Chapter 375: Chapter 375: The Dinner of Heirs
The dining hall of House Thorne was made to impress. A long table of dark oak stretched nearly the entire chamber, polished to a mirror sheen. Candelabras burned steadily above, casting the stone walls in a golden glow that did little to warm the tension in the air.
Noel stepped inside with measured steps, the sound of his boots echoing faintly on the stone floor. He didn’t carry a weapon—this wasn’t a battlefield, at least not one of steel. Still, every glance turned toward him felt sharper than a blade.
At the head of the table sat Albrecht Thorne, eyes as steady and cutting as ever. To his right sat Serina, Sylvette’s mother—poised, elegant, composed, her calm hiding calculation. Across from her was Mirelle, the second wife, her face hard, her lips pressed into a line that seemed to dare someone to provoke her.
Sylvette was already seated further down, back straight, her composure almost too perfect. When Noel entered, her pale eyes flicked to him briefly before lowering again.
Kael and Damon, Mirelle’s sons, occupied places opposite each other. Their usual arrogance was gone; both sat silent, subdued. Changed since the last Hunt, maybe—but Noel didn’t miss the way their shoulders hunched, as if waiting for judgment.
No one touched the food. No one spoke. The air was thick, and the clatter of plates and cutlery felt like props for a stage.
Noel slid into the empty chair set for him, his eyes sweeping the table. He could already feel the lines drawn—Serina’s quiet confidence, Mirelle’s simmering anger, Albrecht’s unwavering authority.
’I really don’t care much about the Heir, it’s probably Sylvette, but anyway, I guess I can’t get away from here.’
The doors shut behind him, sealing the hall.
The silence stretched, brittle as glass. Then Albrecht finally moved, his knife tapping once against the rim of his plate. The small sound carried across the entire hall, pulling every gaze to him.
"It has been long enough," he said, voice deep, steady, commanding. "Tonight, we settle what should have been settled long ago—the matter of succession."
The words landed like a blade.
His gaze turned first to Mirelle. "Your sons—Kael, Damon. Their actions in the last Hunt nearly cost us everything. They endangered heirs of other houses, forced this family to bow its head and beg forgiveness. Thorne was humiliated."
Mirelle’s fingers curled into a fist on the table, knuckles whitening. "They were young—"
"They were reckless," Albrecht cut in, his tone sharp. "An heir cannot drag the house into disgrace. They cannot remain contenders."
Across the table, Kael and Damon kept their heads lowered, eyes fixed on the plates in front of them. Not a word of protest. The fight seemed gone from them—or maybe it was just beaten out by failure.
Albrecht leaned back in his chair, eyes moving to the other end of the table. "That leaves two. Noel. Sylvette."
The words tightened the air again.
Sylvette straightened, her expression calm, though her hands were tense on her lap. She didn’t speak. She already knew Noel’s feelings.
Noel stayed silent as well, watching his father with hooded eyes.
Albrecht let the quiet hang, as if daring either of them to claim the seat of heir themselves.
"Only strength will decide this house’s future," he finished, his voice echoing in the chamber.
The silence cracked when Serina leaned forward, her voice smooth and deliberate.
"Then the answer is obvious," she said, her gaze fixed on Albrecht but her words sharp enough to pierce the table. "Sylvette is the clear choice. She has proven discipline, intelligence, and restraint. She carries herself with dignity. That is what this house needs."
Mirelle’s hand slammed down against the table, the silver rattling in its place. "Dignity? Discipline? You would dismiss Kael and Damon as if they were worthless?" Her voice rose, the calm mask slipping into fury. "They are sons of this house. They bled in the Hunt, they fought, and now you dare to erase them?"
Serina didn’t flinch. "They shamed Thorne. They endangered alliances that took decades to forge. Their chance is gone."
"You cold serpent," Mirelle spat. "This isn’t about the house—it’s about your ambition. You see Noel refusing, and you think it’s your chance to crown your daughter without contest."
Serina tilted her head slightly, her smile sharp. "And what do you call clinging to sons who disgraced us all? Motherly love? Or desperation?"
The air grew heavier. Kael’s jaw tightened, Damon shifted uncomfortably, but neither dared to speak.
"You manipulate Albrecht, always whispering in his ear," Mirelle hissed. "And now you dare use Noel’s refusal to your advantage. You think yourself clever?"
Noel leaned back in his chair, watching them with faint amusement. ’Not long ago, both of them stood united against me. Now they can’t stand the sight of each other. Interesting.’
The clash of voices reached its peak, Serina’s calm words slicing back against Mirelle’s fury, until Albrecht finally moved.
His hand struck the table once, hard enough to rattle every glass.
"Enough."
The single word rolled through the hall like thunder. Both women fell silent, though Mirelle still trembled with anger, her eyes burning across the table.
Albrecht’s gaze swept over them all. "This house cannot be ruled by shouting wives. It needs strength. It needs certainty." He paused, his eyes settling on Noel for a long moment before turning to Sylvette. "Noel proved himself, but he rejected the position. Therefore, the duty will fall to Sylvette."
Serina’s lips curved in the faintest smile, relief flickering across her face. "As it should be."
Mirelle surged to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "As it should be? You betray your own blood, Albrecht! You discard Kael and Damon as if they were nothing, because one mistake weighs heavier than all they have given."
Serina’s smile did not fade, and that only stoked the flames in Mirelle’s voice.
"This is not justice. This is favoritism. Manipulation."
Kael and Damon looked ready to rise, but Mirelle lifted a hand sharply, silencing them. Her fury wasn’t theirs to soothe.
Albrecht didn’t move. "Sit down, Mirelle."
But she did not. Her eyes locked on Serina, filled with a venom years in the making. "Enjoy your little victory. It will not last."
With that, she turned and strode from the hall, her sons trailing after her in uneasy silence.
The doors slammed shut behind them.
For a moment, only silence remained. Then Serina exhaled slowly, shoulders easing, her expression one of quiet triumph.
Noel leaned back, lips tugging upward in faint amusement. ’Could this be what caused the Thorne house to fall?’