thought, his expression hardened. "You should go," he said firmly. "But after the meeting, come straight back here and tell me exactly what was discussed. The British never act without ulterior motives."

Francisco nodded. "Understood… though I'd rather avoid seeing them altogether." He hesitated, then added, "Speaking of that—how does the Spanish Crown view my decision to study in Hanover?"

The ambassador's lips twitched. "Are you sure you want to know? I'm not certain it's wise for you to hear it."

Francisco clicked his tongue. "That bad?"

Bernardo let out a short laugh. "More or less. You've already stirred up quite a bit of noise back home with those inventions of yours. And after your Granfather began selling that flavored aguardiente you created, he practically destroyed the competition. Most of Spain's liquor market now belongs to him. Because your grandfather is a duke and untouchable, most of the backlash has fallen on you. I suspect the Viceroy's actions weren't entirely his own—some of your grandfather's rivals probably had a hand in it."

Francisco groaned and rubbed his forehead. "But I thought flavored aguardiente was already common in Spain?"

The ambassador rolled his eyes. "Among the rich, yes—and even then, it was expensive. But the shipments you sent from New Granada are all flavored, and your grandfather used that to flood the market. The Duke took the opportunity to buy or take shares in nearly every distillery in Spain. Those who lost their fortunes blame you. And now that you plan to study in the German Empire, they'll see it as the perfect chance to cause you trouble."

Francisco stared blankly for a moment. "Forget it… what a headache." He paused, then asked with sudden curiosity, "By the way, do you know why some buildings in London have smoke coming from the roof?"

The ambassador frowned. "Aren't those just chimneys?"

Francisco frowned as well. "I don't mean the ones on houses. I'm talking about the factories. And it's morning—most people, from what I've seen, only use their fireplaces at night to keep from freezing. But that building has been releasing smoke since we arrived."

Bernardo shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know much about that. Perhaps one of my aides could tell you more. I'm far too occupied with matters of the alliance." He glanced at the documents on his desk and added, "If there's nothing else, you may leave. I still have much work to do. And don't forget—after your meeting, come straight back here and tell me everything the Prime Minister says."

Francisco nodded, stood, and gave a respectful bow toward the portrait of His Majesty. Then, with careful steps, he left the office, closing the door softly behind him.

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