King Victor summoned Damian to his study the morning after the dinner, and this time there was no ambiguity in the tone of the request. A guard delivered the message directly: *immediately, and alone.*
Damian found his father standing at the same window where he'd once studied Luna like an unwelcome intrusion, hands clasped behind his back, his posture rigid with barely restrained anger.
"Sit," Victor said, without turning around.
"I'd rather stand."
"Sit, Damian." The King's voice left no room for negotiation this time. Damian sat.
Victor turned slowly, and the fury Damian had expected wasn't there — something colder had replaced it, more calculated, which somehow felt worse.
"Lady Farren's insinuations last night. Selena's photographs three weeks ago. Whispers throughout this enti
