Lance's POV
"You can't, aunt!" I snapped, my voice rising against my own intentions as I spoke to her. Yet, no matter how much I wanted to comply, I couldn't bring myself to do what she demanded. No. I definitely couldn't.
"This is my son we are talking about here, Lancelot! My only son! You and I both know who is keeping him. And you're telling me no?" Her voice was sharp with fury, higher than mine, cutting through the tension in the room.
Her gaze shifted to the bell on the table, unrelenting and unflinching, and I felt a thin invisible thread holding her back from snatching it right then and there. A thread soaked in blood and veiled threats.
"I saved you when they almost killed you years ago!" she continued, before I could offer more reasons why what she was asking was impossible.
"Of course I know that, aunt," I said quickly. "Tbat is why I am grateful to you and I will remain eternally grateful for the rest of my—"
