The king's gaze lingered on my father a moment longer than it should have—neither annoyed nor approving. Just… resigned, as if he'd expected the interruption.
The prime minister sighed, straightening his papers. "Lord Arden," he said, voice polite but strained, "perhaps you would allow your son to speak for himself."
My father lazily swirled his wine. "Ah? But I did let him speak." He waved in my direction. "He just hasn't gotten to it yet."
Several dukes coughed to hide their amusement. Vredemann D'Arclight, however, only shifted his gaze to Vance—cold, measured.
"Your behavior remains as unbecoming as ever."
My father's smile widened. "And you remain as stiff as a funeral statue, old friend."
Old friend?
That was news to me.
The room quieted. The king raised a hand. "Enough." The single word cut cleanly through the tension.
