A small, sorrowful smile crossed her face. "You've hurt enough from the choice you made to stay, Soren. I'm sorry, I couldn't do what Madam Clark did—I couldn't let you become another Mervyn."
Across the hall, Mervyn's eyes narrowed the moment he caught sight of Soren. What was he doing here, slipping in so suddenly?
But before he could linger on the thought, a wave of eager voices pulled him back.
The nobles clustered at his side, their laughter light and practiced, their words sugar-coated yet sharp with intent.
"I wonder if you've already made a list of potential matches for Young Master Morgan," one chimed, earning a chorus of giggles. "It's never too early to scout, you know."
Mervyn let out a measured chuckle, tilting his glass. "Perhaps a little early, but I'll keep it in mind. Of course, I'll need to be cautious when it comes to my son's future."
"Absolutely! Pureblood children mustn't be paired with anyone unworthy of their status."
"That's right, yes."
