Kane
Dinner with my son was awkward as hell, but I tried to fake politeness through the whole ordeal. The dining room felt too formal and cold, with its massive table and elaborate place settings, not like it used to be when I was around. We sat at opposite ends, the distance between us feeling symbolic of the eighteen-year gap in our relationship.
“So tell me about your life, Kellan,” I said, cutting my meat with precision. “What’s it been like, ruling in my absence?”
“Challenging,” he replied, his tone perfectly neutral. “But I’ve managed well enough. The council has been helpful, of course.”
Everything he said felt rehearsed, fabricated. The responses were polished, too diplomatic. But I couldn’t help the nostalgia and guilt that washed over me as I looked at him. He had my eyes, my
