“Well?” the Count pressed.
It was clear from the crooked grin on Comte’s sickly face that he knew why Marc was here. He may not know if his son was here to see his governess or his mother, but that detail changed little.
Marc dug his nails into the palm of his hands. As the pain registered in his mind, he noted that his knuckles were bleeding again, stretching the skin must have reopened the wounds. Still, his emotions were numbed, as though he were underwater.
“I wanted to see her,” Marc said, opting to be direct. “I heard rumours—”
“I’ve lost my son?” His father asked. “Listening to rumours like a bunch of old hens clucking.”
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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