Chapter 6
"You stupid, insignificant little wretch," Domenica hissed, her voice vibrating with a venomous hatred. She completely ignored the bodyguards, stepping around the padded chair to point a trembling, diamond-clad finger directly at the succession folder resting on the table.
"Sign," Domenica commanded, her fury exploding into the silent room, her eyes shifting from the maid to lock onto her nephew. "Your cousin takes control tonight. Sign the papers, Lowen, or I will have these men execute this pathetic girl right in front of you before they put a bullet in your head."
The threat hung in the bright, cinematic light of the room, heavy and absolute. The guests at the banquet tables held their breath, waiting to see if the king would trade his crown for the life of a servant.
Merrin ignored the threat entirely. She turned her back on the furious matriarch and the armed men, exposing her vulnerability completely. She turned back to Lowen.
She dropped to her knees once more, her white apron pooling on the floor. With trembling fingers, she reached for the heavy medical brace. She carefully aligned the hinged metal joints with his knee, moving with an agonizing gentleness. She pulled the thick velcro straps tight, closing them securely one by one, restoring the mechanical support his shattered leg desperately needed.
"I've got you," Merrin whispered, so quietly only he could hear.
She reached under the table and pulled out a small, velvet-cushioned footstool that had been knocked aside in the scuffle. With extreme care, she lifted Lowen's heavy leather shoe, supporting his calf, and carefully settled his heel onto the cushion, elevating the joint to relieve the pressure.
Lowen watched her hands. He watched the way her delicate fingers trembled, betraying her absolute terror, even as she performed her duties with flawless dedication. His cold, dark eyes shifted from her face to the leather-bound folder resting near his water glass.
The physical pain in his body was receding, replaced by a cold, calculating, and terrifying clarity. The brace was secure. His foundation was restored.
Lowen reached out with his right hand, the artistic tattoos on his knuckles flexing. He grabbed the thick succession folder.
"Are you ready to surrender, Nephew?" Domenica sneered, mistaking his movement for compliance. "A wise choice. The pen is inside."
Lowen didn't open the folder to find the pen. He gripped the heavy, bound parchment with both of his massive hands.
With a sudden, violent twist of his broad shoulders, Lowen tore the thick stack of succession papers completely in half. The sound of ripping paper and cracking leather echoed like a gunshot through the silent dining gallery.
Every single guest turned their heads toward him, their eyes wide with shock.
May you like
He tossed the torn, ruined halves of the contract onto the center of the table, directly onto a plate of untouched birthday cake.
"A broken knee isn’t a vacant throne," Lowen stated. His voice was quiet, incredibly deep, and laced with a dangerous, lethal authority that promised absolute destruction.
