CHAPTER 74: GOOD MORNING DEAR [2]

Creak!

Alaric paused mid-bite as the main door creaked open. A figure draped in black cloaks entered, their footsteps silent against the wooden floor.

"Good morning, dear nephew." Selene spoke, as she removed her hood, revealing sharp features and calculating eyes.

Alaric straightened slightly and gave a curt nod. "Morning."

She then settled onto the couch across from him.

Before Selene could speak, Alaric broke the silence.

"Are you certain about this arrangement, milady? Making me your nephew?" His fork clinked against his bowl as he set it down.

"There were other roles you could have assigned me. Why this?"

Selene gave a short nod, acknowledging the question with a hum.

"You raise a valid point. On second thought, making you my nephew isn’t the wisest choice."

Her lips curled into a sly smirk. "You’ll become my heir instead."

"Alr—what?" Alaric’s eyes widened.

She crossed one leg over the other, her posture radiating confidence.

"You heard correctly. You will become the next heir of House Glimor, and—"

She raised her arm, revealing a dark tattoo that pulsed with an otherworldly glow.

The moment Alaric saw it, heat flared near his neck.

When he pressed his fingers to the spot, he felt the same design burning beneath his skin, its light seeping through his fingertips.

"I’ll give you your freedom," Selene said, her smile both promising and dangerous.

Alaric studied her face, his eyes narrowing as suspicion crept into his expression.

What exactly does she want? The question churned in his mind as he straightened, his expression unreadable.

"Milady, you’re saying you’ll grant me freedom after I become your heir. You understand what that implies, don’t you?" His voice carried a sharp edge.

"What if I rebel? What if I make the wrong political moves?"

Selene tilted her head, as if considering a mildly interesting puzzle.

"I said I’ll give you freedom. I never said I’d remove your slave mark entirely."

Should have known.

He leaned back in his seat and resumed eating his porridge.

"Then what exactly do you mean by ’freedom,’ milady?"

Selene straightened, her tone becoming almost businesslike.

"It means you can do what you want, go wherever you please. The only requirement is loyalty and that you fulfill your duties when called upon. Beyond that, you’ll be free to live as you choose."

Alaric raised his eyes from his bowl, meeting her gaze directly. "Has Ferick agreed to this arrangement?"

Selene gave him a knowing smile. "You don’t need to worry about him."

Just as Alaric opened his mouth to respond, she raised her hand, cutting him off.

"He won’t live long. You won’t need to play the role of his son." Her voice carried a chilling matter-of-factness.

"In his eyes and everyone else’s—you’ll be my nephew, whom I graciously took in after the tragic death of your parents."

She paused, letting the implication settle between them.

"I trust you can manage that performance?"

Alaric appeared lost in thought, his fingers drumming silently against the table’s edge.

Finally, he nodded. "Very well."

He set his bowl down.

Selene’s expression remained composed, but inwardly.

Got you.

But then...

Alaric rose and stretched.

"Shall we go, dear aunt?"

Selene’s brows twitched at those words, but she masked them quickly.

"Indeed." She stood as well, her black cloak rustling around her.

They both exited the cottage and settled into the waiting carriage.

******

A chamber stretched beneath vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate stonework, its walls lined with towering bookshelves and ancestral portraits whose eyes seemed to follow every movement.

Heavy velvet drapes framed tall windows that cast long shadows across the polished marble floor, while a grand fireplace crackled softly in the corner, its warmth doing little to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.

"Does she know?" A sharp voice cut through the silence.

A blue-haired woman, stood with rigid posture near the ornate desk. Her pale blue eyes blazed with barely contained fury as they fixed on the broad-shouldered man seated before her.

"Did you tell her? Or even think to ask her about this?"

Her voice lace with restrained anger.

"She doesn’t need to know." The man’s response was flat, dismissive.

As he turned his head to her.

His deep grey eyes, meeting her deep blue.

"But she—" The woman stepped forward, her hands clenched at her sides.

"She’s my daughter. She’ll do what I say." His voice boomed through the chamber, cutting her off.

The woman’s jaw tightened. "She’s our daughter."

He snorted, leaning back in his chair with casual arrogance. "Doesn’t make much difference."

The silence settled over them.

Then—

The woman’s voice cracked, and tears welled in her pale eyes.

"First you killed my husband." The words came out broken, each one a shard of glass.

"Then my son. Then you forced me to marry you and bear you the perfect heir."

She choked on the words, her composure finally crumbling.

"And when you had them. When you had our children, you turned them into political tools instead of treating them as your own flesh and blood. You parade them around like prized cattle, using their futures, their very lives to strengthen your position."

Her voice rose, trembling with years of suppressed anguish. "They’re children, not some chess pieces!"

The man’s face darkened, his casual demeanor evaporating in an instant. He surged to his feet, towering over her.

"You’re nothing but a war trophy I claimed after crushing your pathetic kingdom." His voice was ice-cold, each word delivered like a blade. "You have no rights here, no voice in how I run my affairs."

He stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "Those children are mine. My blood, my heirs, my tools to use however I see fit. You were merely the vessel that bore them."

Without another word, he strode past her toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing through the chamber.

The woman stood frozen in place, tears streaming down her face as the door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone with the crackling fire.