"He is not our son, my dear."
The sentence hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
The Baroness immediately brushed her husband's hand off her shoulder. Her eyes widened—a mixture of anger and fear she was struggling to suppress.
"Do not speak such nonsense," she hissed, her voice trembling. "He is likely just tired. You know he just survived a life-or-death duel. It is trauma. Trauma changes people."
The Baron did not answer immediately. He merely let out a long sigh—the sigh of a man who had just lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders, only to find a new, far more terrifying burden weighing on his heart.
His thoughts drifted for a moment.
The last week had been hell for him. He had been consumed by grave matters that were strangling the territory. Yet, the situation had turned around drastically. Trade routes were to be reopened with Rosevelt's assistance. Even the territorial taxes had been granted relief by the capital, thanks to Rosevelt's lobbying as well.
