The boy didn't look away.
Not when the wind stirred the tapestries.
Not when Lord Han lowered his cup without drinking.
And not even when I narrowed my gaze—just slightly—waiting to see if his father would swat him back into obedience.
He didn't.
Which meant one thing.
He was testing me.
"You brought your son," I said again, my voice as soft as it was cold. "But I notice you haven't taught him how to bow."
Lord Han finally smiled. It was small. Controlled. As careful as the way he adjusted the sleeve of his robe.
"He doesn't bow," he replied. "I thought that much would be obvious."
"He will," I said simply with a shrug.
There was no threat in it. No sharpness. Just certainty, delivered like weather.
The boy blinked.
Slow. Unbothered.
