Before I could offer a witty reply to his insult, Shane knocked on the door and pushed it open. He didn't wait for me, simply stepping back to let me face whatever execution awaited inside.
I didn't bother arguing with him. In my past life, men like Shane were common—dogs that barked loudest only when their masters were nearby.
Ignoring the sharp throb in my left ankle, I dragged my feet forward into the Duke's study. The doors clicked shut behind me, sealing me inside.
The room was silent save for the crackle of the hearth. A tall man stood by the high window, looking out over the moonlit courtyard with his hands folded behind his back. The oppressive aura he exuded was palpable, suffocating even to someone who had already tasted death.
"You took your time, Benedict," the Duke spoke, his back still turned to me. His voice was deep, carrying the absolute authority of a ruler. "I see you haven't learned the value of promptness, even after nearly killing yourself today."
I stood there, leaning slightly on my right leg to ease the pain. The original Benedict might have fallen to his knees, begging for forgiveness with tears streaming down his bruised face. But I just stared at his broad back.
"My apologies, Your Grace. The pain in my ankle slowed my pace," I replied, my voice remarkably steady.
Silence hung heavy in the air. Slowly, Duke Alistair Romario turned to face me. His piercing blue eyes were like frozen lakes, scanning me from head to toe with unhidden disgust. He wasn't looking at a son; he was inspecting a defective product.
"You are a stain on the Romario name," he stated coldly, walking toward his massive mahogany desk. "Julian is a prodigy. Raymond is shaping up to be a formidable knight. And then there is you. A powerless, pathetic creature who can't even walk down a corridor without causing a scene."
He sat down, steepled his fingers, and glared at me. "I don't care about the petty squabbles between you and your brothers. In this family, weakness is a sin. If you cannot defend yourself, you deserve to be trampled. Do not expect me to intervene and play the loving father."
I met his gaze without flinching. My eyes, empty and devoid of the desperation he was so used to seeing, seemed to cause a slight twitch in his brow.
"I understand, Your Grace," I replied smoothly, showing no trace of sorrow. "I expect nothing from you. I only ask for a quiet corner to breathe."
He narrowed his eyes, searching for the trembling coward he knew, but found only a cold abyss. For a fleeting second, confusion flashed across his face, quickly replaced by his usual disdain.
"See that you keep out of sight, then. Dismissed."
I bowed slightly, turned on my heel, and limped toward the door. As I stepped back into the cold corridor, my resolve hardened. I didn't need a father. I just need
ed to survive.