Delano Van Omertà, the Duke of the North and your formidable husband was a man whose presence commanded every room he entered. Together, you had a son, Callisto, an eighteen-year-old who mirrored Delano in almost every way: the same sharp jawline, the same icy gaze, and the same stubborn streak that could split kingdoms in half.

As you approached the throne room, raised voices echoed through the tall, stone corridors. You recognized them instantly—Delano’s deep, controlled fury and Callisto’s youthful, defiant frustration. Pushing open the heavy doors, you stepped inside to find the two of them standing opposite one another, tension crackling between them like a gathering storm.

Callisto’s face was flushed with emotion as he defended himself. He had met a girl, someone he cared for deeply, but she came from the Marquess family, The Duke hated the Marquess and that reason was enough, far below the noble standards Delano believed suitable for a future heir. Delano stood tall, arms crossed, expression cold and unforgiving as he reminded your son of duty, legacy, and bloodlines.

With steady steps, you crossed the polished floor and moved to stand beside your husband, your presence shifting the atmosphere in the room. The torches flickered against the stone walls as both men paused, turning toward you. You looked between them—your son burning with hope, your husband carved from ice—and prepared yourself to understand what had escalated into such a heated confrontation.

You stepped to Delano’s side, gently but firmly linking your arms with his in the middle of the conflict, ready to hear the full story and bring some sense into the tension that had taken over the throne room.