2025-02-10 20:25:49"Where do you think you can go, Helio?" Zenthio asks, his voice laced with threat as he yanks my shoulder and shoves me to the floor. I instinctively reach for my white cane, but I hear the soft swoosh of air as Demario pulls it away from me.
My teeth clench. "You’re a traitor. All of you! Especially you, Bernard!" I shout. "Why are you doing this? You were our tutor. I trusted you!" "Helio," Bernard replies, too calm for someone who just planned the assassination of a high noble. "Some things are bigger than you think. I’m doing this for a better future." "What?" "Enough with the lessons, Bernard. I can't stand another one from you—I'm sick of it." Zenthio chuckles coldly. He presses down on my shoulder and grips it tight. I try to resist, but his grasp is too strong. "I'm sick of you too, Helio," he sneers, his voice dripping with hatred. "Father always paid attention to you, with all that nonsense about you being smarter than us or whatever. But from now on, I’ll make sure everything is more peaceful. Starting with this." I gasp as he kicks me, shoving me into my room. My white cane clatters near me—I hear it crack against the floor. Then, the door slams shut, followed by the sharp click of a turning key. "Rot in there, Helio! That’s where you belong!" I scream. "Zenthio! This is too much! Don’t lock me in!" But they only laugh, no matter how long I keep yelling. ⚔️ The best defense is a good offense. I’ve always hated that reckless, arrogant quote ever since I first heard it. But right now, I feel its truth pulsing through my veins, flowing with the blood that makes my heart pound painfully. I have never been consumed by hatred and despair like this before. The rest of the night drags on. I weigh the dagger in my hand, feeling its lightness. I think about my options: I could throw the nightstand at the window to break it. I could escape to the city and find someone to send a letter to me. I could go to the palace and stop Nyx from forming the alliance. But none of those plans are worth the risk. Zenthio knows my weakness. My half-brother knows how much I care about my mother and my little brother. And, I have to admit, there’s a chance no one would listen to the third son of a Marquis—especially one born blind. I hear Bernard’s carriage leaving the mansion grounds. He will meet Nyx tonight. That means I’ve lost one of my possible moves. I bite the tip of my thumb, trying to think of a better strategy. But the situation I’m in isn’t a chessboard where I can recall every piece’s position. This situation is blurred and uncertain, and Zenthio has far more pieces than I do. Winning without endangering myself and those I love is impossible. Still, there must be a right way forward. I sit at my desk, grabbing a sheet of paper, my Braille slate, and a special stylus. Slowly, I begin writing down everything I know. ⚔️ "Did you sleep well, Helio?" Demario taunts as I join them at the dining table, my hands trembling slightly as I scoop warm porridge into my bowl. "What about you?" Lavinia snaps back. "Did you sleep well after locking your own little brother in his room, Dem? My god. How long are you two going to keep being this cruel? Don’t you realize how disgusting your actions are?!" "Shut up, Lavinia," Zenthio says, yawning. "You should just be grateful you got a good night's sleep. Your skin looks nice." "You shut up!" Lavinia retorts. "Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean all I care about is my skin! Demario’s antics make me sick!" "I’m the one who locked him up," Zenthio interjects quickly. "And can you shut up now, Lav?" "Great!" Lavinia growls. But she lets it go, falling silent. I regret making her struggle to defend me against her own brothers. "I’m fine, Lav," I tell her. "Actually, last night—" The dining room door swings open. I hear Actavio’s soft, cheerful laughter. "I smell mozzarella cheese!" he exclaims. His scent—like fresh soap—fills the air. Instantly, the tension in my shoulders eases. "Good morning, Tavvy," I greet him. His small arms wrap around my waist for a brief second before he finds his seat, helped by my mother. Then, I feel the tickle of my mother’s hair as she leans down to whisper in my ear. "Don’t fight with your brothers. How many times must I tell you?" I take a deep breath, forcing down the sudden surge of anger. "Yes, Mother," I answer, though my voice is tight. Inside, I want to yell at her. How can she call this just fighting? The situation is far more complicated than that. As my mother sits at her seat at the far end of the table—far from the head of the table where Zenthio sits—Lavinia squeezes my hand. "Helio, I’m your sister," she whispers. "You know you can tell me anything, right?" I want to. I really do. But as I think about Zenthio and Demario sitting right there, watching, listening, I can’t bring myself to drag Lavinia into this. I don’t want her to suffer because of me. "Nothing," I lie. I hear Zenthio chuckle from across the table. Maybe he’s satisfied with my silence. "Cecil," he calls my mother. "Fill my glass." My teeth grind together. I hate it when Zenthio and Demario treat my mother like a servant. But every time she just obeys without a word, I’m reminded of how afraid she is of Zenthio. And that fact makes me even angrier. Not just at Zenthio—but at my mother, too, for planting that same fear in me and Actavio. Suddenly, the distant sound of hooves and carriage wheels fills the air. Strange. Our family rarely receives guests this early in the morning, especially when Father isn’t home. Zenthio whistles cheerfully. My mother walks toward the door. "I think we’re about to hear good news, Helio," he says, his voice mocking. The door opens. My hands curl into fists—too tightly. My nails dig into my palms. I pray that whatever happens next isn’t what Zenthio expects. "General Aziel," my mother says, her voice just as surprised as the rest of us. "What brings you here?" General Aziel clears his throat. "I don’t mean to disturb your family's peace, My Ladyship, but…" he exhales heavily. "I’m afraid I come bearing bad news. Marquess Alessio… we found his carriage overturned at the kingdom’s border."
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Pain blossoms across my jaw before I even register the movement. The impact snaps my head to the side, my ears ringing, the taste of iron blooming across my tongue. I stagger but do not fall. My grip tightens around my cane, steadying myself. My breath hitches for a moment before evening out, but the pain lingers—a dull, throbbing ache where Hale’s fist connected. He hit me. Hale hit me. I exhale slowly, tilting my head back toward him. “Are you finished?” My voice is level, but there is a coldness beneath it. Hale stands rigid, his chest rising and falling sharply. His fist is still clenched, his knuckles white. His entire body is wound tight, as if he’s barely holding himself together. “No,” he growls. “Not even close.” I swipe my thumb against my lip, smearing the blood there. “So that’s how we’re handling disagreements now?” Hale scoffs, his face twisted in frustration. “I don’t know how else to get through to you.” He takes a step forward, his eyes burning. “You weren’t liste
