"It's falling down at the rafters, I should imagine. Her Majesty hasn't set foot in it since her succession."
"Would you have?" he countered calmly, eyeing the deed. "The place was a prison to her."
"Still," the steward shrugged, "It's large. And the grounds extensive. The forest hasn't been hunted in at least two decades."
"We can repair the structure if the stone foundations are solid. And I think they must be. The place was built by monks to last for centuries. And the forest is certainly an attraction."
"I do think it's less than straightforward, to give you a falling down heap of stone rather than your good and due salary. It will require money, not give you more of it."
"She doesn't have the gold to give, you know that," he smirked in return. "And this likely comes with a title - earl, I should think. Will I wear it well?"
The steward sighed and rolled the deed. "Aye, my lord chancellor. You will. I suppose the gold to make the place livable will be found, as usual."
The chancellor raised his brows and smiled. "As usual, my good man. You know what to do."
"Aye, that I do."
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