Aetheria, The Dragon Clan, Dragon Abyss Hall.
Horace Valerius sat rigidly on the throne, his face as cold as stagnant water, knuckles showing white from the force with which he gripped the golden dragon-headed armrest—he nearly crushed it.
He stared at the son standing in the middle of the hall, backlit, the dark golden beast robe still carrying the dust of The Lower Domain. The anger burning in his heart could not be suppressed.
"You dare come back?"
Horace Valerius slammed the table and stood, his voice cold as ice. "Last time you fled midway through the banquet and made me a laughingstock in front of all the clans of Aetheria."
The Black-armored Guards stationed in the hall knelt instantly, trembling, barely daring to breathe.
The last time this wretch lost his memory, he severed the mate mark with that Lower Domain female Luna Sutton with his own hand. Horace thought his son had finally woken up, learned to let go.
