Alaric caught his entrance anyway, asubtle pressure shift in the room that made his instincts lift and catalog the threat before his eyes confirmed it. Vidar’s perfectly tailored suit. Immaculate lines. Every detail coordinated, down to the precise knot of his tie. His expression was solemn enough to pass for respect, but his expression betrayed him—too bright, too alert, with a sharp, anticipatory focus that had nothing to do with grief. He took the envelope the executor offered with a thin smile.
“The contents are sealed originals,” the executor continued. “You are free to review them at your discretion. I’ll step out.”He did, the door closing quietly behindhim.
For a moment,no one moved.
Vidar broke the silence with a short laugh. He glanced at the packet in his hand, then tossed it onto the table as if it were a menu he didn’t intend to read. “All this,” he said mildly. “For something that was never in doubt.”
He straightened, squaring his shoulders, the movement subtle. “My mother was married to Bjorn before yours ever was.”
Magnus went utterly still, as if the room had been pulled tight around him. Leif’s eyes flicked to Alaric for a fraction of a second, then back to Vidar, expression unreadable.
Vidar continued, voice smooth, certain. “They were married legally. Publicly. That makes me the eldest son. Which means Severin’s answers to me now.” His attention moved from Magnus to Leif, then settled on Alaric. “You always were good soldiers. Iassume that won’t change.”
Magnus stiffened, the tendons in his neck standing out as his shoulders locked. His hands flexed once at his sides before he forced them still, restraint snapping tight aroundhim.
Alaric didn’t react at all. No shift of posture. No stiffening. He remained exactly as he was, the stillness deliberate, as if Vidar weren’t worth the expenditure of movement.
Vidar’s attention swept the room, slow and proprietary, lingering on Alaric a fraction too long. “You look surprised,” he said, mild curiosity threading his tone. “I assumed you would have alreadyaccepted reality.”
Leif’s expression didn’t change. He neither leaned forward nor back. “Reality tends to arrive whether we accept it or not.”
Vidar smiled again, the expression smooth and practiced, confidence settling more firmly into his stance as if Leif’s calm were confirmation rather than warning. “Then let’s not waste time.”
“No,” Alaric said. His voice was even. Flat. It cut through the room without effort. “Let’s not.”
Vidar’s smile faltered, just enough to register. His eyes sharpened, reassessing, irritation slipping through the cracks of his composure. “You’re unusually quiet.”
Alaric leaned back in his chair, one ankle crossing over his knee, posture loose in a way that wasn’t casual at all. “I’m listening.”
Vidar’s expression tightened. “To what?”
Alaric lifted his gaze at last, pale stare steady, unblinking. “To what you think you’ve already won.”
The air in the room shifted, tension tightening like a wire pulled toofar.
Vidar straightened, irritation flashing. “This didn’t require theatrics. My place in this family was never in question. Iwas always Bjorn’s heir.”
“Were you?” Magnus asked.
Vidar turned on him, irritation sharpening into something colder. “Don’t pretend this is a shock. This is what succession looks like when sentiment stops running the room.” His gaze flicked, dismissive. “Like Rebecca and Sera, for example.There’s too much sentiment hanging over them, especially since Rebeccawasan exposure. And Sera stillisan exposure.” His mouth curved, thin and decisive. “In my world, exposures get dealt with. Permanently.”
No one spoke. The words seemed to settle into the room, heavy and ugly, like something that shouldn’t have been said aloud. Magnus’s teeth clenched, amuscle ticking once as he stared at the table. Leif didn’t move at all, his stillness absolute.
Alaric’s posture didn’t change. Something in himdid.
“You’re blaming them,” Leif said carefully. “For what?”
“I’m stating facts,” Vidar replied. “They were weak points. Easy to manipulate. Easy to use against Severin’s.” His gaze was cold now, clinical. “That made them a danger to this family.”
“Enough,” Magnus snapped.
Vidar waved him off. “You can posture all you want. The outcome doesn’t change.” He flicked a finger toward the unopened packet in front of the brothers. “You’ll see.”
Alaric spoke without raising his voice. “You’re not Bjorn’s son.”
The room went silent.
Vidar laughed in genuine amusement. “That’s desperate.”
