Luke felt his knee scream as he slowly stood from the cool floor. His father's face was as polished and smooth as the stone around him. Nesta lounged beside him, copying his posture, in every way the first heir to the Cruel King. "Nesta-" "My father has my full support in this." Luke felt himself catch the slight slap; as the second child, he had no claim to the throne. The Heir smirked, waving a thin boned hand to dismiss him. -JK