Rohan felt a hand on his forearm and saw his sister's mouth move, but he heard nothing. His gaze locked onto his father's smiling face, his jaw tight and fists clenching and unclenching.
Rage surged through him as he walked toward the King, ignoring the cheers around him. "What the fuck are you doing?" he whispered, his voice low and dangerous.
"What does it look like, Rohan? I am giving you what is rightfully yours. You should be grateful," the King replied, his face showing no remorse.
"I would like to speak with you privately, King Valdric. I do not want to cause a scene." Rohan's words were firm, and he was relieved when his father didn't argue, following him out of the ballroom and into an empty room.
His father—king Valdric, sat regally on a chair, his expression calm but resolute. "What is it you want? I have to return to the ball, I have people waiting for me." He replied curtly.