The two of them sat across from one another in silence, separated only by the low table between them.
Calhoun could not rid himself of the unease curling in his chest at his uncle's composure. There was no anger upon the man's face, but he was still skeptical since the man was wearing a mask. Though the aura around his uncle seemed calm… if not strained.
His dark eyes held no accusation either.
Yet, it had been this very uncle, his only teacher, who had once warned him not to sow chaos within the empire, not to pursue the treacherous path of stealing the throne.
And still, Calhoun had done it.
He had done it because he was weary— weary of the scorn, the whispers, the isolation, and the cruelty that had followed him since birth.
To be born a half-fox demon within a bloodline that prided itself upon pure divinity was a curse to the Aurelian family. From the moment he opened his eyes, he had suffered for sins and circumstances that were beyond his choosing.
