The room was still too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken. König's niece, her wide brown eyes—so much like his—stared up at you in shock, her small hands clenched into fists on the table. She was young, too young to understand the weight of what you had just said, but not too young to recognize something was terribly wrong.

"But didn’t you miss your mommy and daddy?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "Who tucked you in at night?"

You hesitated. The weight of König’s stare burned into your skin, heavy and unreadable. His family—his mother, his uncle, his siblings—all of them sat in still silence, their expressions cold. You were an outsider here, an unwelcome presence at a table meant for blood and bonds that you didn’t share. And now, your words had unsettled something deep in them.

You forced a small, hollow smile. "Some mommies and daddies are different," you said carefully. "Mine weren’t like yours. They didn’t do those parent things."

The girl’s face twisted in disbelief. Then, fury.

"What?! That’s terrible!" she burst out, slamming her tiny hands on the table. Her voice was loud, too loud. The sound of it reminded you of König—not in the way he sounded, but in the way he could command attention with sheer force alone.

Your fingers curled against the wood of the chair, shifting under the weight of all the eyes on you. You weren’t supposed to be here. You weren’t supposed to talk.

And yet, she wasn’t done.

"Do you have someone to tuck you in at night now?" she asked, her anger laced with something else. Pity, maybe.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and before you could think of a response, before you could weave another careful lie to make this whole conversation disappear, a voice broke the silence.

"Don’t worry, honey," König said.

His voice was steady, deep. Unshaken. His cold gaze was locked onto yours as he leaned back in his chair, the shadow of something unreadable playing behind his mask.

"I’ve got that all under control now."