"Because your father made certain I never could."
Vespera's words settled over the throne chamber like a curse.
Sebastian stood motionless.
For centuries, he had imagined what he would say if he ever found his mother. He had imagined anger, accusations, questions he had carried since childhood.
He had imagined telling her that he hated her.
Yet now that she stood before him, silver hair flowing over her shoulders and crimson eyes fixed on his face, all he could manage was one broken question.
"How?"
Vespera's expression crumpled.
She took one step toward him.
The chains around Sebastian's wrists immediately tightened, dragging his arms backward.
"Don't," Azariel warned from beside the throne.
Vespera stopped.
For the first time since her arrival, the ancient king looked genuinely unsettled.
"Still hiding behind chains?" she asked him coldly. "How predictable."
Azariel rose from his throne.
"And you still mistake defiance for power."
