Vyan sat nestled between his parents' gravestones, knees pulled tightly to his chest, ankles crossed as he swung gently back and forth. His laughter echoed through the quiet cemetery as he recounted the latest happenings, gossiping as if his parents were sitting right in front of him, hanging on to his every word.
It was easier that way—to pretend they were still here, listening, nodding along, maybe even rolling their eyes fondly at his reckless stupidity. He liked to believe they still could.
His laughter gradually faded into a sigh, though a smile lingered on his face, warm and wistful. "It's wild, you know?" he muttered, half to himself, half to the cold stone marking his parents' final resting place.
"Two years ago, if anyone had the nerve to tell me that I was your son—the Grand Duke and Duchess's—I would have laughed them right out of the room. Hell, I would have done the same to Benedict, if that hadn't already been the worst day of my life."
