Duke Thaddeus stood at a distance, his golden eyes steady, unreadable. The argument between him and Aeliana had dissipated, but something else had taken its place—something quieter, something more subtle, but no less consuming.
He watched.
Watched as his daughter squared off against the young man—Lucavion—with sharp words and sharper eyes. She was rigid at first, her irritation evident in the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her weight shifted just slightly, betraying the restlessness beneath her composed facade.
But then—slowly, subtly—it changed.
Aeliana's posture loosened, her stance no longer coiled tight with irritation but something else. The sharp edge in her eyes remained, but now it was tempered, focused, searching. She didn't turn away, didn't dismiss him.
She was engaging him.