Alaric swirled the brandy in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the chandelier's light.
Duke Rithvale set his own glass down with a soft click against the table. The sound seemed too loud in the silence that had stretched between them.
"You understood what I meant?"
Alaric lifted his eyes from the brandy. Met the Duke's gaze straight on. "Yes, Your Grace. I understand it all."
Every word of it. Every threat wrapped in politeness, every condition dressed up as generosity. The Duke had been very clear about what this engagement meant, and more importantly, what it didn't mean.
The Duke nodded once. Sharp. Final.
"Good." He leaned back in his chair, already dismissing him. "That's it then. You can go."
A pause. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added. "And don't you dare use my name at your whims."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Alaric's fingers tightened on the glass, just slightly, barely noticeable. His eyes narrowed.
