Athillia's gaze fell on the Marquess of Roland.
"Given your name is Matthew… that must have been your childhood name, wasn't it?"
The word struck Matthew like a blow.
His eyes widened, and his lips trembled. For a heartbeat, he could not breathe. The nickname — one only his father ever used to call him — broke open years of silence, years of waiting, and years of loss.
His vision blurred as hot tears spilt freely. His hands clutched the locket as though it were his father's hand at last.
"All this time… I thought he died in the war. I thought he was brutally murdered!"
He bowed his head, shoulders shaking, the proud Marquess undone before them all.
The hall, hushed and unmoving, bore witness to a son who had carried a flame of longing all his life — only to learn that the man he loved had lived and died far from him.
"He passed away much later, when my mother was still a young girl," Athillia said quietly. "The prophecy you heard… those were his last words on his deathbed."
