"Make a promise. A pinky promise."
The Duke's brow furrowed into a scowl. "A what?"
"A pinky promise," Julian repeated, holding up his own weak hand to demonstrate. "If you don't do it, I won't believe you'll keep it."
The Duke looked at Lucius, then back at Julian, clearly finding the ritual ridiculous.
But he sighed and held out his hand. Lucius, blushing with excitement, reached out his tiny finger and hooked it around his father's enormous one. The contrast was absurd—the warrior's scarred hand against the child's soft one—but Lucius's face lit up with a rare, bright joy.
One he hadn't had since the night of the incident.
"Remind me," Alaric said, looking directly at Julian. "...In case I ever forget. I don't want to break this promise."
Julian smiled, satisfied. That's the attitude he should be having as a father.
He felt a sense of peace seeing them like that, and that allowed him to turn to his food.
