The early dawn cast a muted glow over the palace grounds, and Leon stirred restlessly in his chambers. A sense of unease clung to him, born from the recent interactions that left him questioning Atlas's sudden detachment. While Atlas's expressions remained steadfastly composed, there was an absence of warmth that Leon had once known, a subtle coldness that now gnawed at him.
Whispers in the corridors hinted at a shift within Atlas—something more profound than the usual worries of court life. Leon had heard murmurs about Atlas's restlessness, his unexplained absences from meetings, and his increased time spent locked in the study.
"Leon, are you all right?" Cecily's voice broke through his reverie. His sister stood by the window, her gaze soft with concern.
"I'm fine, Cecily," Leon said, attempting a reassuring smile. But Cecily's eyes, sharp and perceptive as ever, saw through the façade.
"It's Atlas, isn't it?" she asked. Her tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking the worry that laced her words.
Leon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's different. Distant. And it's as if… it's as if he doesn't even realize how much it's affecting me."
Cecily stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Things have been difficult for him as well. I've heard from Father that the tension with the Fleur Empire has placed him in an impossible position. But there's more to this than just politics."
Leon's heart ached at the mention of the Fleur Empire. The growing conflict had already strained their fragile peace, and now, with the recent festival incident still fresh in everyone's memory, tensions were at an all-time high. But this—the space between him and Atlas—was different.
"Do you think he's hiding something from me?" Leon whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
Cecily hesitated, her expression clouding. "If he is, I don't think it's by choice. Sometimes people keep things close because they don't know how to share them."
Before she could continue, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor. A guard appeared at the doorway, his expression tight with urgency.
"Your Highness, Prince Atlas has requested your presence in the council chamber. It's urgent."
Leon's pulse quickened. He exchanged a quick glance with Cecily, who nodded. "Go. I'll be here when you return."
As Leon made his way to the council chamber, the weight of anticipation pressed down on him. Each step echoed louder in his mind, each breath drawing him closer to whatever revelation awaited. The double doors loomed ahead, and with a push, they creaked open.
Atlas stood at the head of the table, flanked by members of the royal council. His posture was stiff, and his eyes—the same eyes Leon had memorized down to their smallest fleck—held a distant, shadowed glint. As he began to speak, his voice faltered for the briefest moment. It was so slight that the others didn't seem to notice, but Leon caught it—the hesitation, the tightening of his jaw, as though the words he was saying didn't quite feel his own.
"Leon," Atlas said, voice steady but devoid of its usual warmth. "We need to discuss something important."
Leon swallowed hard. The cold, formal tone only deepened the pit in his stomach.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice barely concealing the tremor.
Atlas's gaze met his, and for a moment, something flickered there—a flash of hesitation, of longing—before it disappeared beneath a practiced mask.
"The Fleur Empire has made their move. And I fear this is only the beginning."
Leon's heart sank. Whatever trust they had built, whatever bond they shared, was slipping through his fingers like sand. And he was powerless to stop it.