As the others went on flattering the Duke's daughter like drunken poets, the Count leaned slightly toward forward and spoke to Selene in a voice coated with politeness.
"Lady Selene," he said smoothly, gesturing subtly with a nod toward Alaric, "If you don't mind my asking… who might this young man be?"
He masked it well, the curiosity, the calm, but Alaric noticed it. The brief strain behind the eyes. The twitch of a knuckle. Something tight in his voice.
Jealousy? Discomfort?
Like father, like son, Alaric thought dryly, keeping his face perfectly blank.
Selene simply smiled, and spoke in a smooth and calm voice.
"He's my nephew."
A ripple passed through the table.
A few heads turned sharply in her direction, some in surprise, others in quiet curiosity.
A couple of gazes lingered on Alaric now, more attentive than before. He could almost feel the subtle shift in the air as they began to weigh him, recalibrate their assumptions.
