The Duke of the East, a man whose command was law and whose pride was his armor, did not shout. He did not slam his fist down on the polished oak desk. Instead, he rose slowly from his chair, a figure of rigid, terrible composure. The sound of the quill snapping in his hand was the only noise in the oppressive silence of the study.
"Bartholomew," the Duke finally stated, his voice dangerously low, like the rumble of distant thunder. "Repeat that to me. Carefully."
"Your Grace," the butler repeated, unflinching, "Lord Arion has returned. He is with the Duchess and Lord Torvin. He has brought a child , your grandson. The boy's father is Prince Kyon."
The mention of Kyon's name, coupled with the shattering realization of his alpha son's degraded status, was the spark. The Duke's fury, which had been simmering for seven months over Arion's disappearance and disgrace, immediately flared up into a blinding conflagration. It was a rage born of shattered lineage, political peril, and utter humiliation.
"The Serpent!" the Duke spat, the epithet slicing through the air. "That vile, scheming omega masquerading as an alpha! Not only did he steal my son's rank and reputation, but he debased him! He did what any true alpha would do to a weaker rival, only he did it through chemical filth, and he returned my son to me pregnant, broken, and disgraced!"
He began to pace the room, his long strides agitated and sharp. "This is not simply dishonor, Bartholomew! This is a declaration of war! Kyon has planted his seed ,his heir ,in the body of my son and flung him back at my gate to watch him crawl! He has tied the Eastern House, against its will, to his serpentine line!"
The Duke stopped abruptly, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at the door. "And Arion! The fool! The disobedient fool! He chose a soldier's pride over his family's honor, and now he is an omega nursing his enemy's bastard! He broke his alpha oath, he brought this ruin upon himself, and he has returned only to bring the full weight of the Crown's vengeance down upon my lands!"
He turned back to the butler, his eyes blazing with cold, hard calculation. "Fetch my Master at Arms. Double the guard on the perimeter immediately. No word of Arion's true condition leaves these walls. We will treat the child as a bastard born of an unfortunate, common liaison. We will not allow Kyon to know the full extent of his triumph."
"Your Grace," Bartholomew said cautiously, "the Duchess and the others believe Arion needs your support, your strength. They are protecting the child."
The Duke scoffed, the sound bitter and full of contempt. "Protection? They need to realize the danger! Kyon doesn't leave loose ends. If he discovers the boy is alive, he will seize him. And Arion's presence here is a beacon! Tell the Duchess that the moment Arion recovers enough to travel, he will be sent to the most remote hunting lodge with the boy. He will not set foot in the main halls, and I will not meet with him."
The command was absolute. The Duke's initial refusal to see his son was not merely stubbornness; it was a desperate, enraged attempt to distance himself from the contagious political ruin Arion represented. He was protecting his House, even if it meant sacrificing the love he still secretly held for his lost son. Arion was a threat, a visible symbol of Kyon's superior power, and the Duke would never allow that weakness to corrupt the foundation of the Eastern Dominion.