"A sword battle. Between you and me tonight," Vyan declared, his gaze piercing through Eryndor.
Eryndor sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "That's bold coming from you. I thought you were mediocre at handling swords."
"Well, then I guess you will find out whether I am or not," Vyan retorted. He would normally keep his calm and let provocation like this slide, but this… this wasn't an insult coming from a nobody. It was his own grandfather—the man who spewed more hatred for his family than anybody else.
Vyan wanted to show this man that prestige and honor wasn't everything. If he truly believed his daughter could do such a thing, then that was his loss.
But Vyan was not in a position anymore that he had to take the insults with a straight face.
He could retaliate and that was fine—as long as the emperor didn't find out about it. He had to keep up his pretense of being a harmless little kitten until Althea ascended the throne at least.
