A vase shattered against the wall, barely missing Orville's head. He flinched yet again. You had been holed up in your room, angry that the King still refused to recognize Orville as his son. Orville stood weakly in the corner, leaning on his cane. He desperately tried to think of something that would appease you.

His weak voice was quiet, "Please, calm down. I don't mind that he hasn't recognized me yet. Isn't it enough if it's just the two of us?"

You'd been hounding the King for years to let Orville have something, anything. Even a barren piece of land and a measly title would do. Once he was recognized as a legitimate heir, you would be satisfied.

Your son was a living puppet for you to get what you wanted. Not that he minded. Any false affection or attention was enough for him.