"Your Grace," somebody called from behind Victor.

 

He was far too focused on the gleaming coffin at his feet, the priest's liturgy washing over him like high pressured water against weathering rock.

 

"Your Grace," the person called again.

 

Victor frowned in confusion and then he blinked back into the present realizing that the priest was no longer speaking and he must have been alone for a while. A glance behind him revealed a tiny man in an ill fitted suit and he turned around to face the stranger.

 

"I'm quite sorry for the interruption and your loss. Your father was a-"

 

He held up his hand to stop the man from finishing his sentence. He was tired of everyone saying they were sorry for his loss.

 

"Your Grace?"

 

It suddenly struck him that this stranger was referring to him. He was the Duke now. He was in charge of everybody on his lands, vast estates and holdings... his family.

 

The new Duke of Wyld drew himself up, ...