2025-02-24 19:52:03"THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE!" Zenthio shouts, throwing a chair across the grand hall.
Several knights move toward me, pushing me back as Zenthio charges forward. I don’t even realize he’s about to hit me until General Aziel speaks. "Enough, Lord Zenthio. I know Marquess Alessio’s decision is hard to accept, but there must be a reason he chose his third son as his successor. No one knew his sons better than he did." "You can’t be serious." Zenthio lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Are you blind, General? Helio is actually blind. And he isn’t pureblooded! He doesn’t deserve to be Marquess. That title should be mine!" I clench my fists. "I won’t argue with any of the insults you throw at me, Zenthio," I say, my voice steady. "But General Aziel is right. There is a reason Father chose me. Maybe it’s because he knew you’d stoop to something disgraceful just to take his place." Zenthio’s fist slams into my jaw. I stumble back, crashing into the knights trying to shield me. But I just wipe my chin, rubbing at the dull ache spreading through it. "I’m done letting you push me around, Zenthio," I say. "I’ll take this title, no matter what it costs. Because it was Father’s final wish." "That’s bullshit, Helio!" Zenthio snaps. "You took everything from me. If your pathetic mother had never married my father—if you had never been born—" "Enough, Lord Zenthio," General Aziel cuts in. "Helio, you’re coming to the capital with my entourage tonight. All of you are. In a few days, the palace will hold your investiture as Marquess, and I expect you all to behave until then." Zenthio spits on the floor. "I’d rather die than watch him take that title." "No one’s forcing you to watch," I say. ⚔️ "Helio, can’t you be a little kinder to your brothers?" Mother sighs as we sit inside the carriage, heading toward the capital. "I’ve tried, Mother," I answer, twisting Father’s Marquess ring around my finger. It’s strange—heavy in a way that has nothing to do with its weight. "Then try harder." I sigh and pretend I didn’t hear her. This is my first time leaving home, after all. My entire life, I’ve only known three places: my bedroom, the study, and the dining hall. Now, I’m bouncing around in a carriage, listening to the clatter of wheels on dirt. It’s strange. But at least Actavio is here. "Helio!" he gasps beside me, his voice high and bright with excitement. "Everything’s amazing! I wish you could see it!" I smile. "Tell me what you see, Tavvy." "So many things! Townhouses! Big fields! Mountains! Oh wow! Look at that—so many cows! I love the black and white ones!" "Gods," Zenthio groans. "Can’t you make your brother shut up, Helio? My ears are ringing from all his shouting." I ignore him. If I’m going to be Marquess, then at the very least, no one gets to silence my family. But Mother pulls Actavio into her lap anyway. "Say sorry, Tavvy," she scolds gently. "There’s nothing to apologize for, Mother," I cut in. "It’s natural for a child to be excited." "Ah, my head hurts just looking at your son, Cecil," Zenthio mutters. "Zen," I say, jaw tight. "Am I not your brother too? Or do you not see me that way anymore?" Zenthio doesn’t answer. I take that as a yes. Turning away, I let the spring wind mess up my hair. Then, I feel Lavinia squeeze my hand. When I glance at her, her face is troubled. "I don’t know what’s going on, Helio," she whispers, "but I have a bad feeling about Zenthio and Demario. Be careful. Don’t ever be alone with them." ⚔️ By nightfall, General Aziel orders us to stop by a small lake. The knights unhitch the horses, set up camp, and start cooking dinner. I sit near the fire, knees tucked to my chest, listening as Mother tells Actavio a bedtime story. "Once upon a time, there was a little prince. His hair was dark brown, unlike the golden-haired royals of pure lineage. One day, his mother, the queen, passed away from a terrible illness. Not long after, the king remarried the doctor who had spent years treating the late queen. But..." "Helio." Demario suddenly sits beside me, pressing something warm into my hand—a piece of bread, from the smell of it. "I’m sorry," he says. "For everything. I hope you don’t hate me." I blink, caught off guard. After everything he’s done—years of bullying, playing a part in our father’s death—he suddenly cares about whether or not I hate him. "What do you mean, Demario?" I ask. "Really? You’ve never cared about my feelings before." Demario clears his throat. "I mean... I was just following Zenthio. I never wanted to be that cruel, I swear—" "Okay." I sigh, taking the bread. "Either way, I want a better future for our family. Thanks for this. Who made it?" "One of General Aziel’s knights, probably. I just grabbed it from the fire." I nod, biting into the bread. Warmth spreads through my stomach, and I realize just how empty it’s been since the funeral. I also realize how tired I am. After finishing, I crawl into my tent, lying on the thin mattress, listening to the end of Mother’s story. "When the young prince was cursed into a beast by his stepmother, he swore to take back his throne and choose the perfect queen." ⚔️ Cold water splashes against my face. I jolt awake, my head spinning as I realize I’m not lying down anymore—I’m sitting. My hands are bound to a wooden chair. Actavio’s muffled sobs reach my ears. Leaves rustle softly. There’s no whisper of the lake. We’re far from camp. And then, a low, cold chuckle shatters the silence. "So, Helio," Zenthio’s voice purrs. "Are you ready for a trade?"
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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
