Lord Vance, feeling that gaze, visibly paled and took a half-step back, as if he had just been touched by a piece of ice.
King Alistair, however, let out a dry, wheezing chuckle. He had seen the look, and he had seen the elder's fear. "My dear Lord Vance," the King rasped, "do not be so hasty. I still have a son. What's wrong in merely giving him," he gestured, almost lazily, to Liam, "a chance to prove himself to you all."
" Your Majesty!" Lord Greyson, the practical elder, burst out, his fear of Liam less than his fear of an unstable kingdom. "Don't listen to Lord Vance. We must be realistic! We must speak of the future of Eudora! We cannot place a skiver on the throne! A drunkard! An unserious man who spends his days in pleasure houses and his nights gambling away his family's fortune!"
Murmurs erupted in the room. This was the true, core, and terrible debate.
