Alaric's cousin.
The king's first concubine's son. Audrey's son.
The father of three. Damn.
The prince with a chip on his shoulder and a hunger for power—one Alaric had doubted, and now Lucius could see why.
Jaron's face twisted into something between defiance and panic, his jaw tight as his dark hair fell across his forehead. His chest heaved, but he didn't speak—didn't even blink.
Lucius' shock lasted a second. Just a second. Then the rage returned—hotter, sharper.
"You," Lucius growled, shoving Jaron harder against the wall, stone crumbling behind him. "Alaric was right about you."
Jaron's lip curled. "I don't need your approval."
Lucius' fist crashed into his jaw.
The prince staggered but didn't fall—he retaliated fast, swinging a wild punch that Lucius easily dodged, grabbing Jaron's arm and twisting it behind his back with a painful pop.