Arwin found himself alone in the study after Roderick's departure, with only the soft crackle of the lamp and the gentle ticking of the wall clock breaking the silence.
Outside, the manor was still, but his mind was anything but quiet. He sat motionless behind his desk, fixated on a single spot in the wood, as if it held all the answers he sought.
The remnants of Roderick's anger hung in the air like smoke, yet Arwin chose not to pursue it. He had witnessed anger before, young men consumed by their pride, mistaking it for strength.
What truly unsettled him wasn't Roderick's outburst; it was how swiftly everything had changed in just two weeks. A minor Guild had transformed into a topic of hushed conversations among nobles.
Arwin struggled to think like a ruler rather than a father, but those roles were never entirely separate. Whenever he closed his eyes for even a moment, he could still visualize that dreadful report: Your son was struck in public.
