Uriah York froze for a split second, his brain struggling to process the sheer audacity of the demand. It was as if a beggar had ordered a king to shine his shoes. The shock quickly dissolved into a fit of incredulous laughter.
He pointed a shaking finger at Frank Yates’s nose, turning to his entourage with a look of exaggerated disbelief. "Did you hear that? Did you hear what this trash just said?"
"He said he wants you to kneel and apologize, Young Master York," one of his cronies chimed in, playing the role of the sycophant perfectly, his voice dripping with mockery.
Uriah scanned the room, his gaze sweeping over the diners who were watching the spectacle with bated breath. He spread his arms wide, soaking in the attention. "Do you guys think that's possible? Me? Kneeling to him?"
"
