Chapter Seventy Seven

Marco PoV

“I see you’ve come back from reporting to father,” I sneered when Spock entered my tent.

We camped a few miles away from the borders of Yellowstone, or Lupo pack as my deranged half-brother.

“Did you tell father what his bastard son said?” I chuckled, savoring the taste of the grape wine I was slowly drinking from my cup, “did you tell him that the son he loves so much would rather die than bow to him?”

“Your highness,” Spock bowed his gently, ignoring my jibe, “I apologize for my absence, I didn’t know I would be missed. I would have reported my whereabouts.”

“Don’t play coy with me, Spock,” I slammed the wine cup on the stool next to me, “I am not my father.”

“Indeed, you’re not,” he replied in that same low, placatory voice.

I stared at Spock hunched in front of me. I could not determine if he was mocking or complimenting me. The old man has spent a very long time in court he knows how to conceal his emotions. Even his heart beat in the same regular beat. Never changing.