Aldric had felt anger flare—sharp and immediate—at his father's nonchalant response to Aurelia's plight. The memory still burned fresh in his mind, as though it had only just occurred.
"No matter how flawed you all think she may be," Aldric had said then, his voice firm but carrying an undercurrent of restrained fury, "she is still my sister. She is still of my blood....your blood father.
And I will not stand here and pretend otherwise simply because it is convenient for the rest of you."
His father had regarded him with a gaze that was neither cold nor warm—but something far more difficult to read. A kind of calculated look.
"Aldric," Azarion had said slowly, his tone calm in a way that only seemed to provoke further irritation, "you speak as though your sister stands alone in her suffering."
"And does she not?" Aldric had shot back immediately, his control slipping just enough to reveal the depth of his frustration.
