Duke Alaric placed his hand on Julian's back, and his grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. It was a silent claim.
"Is that so?" The Marquis tilted his head, his gaze flickering to the pinky promise Lucius and Alaric had just shared. "It seems my son has made himself quite at home in your heart, Your Grace. I hope he hasn't forgotten his place in his haste to recover."
The insult was wrapped in layers of etiquette, but the sting was clear. He was reminding Julian that he was still an illegitimate 'mistake,' no matter who was feeding him porridge.
Duke Alaric finally stood up. He rose to his full, towering height, oppressing the height of the Marquis as he stood. He stepped away from the bed, but only to put himself directly between Julian and his father.
