Edward’s lips pressed together.
His father leaned back, taking another long, slow sip. "You know why I called you here? Because you're of age now. It’s time you start thinking of your legacy. Time you understand what it means to bear the Valhaven title."
Edward felt his stomach twist.
The Duke continued, voice turning colder. "It means ensuring our bloodline continues. That when you return from Oxford, you’ll be seeking a wife of proper station. One who can give you a son. Because make no mistake, Edward—there will be an heir. And it will not be that other one."
The cursory mention of his brother struck like a lash. Edward’s back straightened. "He is your son too."
The Duke scoffed, gesturing vaguely to the woman on the settee, who giggled and took another sip of brandy. "A mistake. His mother's shame, not mine. The boy's existence is tolerated. Barely."
Edward's hands clenched behind his back, nails biting into his palm.
"You," his father continued, "are my rightful heir. The one who will carry this name forward with dignity. And you will have a son to secure this legacy, Edward. The Lord chose you.Ichose you. Lord knows I will not have my title tainted with... half-blood."
Edward felt his pulse pound at his temples, the words battering him with a sickening clarity. His father wasn’t protecting the family. He was protecting his own pride—his own twisted obsession with control.
"I will not see this line end in ruin because of that mistake," the Duke finished, voice slurring slightly as the brandy took its hold. “Everything I did, I did for you, boy. And you will carry it with honor, with grace, with—”
"Is that why you summoned me? To remind me of my duty?" Edward interrupted.
The Duke’s lips twisted into something cruel. "Among other things. I’ve taught you how to be a man. Power. Wealth. Influence. You think it was for naught? Look around you. Everything I have built is yours. Ours. I know a part of you still reviles me for what happened with your mother. But you must understand—"
The glass was raised again, the scent of liquor thick in the air.
"Love," he sneered, as though the word itself was dirty, "is for fools. Control the bloodline. Control your emotions. And desire—" He waved the glass toward the chaise, gesturing toward the sprawled woman. "Is merely a distraction. A game. Women serve a purpose, and once that’s done, they become irrelevant. You will learn."
Edward felt the words like bile rising in his throat.
"Will I?" His voice was icy now. "Is that all you want me to see in people? Utility? While I live to be the pride in your eyes?"
The Duke’s gaze sharpened suddenly. "Don’t you dare judge me, boy. You think you’re so different. One day, you’ll be just like me. You’ll have children of your own. You’ll understand how the world works. And you’ll thank me for—"
Edward turned on his heel.
"Edward!" his father barked, but he didn’t stop.
The study door shut behind him with a deafening click.
Benedict was still curled in his chair when Edward returned, the book he’d left open untouched in his lap. Edward knelt before him, the anger still boiling in his chest—but he forced it down.
"I’m back," he said gently, brushing a curl from his brother’s forehead. "Sorry I took so long."
Benedict looked up, blinking sleepily, but the shadows in his eyes lingered.
"You okay?" Edward pressed softly. “You can sleep in my bed tonight, I’ll be staying up—I have a lot to catch up on.”
Benedict nodded. Quiet. Always quiet.
But Edward had seen too much of that same quiet in himself.
He smiled weakly at his brother. His father was wrong. The title would be passed down, most certainly. But it would pass down to Benedict.
And Edward would make certain of it.
A heavy knock at his bedchamber door tore through Edward’s pasty slumber.
“Your Grace, the bath is ready.”
