The King coughed again, harsher this time, before waving a hand dismissively. "Enough. The matter is settled. Alaric, Alistair—you will heed your tutor. Sebathine, continue your watch. And you, Master Throne…" The King's eyes glinted with something unreadable. "Continue shaping them. They must become men worthy of the crown."
One by one, they bowed.
As the chamber began to empty, tension crackled like unseen lightning. Sebathine lingered, his eyes on Lucian's back, long and unreadable, before turning away without a word. Alistair avoided Lucian entirely, fists clenched, jaw tight, his rage barely contained.
Lucian, however, walked with calm grace, the faintest smile touching his lips. Until—
A shadow cut across his path. Alaric. The Crown Prince stood before him, tall and unyielding, blocking the doorway. His eyes, cold as tempered steel, locked on Lucian's with the weight of command.
"Walk with me," Alaric said. His voice was low, even, but edged with something harder. "Now."
