The scene was absurd: the terrifying cold Duke of the North, the small, trembling heir on his lap, and the 'meddling' tutor from the capital sitting beside them like a family advisor... Just what was this madness?
"Why is everyone simply staring?" The Duke suddenly asked, his voice rumbling in the hall, and his deep, cold blue eyes bore through their souls. "Dance."
It was a simple word, but it felt like a heavy command and everyone began to move like marionettes in a dancing performance.
Julian looked at the Duke. Duke Alaric... What sort of man was he?
The minutes ticked by. The Phoenix fire kept the room in a state of enchanted warmth, making the wait feel less like torture. Lucius began to relax, his head leaning against his father's chest.
The little boy's heart raced and he wondered if this was a dream. If it is... If the warmth he was feeling from the body of this man was fake, then... He didn't want to wake up.
