Lucivar rose to his feet. The throne room had once been the epicenter of war strategy, royal edicts, and the occasional overly dramatic punishment. These days, it mostly echoed with dust and silence—he hadn't used it much since he unofficially passed the political baton to Damien, hoping to sip blood in peace and eventually fade into a soft retirement surrounded by vintage wines and dramatic poetry readings.
But alas…here they were still.
His son walked in, all broad shoulders, dark scowl, and secrets he probably thought he was hiding well.
"Father…" Damien announced himself.
Lucivar didn't sit back down. He narrowed his eyes. "You should've taken over the throne by now."
Straight to business.
Damien ran a hand through his hair, already preparing for battle. "Father, you know what's been going on--"
