Chapter Thirteen
King Dorian II looked blankly at Roderick. He sat upright in the lounging chair, a heavy quilt drawn over his lap. A small glass of wine sat on the table next to him. The old man’s blue eyes were clouded, but Roderick was certain his grandfather was as sharp as ever. Maybe he wasn’t physically the same man he had been forty, or even twenty, years ago, but Roderick was convinced that the king was putting on an act where he pretended to only understand half of what was going on around him.
Roderick put his own glass of wine down on the table next to his chair. Unlike his grandfather’s well-padded lounge, his chair was hard wood with a straight back. Just a reminder of the subservient position he occupied. “And so, without meaning to, I’m your last direct heir,” he finished
