Alaric stared at his son for a long moment, his shadows writhing as his emotions flared.
Then he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wood.
Without a word, he turned and strode from the dining hall, his dark magic trailing behind him.
The family exchanged confused glances. Lady Genevieve's hand went to her chest, her composure finally cracking completely.
Octavia half-rose from her seat as if to follow, but Jack raised a hand.
"Wait," he said quietly.
They waited.
Minutes passed in tense silence. Annabelle fidgeted in her chair. Celeste drummed her fingers against the table once before stopping at Octavia's sharp look.
Then Alaric returned.
Blood smeared across his forehead in a rough horizontal line. His palm showed a fresh cut, dirt still clinging to the edges where he'd mixed earth with his own blood.
He sat without explanation, his golden eyes meeting Jack's directly. "Well?"
