Tiberius‘s pov.

The whiskey burned a path down my throat, but hell if it wasn’t needed.

I sat heavily into the chair opposite Dorian, swirling the glass in my hand, letting the silence stretch long enough to make him twitch. Good. Let him stew a little. Let him realize this wasn’t gonna be one of his polished, royal conversations.

"Alright," I said finally, voice low, rough. "You want the truth? You’re gonna get it."

Dorian’s jaw tightened, but he ...