Luther lifted one hand and the council quieted, though most of them still glared at Xavier like they wanted to rip his limbs off.
A sharp wave of his hand followed, and they all filed out of the throne room—still grumbling, still cursing, still throwing looks at Xavier as if he'd spat on their ancestors. The doors shut behind them with a heavy thud.
Only Xavier and Luther remained.
Luther settled back into his throne, fingers tapping the armrest, eyes fixed on Xavier as if he was trying to peel open the boy's skull and read what sat inside.
"So," Luther said, his tone edged like he couldn't decide whether to mock him or break his spine. "You walk into my hall, spit on my council, and announce you want my daughter like she's something you misplaced in a market. Tell me something. Are you stupid, or have you finally lost whatever brain cells a human can afford to lose?"
Xavier didn't react to the insult. "I told you what I want. And what I'll get."
