Honestly, there was a lot more where that came from.
And if they unpacked all of it now, he wasn't sure any of them would still be standing by the end.
Because never, not even in his darkest and most paranoid moments, did Duke Leander ever think his precious boy had carried that much on his own.
Trauma.
Not the faceless kind, like corruption, which at least could be fought, cut away, burned clean.
Even corruption, for all its ugliness, had been kinder to his boy. At least that black gunk of death had contributed to his son's current triumphs.
But those people.
No, those monsters.
Those fucking bastards?!
Duke Leander could not even put his fury into words. His breath came hot and ragged, his fists clenched until his knuckles hurt, heat rolling through him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes like fire threatening to consume him whole.
Shock.
Rage.
Heartbreak.
