Friedrich POV
Godson's brother looks between us and the rest of the room, his face turning from denial to terror. His hand clings onto his side where an old wound seems to have reopened, a stain of blood spreading across his shirt. "You… this isn't right," he stutters, voice breaking. "You weren't supposed to make it out alive.
I take a measured step forward, locking eyes with him. "Surprise," I say, the tone of my voice is very flat and detached. "But I'm not here to talk about the Royal Blood Family. I'm here to deal with you."
His breathing quickens while his eyes dart to the lanky man beside him. "Don't just stand there," he hisses. "Do something!
The gangly man hesitates; the legs of his chair scrape back another six inches as he looks toward Draven, whose grip on the silver blad
