The moment Alaric's boots hit the ground of his Estate, the air around the carriage seemed heavy, suffocatingly so. He didn't wait for the door to be fully opened before he was out, his black mantle snapping in the wind like the wings of a predatory bird.
The Butler immediately rushed to greet him at the base of the stairs, his face trying to remain composed despite the woes that had taken place.
"Your Grace," the Butler began, struggling to keep pace with Alaric's long, aggressive strides. "Marquis Astrea... he came again."
Hearing this, Alaric halted abruptly. He turned his head toward the butler, his eyes narrowing in a deadly gaze. The mere mention of that man being in here in his absence despite already sending him away once was enough to make the veins in his neck pulse.
"Where is Julian?" Alaric's voice was a low, dangerous vibration.
"In the guest wing, Your Grace," the Butler responded quickly, sensing the Duke's mounting volatility. "He is... safe for now."
