Chapter 11 – A Short Temper
Ignes had sharp ears.
Even amidst the lingering echoes of the temple's chanting and the distant shuffle of feet, he heard it.
The quiet, stifled laughter.
He turned his head slowly, his red eyes narrowing as they landed on the three Dukes who were currently finding his misery quite entertaining.
Then—he looked up at Alexander.
His father wasn't laughing out loud, but there was a tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth. He was smiling.
Ignes felt a spark of genuine irritation flare up in his chest.
He was angry.
Seeing the storm clouds gathering on his son's face, Alexander raised his hand in a small, placating gesture.
"Alright, alright," he said, his voice smooth but still carrying that trace of amusement. "I apologize."
"We truly are finished with the formal proceedings now."
He glanced around the vast, hallowed hall.
"However, it will take some time for the carriages to be reorganized before we can return to the mansion. It would be wise to find a place to rest for now."
Ignes stared at him.
He was annoyed. Deeply, visibly annoyed. The "unique soul" who had faced the Deadbloom was currently losing a battle against a father's teasing.
"…Then go sleep by yourself," Ignes snapped.
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and walked away, his cape snapping behind him. He headed straight toward the temple gardens, seeking the silence of the trees over the company of smiling Dukes.
Back at the private resting area reserved for the four pillars of the Empire—
The atmosphere grew relaxed as the public facade dropped. Only the four of them remained.
Alistair, the Duke of Diamond, was the first to speak.
"Honestly, Alex, why must you tease the boy like that?" he asked, leaning back.
"At that age, children have a short fuse. They're like dry tinder."
Laurence, the Duke of Spade, nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful.
"Just as Ali says. They are sensitive at fifteen. You might end up bruising his ego, and a boy's ego is a fragile thing."
Alexander let out a light, rhythmic sigh.
"Law, Ali… you are both overthinking it."
A small, genuine smile touched his face.
"That is actually the first time I have ever seen him get truly angry. It was… refreshing."
He added, almost to himself, "I was starting to doubt whether the boy was even capable of feeling heat. Usually, he is as cold as the North."
A small chuckle escaped him.
"And when he does flare up… he's quite cute, isn't he?"
Leopold, the Duke of Club, crossed his massive arms over his chest and raised a skeptical brow.
"Are you quite sure about that, Alex?"
He gave a dry snort.
"Lest you forget, the last time Igna lost his temper or grew 'curious,' he leveled the entire East Wing of your estate."
"Next time, he might decide the whole mansion is an eyesore. He certainly has a peculiar talent for blowing things into toothpicks."
Alexander didn't deny it. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes gleaming.
Leopold continued, his laughter finally breaking through.
"And the last time I teased him about his little demolition project—"
"I told him he must truly love the sound of collapsing masonry."
He shook his head, the memory clearly bringing him joy.
"Do you know what that nephew of mine said to me?"
The other two Dukes leaned in, their interest piqued.
Leopold cleared his throat, doing his best to imitate Ignes's flat, utterly unimpressed tone.
"With a face so annoyed it could have soured milk, he looked me dead in the eye and said—"
"'Explosion is an art, Uncle Leo.'"
"And then he had the audacity to add…"
Leopold was shaking with laughter now.
"'Next time, I'll turn your mansion into a special art piece just for you.'"
The Dukes erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the stone pillars of the resting area.
Leopold wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
"Even my own son wouldn't dare threaten my architecture to my face… but Igna? He didn't even blink."
"He gave me a formal warning."
Alexander smiled faintly. He wasn't angry at the disrespect, nor was he surprised by the threat.
He was just… immensely proud.