The next morning, the warm, jovial atmosphere from last night's dinner had completely vanished.
"No. Absolutely not. You are not going there. You will step foot in that frozen hell over my dead body, Lucien."
My mother's voice rang through the dining hall, sharp and entirely devoid of her usual warmth. She slammed her teacup down onto the saucer with enough force to crack the porcelain.
Sitting at the head of the table, Count Darius let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn't disagree with her.
"I admire your newfound courage, son," Darius rumbled, his scarred face grim. "But your mother is right. That is a violently dangerous place. It is not a playground for academy students on vacation."
I sat quietly, looking down at my half-eaten breakfast.
Sigh… What should I do? They are so vehemently opposed.
The situation was simple, yet incredibly complicated: I had just asked for formal permission to travel to Winterguard.
