The elder's study was dimly lit, the scent of aged parchment and bitter wine lingering in the air. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room. It looked very ominous. There were two men in the room.
Lord Malric stood by the grand fireplace, his back turned, the flames reflecting in his eyes as he clenched a crystal goblet in his hand.
Behind him, his son, Alric, stood trembling—he feared his father. He was so close to kneeling... He could not face his father's wrath.
"Explain yourself," Malric's voice was cold, each word measured and sharp. "What possessed you to orchestrate an assassination attempt on Riven?" He knew his son was incompetent, but this? This was a new low that even he did not expect.
Alric swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Father, I believed that capturing Riven would elevate our house's standing. Holding him as leverage could have given us significant influence."
