Chapter 3
The air in the brightly lit dining room turned to solid ice. The guests, previously complacent in their luxury, now sat paralyzed, their fair skin paling as they witnessed the explosive shift in Aldric’s demeanor. His movie-star handsome face had hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated wrath.
"Aldric, you are overreacting," Heloise tried to argue, though her American accent trembled. She gestured toward an eight-year-old girl sitting comfortably at the table. It was the favored cousin, dressed in a beautiful, fluffy pink party dress, eating a slice of cake. "Look at my niece. She knows how to behave at a dinner party. Thora needs to learn structure. She was trying to sit at the adult table while the staff was working."
"She is not staff," Aldric growled, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. "She is my flesh and blood. She is the heir to this family."
"She is a spoiled brat!" Heloise snapped, her own arrogance briefly overriding her fear. "Someone had to teach her that she doesn't own the world just because you spoil her rotten!"
Behind Aldric’s sturdy legs, Thora clung tightly to the fabric of his tailored trousers. Her tiny hands shook violently. The presence of her father had finally broken the dam of her suppressed terror.
"Daddy," Thora cried, her tiny voice breaking the heavy silence of the room.
Aldric immediately dropped to one knee, completely disregarding his clean trousers on the floor. He turned to his daughter, his furious expression melting instantly into one of profound, protective tenderness. "I'm right here, sweetie. I've got you. Did she hit you?"
"Yes," Thora sobbed, burying her rosy face into his chest. "She said I'm a servant."
"You are a princess," Aldric whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You are my princess."
Thora sniffled, pulling back slightly. With a trembling hand, she pointed a tiny finger past the dining table, directing Aldric’s attention toward the dark, narrow hallway that led to the kitchen and the pantry.
"Daddy…" Thora hiccuped, her voice thick with tears. "She makes me sleep there."
Aldric’s eyes followed her pointing finger. Tucked away in a dark, drafty corner beside the kitchen door, resting directly on the hard, cold hardwood floor, was a filthy, torn blanket and a single, flat pillow. It looked like a bed meant for a stray dog, not a five-year-old child.
Aldric stared at the pathetic pile of rags. The realization of what his daughter had endured while he was away on business hit him with the kinetic force of a freight train. He slowly rose to his full height, the protective father vanishing, replaced entirely by a man ready to burn the house to the ground.
"You moved her out of her bedroom?" Aldric asked, his voice deathly quiet.
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"I needed the space for my sister's luggage!" Heloise defended herself, her eyes wide. "It was only temporary, Aldric! Don't look at me like that!"
"You made my five-year-old daughter sleep on the floor," Aldric repeated, his eyes locking onto Heloise with a cold, terrifying emptiness. "Like a dog."
