Eldrich knew the moment his son hit the ground—his fate was already sealed. In the Game of Honor, the winner usually claimed the loser's life.
If not, then the loser was stripped of their honor, and left to live in disgrace.
That was what Eldrich had always believed.
He had mocked those who survived this bloodbath, branding them as cowards unworthy of their titles.
But now, as a father, none of that mattered. His instincts, his love for his son—those overpowered any notion of honor.
Without thinking, he leaped onto the stage, ready to do whatever it took—even if it meant bowing to the man who had just defeated his son.
But before he could act, someone else had already stopped the execution.
A firm hand caught Ezra's sword just before it could meet Wren's throat. The metal vibrated under the sudden force, and when Eldrich looked up to see who had intervened, his breath caught in his chest.
"Y-Your Majesty?!"
It was Claude.
