The Marquis looked at his helpless son and then the little thing in his way. He felt a surge of intoxicating triumph.
With the Emperor's unspoken blessing warming his back, the heavy, oppressive atmosphere of the Duke's estate no longer felt like a threat—it felt like a stage for his grand return to relevance.
Finally, he thought, his eyes scanning the Northern knights with a sneer. Let Alaric howl. Let him return to a house empty of his precious tutor. By the time he realizes the boy is gone, the Emperor's decree will be a wall he cannot climb. And Julian... Julian will finally learn that a son's only purpose is to serve his father's rise.
He adjusted his cuffs, his gaze flickering toward the pale, trembling figure of Julian clutching the bedposts. He raised his chin, his voice dripping with a cruel, paternal silkiness.
"Well, shall I take what is mine now? It's time to come home, Julian. You don't want me to shed any blood on your head, right?"
