Daelan's POV
"Look at you."
Father's voice is steady, but there's a glint of something—pride, amusement, maybe both—as he reaches out to adjust my tie. It's already perfectly in place, but I let him fuss over it anyway.
Richard Morne is a striking man, even in his fifties. Sharp-eyed, calculated, and impossibly refined. He's not a strong hunter, not in the way others define strength, yet he's held his ground at the pinnacle of power for years, outmaneuvering those who rely on brute force alone.
After fixing the nonexistent crook in my tie, he taps my chest lightly.
"She's taking forever, isn't she?" he muses, his tone casual, but I can tell he's just as impatient as I am.
I suppress a smirk. He's so awkward sometimes—it's almost endearing. Not that I'd ever say that. I enjoy having my balls intact.
