"Son." Eliam's voice was rough. He did not know what to say. He had raised this boy to be kind, to be just, to be the kind of man who would build rather than destroy.
And he had succeeded. Eastiel was kind. Was just.
But when did he become a man who would rather burn than let the world be anything less than it could be?
"Mind you, this is not me trying to find excuses to wage a war." Eastiel said, steady again, calm again. "I have never wished for war. What I want is no war. What I want is punishment."
Order.
Eliam understood, then, why Cecilia Araceli had been so important to his son. Not just because he loved her. Not just because she was beautiful or brilliant or any of the things that made a man fall in love.
This was the exact reason why Eliam, despite knowing she was already engaged to another boy, insisted on having that same engagement for his son too.
He reached out. His hand found his son's head and settled there.
