Ezekiel did not speak right away.
He stared at the portrait longer than anyone expected, his grip on the parchment tightening almost without him noticing. When he finally lowered it, his expression wasn't startled or confused.
It was… unsettled. The kind that lingered.
"Why," he asked at last, "was I not told about this?"
Alaric gave a humorless huff. "You were never in one place long enough to tell."
Ezekiel's gaze snapped to him. "That's not an answer."
"You disappeared," Alaric replied coolly. "For weeks we didn't know if you were alive. Letters don't reach men who might already be dead."
Ezekiel held his son's stare. Then he looked away, exhaling slowly.
"You should have found a way," he said. "Some way."
No one argued.
He turned back to the table, tapping the parchment once. "How many people know this? About his face."
Marcus answered without hesitation. "Only the royals. Us commanders. A few knights we trust with our lives."
"And the public?" Ezekiel asked.
