"Elias," Lord Armand Nightshade began, his voice slicing through the low murmur of voices like a dagger. "Your fall has caused quite a stir."
Avery, seated at the far end of the long, polished table, tilted his head slightly. His expression was blank, his tone deliberately uncertain. "My… fall?"
From Armand's right, Thane let out a snort, pushing his plate aside with exaggerated disdain. "Oh, come on, brother. Spare us the act. You didn't just fall—you plummeted. Hard. You should've seen it, Arabelle," he added, smirking at the sister seated across from him. "Like a bird with clipped wings. Down, down, down."
Arabelle didn't lift her eyes from the glass in her hand, swirling its contents with languid grace. "I imagine it was quite the spectacle," she said mildly. "Though I must admit, I don't remember Elias ever being capable of flight."
Thane chuckled, but the sound was laced with cruelty. "Maybe he thought he could, for once."
"Enough," Armand barked, silencing them both with a glare. The weight of his gaze shifted back to Avery, who remained perfectly still, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "This is no time for games, Elias. You claim your memory is gone, but your body remains intact. That means you will serve this family as you are meant to, or you will prove useless. Which is it?"
Avery dipped his head, letting a flicker of unease show. "I don't remember much," he said softly. "Just… waking up."
"How fortunate," Armand muttered, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Fortunate for him," Thane quipped, leaning back in his chair. "Less so for us."
Arabelle's gaze flicked to Avery for the first time, her eyes sharp and calculating. "Perhaps it's genuine, Father," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Elias was never known for his… caution. Or his foresight."
Avery didn't flinch at the subtle jab, but he made a mental note of it.
"Careless?" Thane echoed, grinning. "Try reckless. The great Elias Nightshade, charging headfirst into disaster—again."
"I said enough," Armand snapped, the edge in his voice sharp enough to cut.
Thane shrank back slightly, though the grin never fully left his face.
Armand's cold gaze lingered on Avery. "Regardless of whether your memory loss is real, weakness has no place here. You will be tested. Thoroughly."
Avery lifted his head slightly, his expression carefully blank. "Tested?"
Armand leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "Your training will resume tomorrow. Political lessons. Magical aptitude. You will relearn what you have forgotten—or prove that you never knew it to begin with." His eyes narrowed. "There will be no excuses."
"Of course," Avery murmured, his voice even despite the growing tension coiling in his gut.
Thane's grin widened. "This is going to be good," he said, his tone light but brimming with malice. "Watching you struggle all over again. Like old times."
"Thane," Arabelle said, her tone light but laced with warning. "Perhaps you should focus on your own lessons. Unless you'd like Father to evaluate your progress as well."
Thane's grin faltered, his hand tightening around the goblet in front of him.
Armand leaned back, his expression unreadable. "The tests will reveal whether this condition of yours is real, Elias," he said, his tone cold and final. "And mark me—failure will not be tolerated."
Avery inclined his head, careful to appear both compliant and uncertain. "I understand, Father."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. Chairs scraped against the stone floor as the family began to rise, their movements deliberate and unhurried.
Thane was the first to leave, pushing his chair back with unnecessary force. "Try not to embarrass us, brother," he said over his shoulder. "Though I doubt you'll manage."
Arabelle remained seated, her glass still in hand. Her eyes followed Thane's exit before shifting back to Avery. "You've changed," she said after a moment, her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"Losing your memories will do that," Avery replied, his voice soft, his expression faintly apologetic.
Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it was more knife than kindness. "Perhaps. But if you're lying, Elias, I'll find out."
Avery met her gaze, his own steady. "I'm not lying."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, taut and crackling. Then she rose gracefully, setting her glass down with a soft clink. "Good," she said, her tone unreadable.
She left without another word, her footsteps echoing down the hall.
Alone at last, Avery let out a slow, measured breath. His fingers twitched at his sides, but his expression didn't change. They're all watching, he thought. Waiting for me to falter.
And maybe, just maybe, they wanted him to.