Pedro lingered near the doorway until my father flicked his wrist in dismissal. The servers he always hired for meals like this materialized moments later, placing the food down.
The meal progressed with my father dominating the conversation, discussing territorial expansions and shipping routes while I pushed food around my plate. Alaric responded with appropriate interest, but his attention kept returning to me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
My father suddenly laughed, pulling my attention from my plate. "I mentioned to Selene how someone in your position must appreciate order. You've maintained remarkable control in these uncertain times."
That was a bold-faced lie. He'd said nothing of the sort to me.
Alaric shook his head. "People confuse stability with control. They build walls of fear, call it loyalty, and wonder why their empires crumble beneath them like sandcastles at high tide."
The silence that followed felt physical, a third presence at our table. My father's jaw flexed once, a tiny earthquake beneath his skin, before settling back into his practiced smile that never reached his coal-dark eyes. "Is that so?"
A flicker of pale eyes in my direction. "I prefer foundations that remain standing even when no one's there to take orders or by threat."
It was clear they were now talking about me. I maintained my mask despite the heat crawling up my neck. His words resonated in places I hadn't expected them to reach, like echoes in rooms I'd locked years ago.
My father's lips tightened into something resembling amusement. "A novel perspective. Though without rigid hierarchy, the family unit collapses."
"And what’s your perspective, Selene?" Alaric turned and asked me directly.
My father cleared his throat. "What my daughter thinks—"
"I believe," Alaric interrupted smoothly, "your daughter can speak for herself."
I set down my fork and took a sip of water. Both men stared at me, waiting. My father's expression had hardened; he hadn't anticipated Alaric directing questions to me rather than through him. A tactical error in my father's carefully orchestrated dinner.
"I think," I said carefully, measuring each word as if it might be my last, "that loyalty born from fear isn't loyalty at all. It's survival." I met Alaric's gaze directly. "And people who are merely surviving will leave the moment they have a viable alternative."
My father's grp tightened around his knife. I would pay for that later. "My daughter reads too many philosophy books."
"I find her perspective refreshing," Alaric countered, his eyes never leaving mine. "Most people regurgitate what they've been taught without questioning whether it still serves them."
The tension crackled between them like static electricity before a storm. I took another sip of water, grateful for something to do with my hands.
When my father's phone suddenly started ringing, he excused himself with obvious reluctance. The moment his footsteps faded as he left the room, Alaric inclined toward me, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is this his standard performance?"
"Without variation."
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth as he studied me. "Perfect. I'll encourage it. Men who love their own voice eventually speak truths they never intended to share."
I nodded, winding pasta around my fork without lifting it to my mouth.
"You haven't said much," Alaric observed, tracking the movement of my fork. "Does he always monopolize the conversation?"
My hand stilled mid-twist. "It's simpler that way."
"I didn't ask what was simpler."
Nothing in his voice changed, yet something cinched tight beneath my ribs.
"I choose my moments," I said, almost adding I’d just shown that.
"Based on what?" he pressed.
The question floated between us, deceptively light, but with barbs hidden underneath. My father's commandments whispered through my memory as did me being forced to the floor on countless occasions. “Stay small, stay silent, stay useful. I know my place, never forget yours.”
I manufactured a polite smile. "In this house? The criteria are set by whoever holds the keys."
His probing gaze dissected me, peeling back layers I'd spent years perfecting.
