I stared at my father for a while and waited for the invasion of emotions. But as I stood there and watched him, I felt…nothing. No grief that he was bleeding out or the anxiety to ensure he was alright. No relief, either. It was strange.
I blinked. "Is he…?"
"Likely," the young Prince stated indifferently. He walked over and crouched to inspect my father's lifeless body, his straight nose scrunched with disgust. "Definitely," he muttered. Then he looked up at me. "So? What should we do with him?"
I swallowed hard, and it hurt. "We? You…you're the one who pushed him."
"For you."
"What?" I gasped.
"I pushed him for you. So, I believe we're both responsible." He angled his head curiously. "I could leave you to deal with him yourself if you prefer."
"Bastard," I gritted. "That's not fair, and you know it."
