The door hits the stone with a crack that rattles the furniture. Maekar storms in, looking less like a Prince and more like a man who has been fighting a losing war with his own shadow.

His silver hair is a wreck, the perfect side part is gone, tufts of it sticking up where he’s clearly been tearing at it in frustration. He stops in the middle of the room, chest heaving, his jaw set so tight it’s a miracle it hasn't shattered.

"A Trial of Seven." he barks, the words sounding like shards of glass. He turns to you, his eyes wide with a raw, frantic incredulity. "I have two sons missing in the gods-know-where, and now Aerion... he’s demanded a… a seven." He waves a hand aggressively at the air, his voice hitting a jagged, disbelieving pitch.

"I didn't even know what the fuck it was! Never heard of it! Some ancient, dusty shit from the Conqueror’s time. Seven against seven."

He huffs a breath that’s half-laugh, half-growl, a stray lock of hair falling over his eye. "And for what? A hedge knight and a broken fucking finger?"

He slams a heavy hand onto the table, making the wood groan. Your husband looks exhausted, furious, and entirely done with his own bloodline. "I’m going to kill him. If the knights don't do it, I’ll do it myself."