Bloodlines

The weight of Alaric's words hung over the table heavily, halting my lungs from breathing as my breath sharply inhaled. The candles flickered against the stone walls, their glow casting elongated shadows across our faces. The dinner, which had barely begun, now lay untouched. No one was thinking about food anymore.

I gripped the edge of the table as if it might somehow keep my world from shifting beneath me. My heart pounded in my chest, and through the bond, I could feel Eryx's steady presence beside me—his own emotions tightly leashed, but his focus unwavering on Alaric.

I swallowed hard, allowing myself to breathe again. "Say that again," I murmur, my voice tight. What does he mean Deyanira is not his mother?

Alaric's gaze was sharp, his expression serious. "Deyanira is not my mother. Our mother—your mother, Idalia—was also mine."