“Lucian…” My voice wavered. “Kael’s health—”
Lucian cut me off, not even looking up. “Can’t you see I’m busy, Sera? I have enough on my plate without adding your worries to it.”
My chest tightened, but I pushed on. “But it’s Kael. Bertha said—”
“I heard you the first time,” he snapped, his tone laced with impatience. “Let the healers handle it. You’re overthinking again.”
Overthinking? My jaw dropped. His laziness, his apathy—it was suffocating. “How can you say that?” I shot back, my voice rising despite myself. “It’s your son we’re talking about, Lucian! For once in your life, act like you care!”
Lucian finally looked at me, his eyes cold and unyielding. “And what exactly do you expect me to do, Seraphine? Snap my fingers and fix everything? You’re being hysterical. Keep your voice down. We’re in the common den, and people are busy.”
My hands trembled with rage. “People are busy?” I hissed. “This is about your son, and you’re worried about interrupting people?”
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me,” he growled, his tone sharper now. “You’re always looking for pity, Sera. Using Kael’s condition as your excuse to overreact.”