Across the table, Adam Taur finally paused, not to speak, though. He was just observing the whole, and he planned to keep it that way, for now at least.
His gaze lingered on Roy for a brief moment—long enough to take in the boy's posture, his distracted expression, the disgusting look on his face.
Then he shook his head in resignation.
The disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable. Roy had never dared to leer at his own mother and sister despite his well-known unfiltered flaws.
But it seemed he had finally crossed that line. This only convinced Patriarch Taur that the decision he had made was the correct one. He was convinced that his son was no longer right in the head; disowning him was only natural at this point.
'For him to so blatantly show this side of himself, the incident must have broken him more than I thought,' the man concluded silently. 'There's no point in keeping him anymore.'
Roy probably thought he was being discreet, but Adam Taur was a Saint; how could Roy's movements ever escape his notice? He could see his every move even without looking at the boy.
A Saint's sixth sense was not to be trifled with. But he would let him be for the next few minutes.
'It won't be long now.'
This meal, he decided, was one of the last courtesies he would offer to this retarded, degenerate, cowardly, stupid, and brain-dead son of his.
Because once Roy left this house, the world would not be kind enough to do the same.
Roy felt a gaze boring into him and lifted his own eyes up to look at his father, and he panicked seeing that he was looking at him. 'Shit, did he see that!?'
The Patriarch's expression was so calm that Roy was convinced that he hadn't noticed a thing.
He let out a shallow breath of relief, convinced that he must be right. But the momentary scare gave him the urge to study his 'father'.
The man was built like a fortress—broad shoulders filling out his simple tunic, jaw set in a line that could cut glass. Shared features stared back: the same raven black wavy hair, though streaked with gray at the temples, and that piercing gaze in his eyes.
While Roy's violet eyes were inherited from his mother, his features and build were obviously from his father. Even then, their actual capabilities could not have been any further apart.
While Roy's body now felt strong and vital, it was thanks to the passive effects that mana had on any other human being. His father's body, though, carried the weight of command and an unyielding resolve.
The man's presence alone was a tall mountain to climb.
His knife sliced through the meat with precise strokes as he swallowed a mouthful, before speaking in a voice that sounded like grinding stone. "You kept us waiting, boy. As if your tardiness changes anything. "
The interjection came as a surprise. Roy had assumed his father would remain silent throughout the meal, as he usually did. This change made him feel very uncomfortable for some reason. "You should keep eating, time is short."
Roy's fork paused mid-air; the confusion on his face was clear for all to see. 'What does he mean by that?'
A chunk of venison dripped juices onto his plate. The room's air thickened, and the round table gradually turned into a battlefield with no escape.
His mother glanced between them, her husband and her son, with a complicated look on her face, her hand tightened on her goblet, clearly agitated, while Ariana kept her eyes down, picking at her food with tiny bites.
Roy forced a neutral expression, shoving food into his mouth while his thoughts churned uncomfortably. The flavors burst—savory, spiced—but tasted like ash against the knot forming in his gut.
'I can't eat like this...'
In the end, he could not hold it in anymore; the food was only getting more difficult to swallow. It was like he had a guillotine hanging over his head.
"Father," Roy started, his voice steady despite the internal storm. The old memories supplied the etiquette expected of him in this situation: deference, no backtalk. But still...
"I... apologize. The morning was disorienting." A half-truth; waking in this body, leering at Laura only to get shut down, had rattled him. But mentioning the maid would only dig the grave deeper, even if he was that stupid.
The Patriarch's lip curled, barely noticeable to everyone else; he wondered what this miscreant had to say for himself, as he watched Roy's earlier stares replay in his mind.
'Disgusting. Ogling his own blood like a street rat in heat, and now he wants the right to speak?' He set down his utensils with a deliberate clink, leaning back calmly.
"Tell me, Roy. Do you know," the sound of his voice made everyone pause in their tracks, "how many letters arrived after your… display at the academy?"
Roy stiffened. Ariana stiffened, Elara stiffened. They knew what was coming.
"Do you know many more of our subordinate clans withdrew?" the man continued. "How many of our rivals are laughing right now behind closed doors? How many invitations quietly stopped coming?"
Roy opened his mouth. Nothing came out. What could he say, 'That wasn't me!' Technically, it was.
"They stripped you," the patriarch said flatly. "Marched you around like an animal! And you let it happen!"
The words landed like a hammerhead.
"They didn't just humiliate you," he went on. "They humiliated the whole Taur Clan! Publicly! Are you really that pathetic!"
Roy pushed his chair back slightly. "I—"
"You will not interrupt me!" The command snapped like a whip.
"Roy Taur, No. Roy, from this day forth, I have disowned you." The calm in his voice as he declared the unbelievable was almost eerie.
Across the table, Ariana's hands trembled in her lap. She stared down at the table, her lips pressed tight, and her shoulders drawn inward. A single tear rolled freely down her cheek, landing soundlessly against the wood.
Elara reached out and rested a hand over her daughter's as she seemed to also suppress tears and choking sobs.