After lunch, Enzo wandered near the forest, or perhaps he just wanted to escape Charles's constant, piercing gaze.
Footsteps followed him closely. He turned—and there stood his father, Marquis Valron.
Despite the wrinkles on his forehead, he looked no less commanding than he had twenty years ago. Blonde hair fell loosely to his shoulders, and his long grey coat trailed behind him as he walked.
"Father…" Enzo murmured, unsure whether to bow or merely nod in greeting.
"It seems you've forgotten your manners," Marquis Valron clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
"I apologize…" Enzo bowed, straightening too quickly. It was no longer respect—it was an obligation.
"I've heard some interesting news."
Enzo's shoulders stiffened. Could he be referring to the divorce trial…?
"Is that so?" he asked, forcing a smile though the corner of his lips quivered.
