The morning sun filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, casting long shadows across my bedroom. I sat cross-legged on my bed, a large leather-bound book balanced on my knees. The distant sound of my mother's shouting echoed through the vast corridors of our manor house.
I turned another page, trying to lose myself in the adventures of knights and dragons rather than listen to her cursing my father's name again. At nine years old, I had grown accustomed to these outbursts, though they still made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
A gentle knock at the door pulled my attention away from the book.
"Young master?" Alistair's voice called from outside. "May I come in?"
"Yes," I replied, not looking up from my page.
