"Father—" Maxwell started, trying to offer some semblance of a plan, but he never finished the sentence when a massive, bone-deep rumble shook the estate. It wasn’t a thunderclap; it was the sound of the front gates being pulverized, brought down to the ground by the hands of one man.

The floor beneath their feet vibrated so violently that the paintings on the walls tilted.

"What is this nonsense?" The Marquis yelled, unable to make sense of what was going on in his home, and then the study door burst open. The Head Butler stumbled in, his face as white as a sheet, his breathing coming in ragged gasps.

"Master! Master, he’s here!" the Butler stammered, his eyes wide with genuine terror. "He broke through the main gates and is creating chaos! He’s... he’s coming through the grounds and pushing back the knights!"

"Calm down and speak to me. Who is coming? Who is making a ruckus in my home, not fearing the wrath of my house?!"

"The Duke," the Butler said, and the Marquis froze.

"What?" The words slipped out of his lips like a rigid whisper.

"The Duke is on his way right now and isn’t stopping."

The Marquis felt the world tilt in that moment. The glass he had been reaching for slipped from his hand and hit the floor. The bravado he had been fueling with anger just seconds ago vanished in a single heartbeat, replaced by a cold, hollow dread.

"The Duke?" the Marquis whispered in a small voice. "Here? Now?"

What was he doing here? What did he think he was doing, creating chaos in his home?

He looked at the Royal Mandate sitting on his desk. It was just a piece of paper with a few waxes embedded in it. That... would not save him, but it was the only thing he had to save himself from the Duke.

Just as he was trying to come up with a plan, a possible solution out of this mess, the study doors were broken down.

They were torn from their hinges by the kick of an angry man and an angry father.

The heavy wood slammed against the stone floor with a sound like a cannon blast, sending a cloud of dust and splintered lacquer into the air.

Duke Alaric stood on the threshold, looking like a reaper as the dust surrounded him. He wasn’t wearing his formal mantle anymore. He had discarded it for better mobility as he charged into a fully guarded Estate and pushed through all the guards, knocking them out without spilling a single drop of blood.

And now he was here at his destination, his chest heaving, and his blue eyes glowing with a cold, predatory light that made the lamps in the room seem dim.

Behind him, the hallway was a wreck of overturned furniture and terrified servants who had tried to get in his way but froze at the mere sight of him.

What could they do when even the knights had fallen to this man?

The Marquis scrambled backward, his hip hitting the edge of his desk.

"Your Grace!" He called, trying to sound calm and composed even in this situation. "This... this is a violation! You cannot simply barge into my home and create a commotion like this. What would the rest of the Noble houses say? They will condemn your actions and persecute you."

Whether that was a warning, a threat, or a friendly reminder, the Duke did not care. The words went in one ear and slid out the other.

The Marquis saw this. He saw the Duke was completely unfazed by his words and grew desperate, so he pulled out the last card, even when he knew it wouldn’t do anything to help his situation. He swiped the paper from the desk and displayed it in front of him.

"I... I have a Royal Mandate!"

But as expected, Duke Alaric didn’t even look at the paper. He took a slow, heavy step into the room.

The clicking of his boots was the only sound in the suffocating silence, and it agonizingly gnawed at their hearts.

"I told you to stay away from my estate," The Duke growled. The sound wasn’t a shout; it was a low, vibrating snarl that seemed to rattle the gears in the Marquis’s head. "I told you to stay away from Julian," he added, his voice deeply rumbling in his throat. "And not only did you trespass again, but you put a strain on Julian’s health and..." his eyes grew dangerously cold. "You hurt my son."

The Marquis’s face went from grey to a sickly white as he recalled he had grabbed the boy’s shoulder and clenched hard to force the boy into pain and make him step out of his way. Force him to yield.

It was his pride at work. Seeing a child standing in front of him and not knowing his place made him want to see the child kneel by all means, but that stubborn brat stayed standing and even glared at him. He gritted his teeth.

"It was a misunderstanding! The boy was in the way! I was merely exercising my right as a father to—"

"You have no rights in my house," Alaric interrupted, his voice dropping even lower and sending chills down their spine. It was as if the temperature had dropped all at once. "And you certainly have no right to lay a hand on the heir of the North."

Maxwell, seeing his father cornered, tried to step forward to show his bravery. He moved to stand between the Duke and the Marquis, his chin lifted in a desperate attempt to look dignified. Great mistake there.

"Lord Duke, please. There seems to be a misunderstanding," he began, relying on his eloquence and assuming he could turn the flow of the situation with words alone. "My father was simply stressed by the situation with Julian. There is no need for such violence in a noble household. We can discuss this as—"

Alaric’s hand moved faster than the eye could follow. He didn’t draw his sword. He simply reached out and gripped the eldest son’s shoulder, shoving him down onto his knees with a force that made the young man’s joints pop.

"Ack!" his mouth flew open in a desperate, hushed cry.

"Violence?" Alaric looked down at him, his expression devoid of mercy. "You haven’t seen violence yet."

The Marquis, seeing what had just happened, knew the worst was coming and immediately fell to his knees beside his son, his hands shaking as he reached out toward the Duke’s boots. The pride he had been wearing minutes ago was gone, replaced by a frantic, pathetic desperation.

"Please! Spare him!" the Marquis begged, his forehead nearly touching the rug. "He had nothing to do with it! Take my wealth, take the mandate—I will leave Julian alone! I swear it! Just don’t hurt my heir!"