"Hastings," the Duke warned, his voice cutting through the night like a blade as he moved with surprising swiftness for a man with his disability. He caught the younger man by the arm, steadying the intoxicated earl before he could further disgrace himself and, just as pointedly, draw him away from his betrothed. Anders' expression remained placid, but his eyes hardened faintly. "You mistake silence for ignorance," he said quietly, his restraint owed only to the presence of Octavia, "and discretion for weakness."
He shoved Hastings back and adjusted his grip on his cane to regain his balance. “You speak of courts and whispers as though you command them. You do not.” The emphasis was deliberate as an earl’s station meant little here. “You borrow courage from wine and the hope that I will choose restraint.” His gaze flickered briefly, to Octavia and manservant whose, before returning, cold and unyielding. “Be grateful that I have, but do not confuse that choice with inability. My engagement is none of your concern,” Anders continued, his voice even and almost bored. “Nor is my household, my loyalties, or the private affairs of those under my protection. What is your concern is this: touch one of my men again, or speak my fiancée’s name with that sort of familiarity, and whatever stories you believe the court is eager to hear will be eclipsed by far less entertaining truths about you.” He straightened, the faintest smile touching his mouth—not warmth, but warning. “And courts,” Anders added softly, “are notoriously unforgiving to men who overestimate their leverage.”
A flicker of rage crossed Hastings' face before his smile twisted. “Tell me, Anders, does honor limp as well, or only the man?” Before anyone could intervene, he stepped forward and swung the back of his hand hard against the older man's cheek in a move not meant to injure, but to humiliate.
For a moment, Anders did not move, head turned slightly from the blow. Then his jaw tightened. Slowly, deliberately, he straightened, fingers closing around the head of his cane as if anchoring himself. When he looked at Hastings again, whatever tolerance he had possessed was gone. “That,” Anders said quietly, “was a mistake.” His voice was still level, but was now edged with a cold fury, "You have laid hands on me in public, you have insulted my household and struck a man who cannot answer in kind without consequence.” His gaze never wavered. “You will give satisfaction.”
Hastings sneered, though uncertainty crept in now. “Is that a challenge?”
“It is an acceptance of the one you have just issued,” Anders replied. “You will name your second. Mine will meet him. The time and ground will be set, and this matter will end.” Anders turned without another glance, the measured strike of his cane against the gravel marking his path as he headed for the main house, leaving the party and Hastingsbehind him entirely.
Edmure hesitated, watching his master disappear toward the main house, then turned to Octavia instead. He had no wish to leave her standing alone; least of all with Hastings still nearby, flushed and increasingly unsteady. Stepping closer, he offered her his arm. “Perhaps,” he said gently, “I should escort you back to the party.”
