Something was happening. Something bigger than him. And Zephyrine had just made the first move.
The festivities carried on, the music and laughter filling the grand hall, but Zoltan was no longer present in the moment. His mind churned, replaying Zephyrine's words over and over.
He cast a sidelong glance at his sister, who now sat with the poise of a queen in her own right, sipping from a golden chalice as if she hadn't just thrown him into a battlefield he couldn't even see.
Across the room, Emrys was still watching.
That was when it hit him.
This wasn't just about a concubine.
No, this was a move. A deliberate, calculated maneuver in a game he hadn't realized he was playing. And Zephyrine had played it for him.
He set his goblet down with a quiet clink. He needed answers.
Later that night, after the guests had begun to retire and the palace halls grew quiet, Zoltan found Zephyrine in the royal gardens.
She stood beneath the glow of the lanterns, her emerald gown blending with the darkness of the hedges. The scent of jasmine filled the air, and a faint breeze carried the distant sounds of revelry from the lower palace grounds.
Zoltan didn't waste time.
"What did you mean?" His voice was sharper than he intended, but he didn't care. "What game are you playing?"
Zephyrine, without turning, exhaled softly. "Our game, brother."
He narrowed his eyes. "I never agreed to any game."
She finally turned to face him, her gaze calm but unreadable. "And yet, you are a player, whether you like it or not."
Zoltan clenched his fists. "You accepted that woman on my behalf."
A small smile played at her lips. "Yes. And you should be thanking me."
Zoltan scoffed. "You expect me to thank you for shackling me to a woman I don't even know?"
Zephyrine stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "No, dear brother. I expect you to open your eyes."
"But before that, I expect you to explain your words, Zephyrine." Replied Zoltan.
"The game of chess has begun," Zoltan repeated Zephyrine's words. "To win, the most essential piece is not the king, but the queen."
Zoltan folded his arms. "And who, exactly, is the queen in this game?"
Zephyrine took a slow step toward him, the silk of her emerald gown whispering against the stone. "I am, of course."
Zoltan let out a humorless chuckle. "Of course you are."
She arched a brow. "Do you doubt me?"
Zoltan exhaled sharply. "I doubt everything right now, Zephyrine. You took control of my fate tonight without my consent. You accepted a woman into my household—before I could even speak."
Zephyrine merely smiled. "And what would you have said, dear brother? Would you have refused Duke Gideon? Embarrassed him? Shamed his gift?"
Zoltan hesitated.
That was exactly what he had been about to do.
"And what then?" Zephyrine continued smoothly. "Would you have made an enemy of him? Turned a powerful noble against yourself on the very night you stepped into adulthood? No, Zoltan. That is not how the game is played."
Zoltan clenched his jaw. "You expect me to just accept her? A woman I do not know, given to me like a prize?"
Zephyrine's gaze softened, just for a moment. "No, I expect you to use her."
His eyes darkened. "I am not that kind of man."
Zephyrine sighed, shaking her head. "Not like that, you fool. I am saying that a pawn, when placed correctly, can protect the king. Or in this case… the prince."
Zoltan narrowed his eyes. "Explain."
Zephyrine turned, slowly walking along the edge of the garden, her fingertips grazing the petals of a nearby rosebush.
"Emrys is watching you now," she murmured. "For years, he has ignored you. Looked past you. Saw you as nothing more than a shadow trailing behind him."
She turned back to him, her emerald eyes burning. "But today, you did something he did not expect. You refused the sacrifice. You bled for the gods, and the people saw your devotion."
She stepped closer. "Father gave you a sword."
Zoltan exhaled. "That is tradition."
Zephyrine smiled faintly. "Yes. But he gave it to you before the entire court. Before the nobles. Before the army."
Zoltan frowned. "…And?"
Zephyrine tilted her head. "And that sword you own now once belonged to our grandfather, Emperor Theron. When father presented that sword to you Emrys has realized that you are no longer just the second son, that our father has high expectations of you."
The weight of her words settled in his chest. He had seen it—the flicker of something dangerous in his elder brother's eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands had curled into fists when Zoltan raised his sword and shouted for Nexaryia.
Emrys was wary of him now.
Zephyrine's voice dropped to a whisper. "And when a lion senses a threat, Zoltan, what does it do?"
Zoltan met her gaze, his voice grim. "It kills."
Zephyrine nodded. "Exactly."
The night air felt colder suddenly. The weight of the truth pressing against his spine.
Zoltan had spent his entire life as the second-born prince, shielded from court politics, ignored in matters of succession. But tonight had changed that.
He was a piece on the board now.
And his sister had just made the first move.
He inhaled deeply. "So this concubine… she is meant to protect me?"
Zephyrine smiled. "In a way. She is not just a woman, Zoltan. She is Duke Gideon's gift to you. His investment."
Zoltan frowned. "And why does he wish to invest in me?"
Zephyrine's smile deepened. "Because he knows what I know."
She leaned in, her voice like silk. "The empire does not always belong to the eldest."
Zoltan stiffened. "You're speaking of treason."
Zephyrine laughed softly. "I'm speaking of survival."
Silence stretched between them.
Zoltan knew there was no going back now.
He had a choice—he could push against his sister's machinations, fight against this unseen game… or he could play.
He looked at her—his brilliant, ruthless sister, who had always seen things before anyone else did.
But, this time, for the first time in his life, he felt that his sister was wrong.
Zoltan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "No matter how Brother Emrys is, he is still our elder brother."
Zephyrine's expression darkened. "Half-brother," she corrected coldly. "My mother only gave birth to one male child before me."
Zoltan frowned. "Even if Emrys was not born to our mother, he is still Father's son. He would never try to harm us—not even in his dreams." His voice was firm and unwavering.
Zephyrine's lips curled into something that was neither a smile nor a frown. "You're a fool if you think people do not change."
Zoltan exhaled in frustration. "Have you forgotten how well he treated us when he still lived in the palace? He used to take us riding. He would train with me in the mornings, and he would—"
Zephyrine's viridian eyes gleamed, and she cut him off. "And have you forgotten that he no longer does?"
Zoltan opened his mouth to reply, but before he could say another word—
"Are you playing without me?"
A small voice interrupted them, filled with childish indignation.
Zoltan and Zephyrine turned and saw a small figure standing at the entrance of the garden.
Their youngest brother, Prince Zorvian.
The six-year-old had a pout on his lips, his arms crossed as he stomped towards them. His chubby cheeks were flushed with frustration, and his golden blonde hair—so much like their father's—was slightly dishevelled, as if he had run all the way here.
Zoltan sighed, the tension from their conversation momentarily dissolving. "Zorvian, it's late. You should be in bed."
The little prince puffed out his chest. "I don't want to sleep! I want to play with you and Sister Zephyrine."
Zephyrine's expression softened, but only slightly. "We are not playing, little one."
Zorvian blinked up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "Then why were you whispering so much? It sounded like a secret game."
Zoltan chuckled despite himself. "It's not a game you would enjoy, Zorvian."
The little boy huffed. "That's not fair! I want to play too!"
Zoltan crouched down to his level. "Alright, alright. How about this—tomorrow, we'll go riding together. You can race me in the training grounds."
Zorvian's eyes lit up. "Really?"
Zoltan nodded. "Really."
The boy grinned, satisfied for now. But then he turned to Zephyrine, his expression growing serious in the way only a child could manage. "Sister, why do you look angry?"
Zephyrine blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I am not angry."
Zorvian tilted his head. "Are you sure? You always make that face when you don't like something."
Zoltan smirked, but Zephyrine merely sighed. "Zorvian, go back inside. You should not be wandering the palace at this hour."
The young prince pouted but nodded. "Okay… But don't forget! We're riding tomorrow!"
Zoltan ruffled his hair. "I won't."
With that, Zorvian turned and ran off, his small footsteps echoing through the stone corridors.
Silence settled between Zoltan and Zephyrine once more, but this time, it was less tense.
Zoltan glanced at his sister. "You could have been gentler with him."
Zephyrine exhaled. "He is a child, Zoltan. He does not understand the world yet."
Zoltan gave her a pointed look. "Neither did we, once."
Zephyrine's lips pressed into a thin line. "And look how that turned out."
Zoltan sighed. "You may think Emrys has changed, but I still believe he is our brother."
Zephyrine met his gaze, unyielding. "And I hope, for all our sakes, that you are right."
But in her heart, she was already certain—
He wasn't.