ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
Raamiz was suspicious. Or maybe paranoid was the better word. Was that the right word? Maybe it was... whatever. It didn't matter what the precise term was to describe how he felt. All Raamiz knew was that something was off.
This wasn't unusual for Raamiz. He always felt like something was off. About his family. About the region they ruled. About himself. It wasn't an easy way to live, constantly questioning everything, but for Raamiz, it was just the way things were.
There was one exception, though. One thing in his life that didn't set off those alarm bells: Zeliot. His brother acted with complete ignorance of his surroundings, as if he had no understanding of the reality he lived in. He was almost like a golden retriever—too innocent, too wide-eyed, too naïve for the court they inhabited. It was no secret how smothering their mother was, and jokes about it rippled through the halls whenever Zeliot passed by. A whispered snicker here, a mocking glance there.
Zeliot seemed oblivious to it all, which only heightened how different he was from Raamiz. Where Raamiz watched every detail with suspicion, Zeliot wandered through life unbothered, unaware of the unspoken games surrounding them. Raamiz thrived on control—on trying to understand and anticipate the worst in people—while Zeliot appeared to live in a world where those worsts didn't even exist.
And yet, despite all of this—despite Zeliot being Raamiz's opposite in every way—he always felt like Zeliot was his only real friend. Why?
That question lingered in Raamiz's mind, one he never had an answer for. Maybe it was because Zeliot, unlike everyone else, never felt like he wanted anything from him. Or maybe it was because, even in the twisted, suffocating world of the Valorians, Zeliot somehow managed to make Raamiz feel... normal.
And then something happened.
Three months ago, Zeliot had an "accident." Or at least, that's what the official report claimed. Raamiz knew better. No way in hell was that the case.
The whole thing smelled wrong from the start. Zeliot, found bruised and unconscious near the edge of the forest, as if he'd simply stumbled into trouble? Not likely. Accidents didn't happen in the Valorian household—everything, every move, was calculated. Yet the story had been wrapped up neatly, with just enough truth to keep questions at bay.
But Raamiz wasn't buying it. He'd spent days by Zeliot's bedside, watching healers work their magic and willing his half-brother to survive. Every day, he visited, brushing off the court's whispers and side-eyes as he sat in silence, hoping Zeliot would pull through.
And pull through he did.
Zeliot's recovery should have been a moment of pure relief, and in a way, it was. Of course Raamiz was happy. How could he not be? His brother had lived, defying the odds stacked against him. And yet, just moments after Zeliot reawoke, Raamiz felt it for the first time—an off feeling about him.
It wasn't something he could explain outright, not even to himself. Zeliot looked the same: the same golden retriever innocence, the same easy smile, the same unassuming nature that made him stand out in a family of schemers. But there was something in his eyes. Something Raamiz had never seen before.
A flicker. A hesitation. A weight.
Zeliot was... different.
Before, Zeliot had been predictable, even endearing in his simplicity. But ever since the accident, Zeliot seemed more... deliberate. He lingered in conversations he would've usually avoided, asked questions he wouldn't have thought to ask before.
Once, Raamiz caught him in the study, rifling through one of their father's old ledgers. Zeliot had looked up, startled, stammering something about "just trying to understand more." Raamiz didn't press him then, but it stuck in his mind.
Another time, at dinner, Zeliot interrupted Idris during one of his long-winded rants. That alone had been shocking—Zeliot never challenged Idris—but it wasn't just that. It was the way Zeliot carried himself when he spoke, his tone calm, measured, almost calculated.
Raamiz couldn't put his finger on it, but it was like watching a stranger wearing his brother's face. He told himself it was probably nothing. After all, Zeliot had been through a lot. Trauma could change people, make them act differently. That was normal... wasn't it?
And yet, the feeling wouldn't go away.
Something had changed in Zeliot. Raamiz just didn't know what—or why.
Yet, in many ways, Raamiz didn't mind the change. If anything, he liked this new Zeliot. He was more helpful, more intuitive—a far cry from the aimless, naïve boy he used to be. Especially with everything they were currently dealing with, Zeliot's newfound sharpness felt like a blessing.
Conversations were easier now, more engaging. Raamiz probably even enjoyed talking to him more than before. In short, Zeliot was still a friend, a confidant.
But it just felt... weird. Off in a way Raamiz couldn't explain. What made it stranger was that no one else seemed to notice—or care. From what he could tell, Amelia hadn't batted an eye, and the rest of the court still snickered behind Zeliot's back like nothing had changed. The only one who might've picked up on it was Luca, but even he hadn't said a word.
Raamiz couldn't decide which was worse: that no one noticed, or that no one gave a damn.
Raamiz's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden tap on his shoulder. He turned slightly, already annoyed before he even saw who it was.
It was Zeliot, leaning toward him with that same eager, bright eyed expression. Around them, the tutor—a stern older woman with sharp eyes—was droning on about the philosophical principles of something or the other.
"Hey, Raamiz," Zeliot whispered. "Remember that... 'thing' you said you were going to involve me in? Any update on that?"
Raamiz exhaled sharply and turned to him, keeping his voice low. "Zeliot, I've told you a dozen times—I'll let you know when you need to know."
"Yeah, but—"
"Zeliot!" snapped the tutor, her voice sharp enough to silence the room. She adjusted her glasses, fixing him with a withering glare. "Please pay attention. You're missing out on valuable information."
Raamiz smirked, turning back to his notes. That should shut him up, he thought, suppressing a snicker.
But then Zeliot did something that caught Raamiz off gaurd.
"I am paying attention, ma'am," Zeliot replied evenly. Before anyone could stop him, he began reciting her argument, word-for-word: "You were saying that limiting access to magic is a moral imperative because it prevents individuals from abusing it for selfish or destructive purposes. That it's a necessary safeguard to ensure the wellbeing of society as a whole."
The tutor blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Zeliot wasn't done. "But," he continued, his tone calm and measured, "if you consider Dalien's work on free will and magical governance, he argues the opposite. That restricting magical access denies individuals their autonomy and stifles progress. According to him, the ethical approach would be to teach responsibility alongside access, not enforce limitation as a blanket rule."
Zeliot leaned back slightly, his calm demeanor belying the storm he knew his comment would cause. Idris, predictably, struck first.
"Well, isn't that impressive," Idris sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Our little philosopher over here, quoting Dalien as if he's cracked the code of ethics." He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table and gesturing dismissively toward Zeliot. "Tell me, Zeliot, do you even understand half of what you're saying, or are you just parroting words you barely grasp?"
Zeliot didn't flinch, though his fingers twitched briefly against the table. "I understand enough," he replied evenly, keeping his voice measured. "Enough to know when someone's dismissing ideas they can't counter with substance."
The room shifted, tension thickening in the air. Raamiz snickered quietly from his seat, while Alba remained silent, observing the exchange with a mix of curiosity and irritation.
Idris sat up straight, his expression darkening. "Watch your mouth," he snapped. "You're a child playing at intellect, Zeliot. Don't overstep."
"I'm not the one overstepping," Zeliot shot back, his tone sharp now, the calm cracking ever so slightly. "My arguments are grounded in logic. You just don't like them because they don't fit your narrow idea of how things should be."
"Enough!" the tutor interjected, her voice loud and clipped as she stepped forward. "This is a lesson, not a debate hall. Zeliot, Idris—both of you, rein it in." She adjusted her glasses, her tone softening but firm. "Zeliot, your point was well-articulated, but this is not the time to provoke unnecessary arguments." She turned toward Idris, her eyes narrowing. "And Idris, you are meant to critique ideas, not your brother. Personal attacks will not be tolerated."
Idris ignored her, his eyes still locked on Zeliot. "Provoking unnecessary arguments," he echoed mockingly. "That's all he's capable of—provoking. He thinks because he can string a few sentences together, he's worth listening to."
"Idris," Alba's voice cut through the room like a blade. Calm but commanding, it turned every head toward him.
Alba leaned forward, his gaze fixed on his younger brother. "You're being insufferable," he said, his tone cool and controlled. "If you want to prove you're smarter than him, then do it with arguments, not insults. Otherwise, shut up and let the tutor finish."
For a moment, Idris froze, caught between indignation and submission. Then, with a loud scoff, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Whatever," he muttered, though his glare lingered on Zeliot.
The tutor cleared her throat, visibly relieved as the tension in the room eased. "As I was saying," she began again, though the words seemed to fall flat in the wake of the exchange.
Zeliot stayed quiet, his eyes flicking toward Alba, who gave him a small nod before returning his attention to the lesson.
Zeliot simply nodded, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile.
Raamiz stared at him, his mind collecting yet another surprising moment.
Zeliot caught his gaze and shot him a quick grin. "What?" he whispered, as though nothing unusual had happened.
Raamiz shook his head, turning away. "Nothing," he muttered. The off feeling was certainly not going away.
The lesson finally ended, the tutor dismissing them with a clipped tone, clearly still unsettled by Zeliot's unexpected outburst. Raamiz didn't linger. He was already halfway down the corridor when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.
"Raamiz!"
He groaned, not bothering to hide his irritation, and turned to see Zeliot jogging to catch up.
"What do you want, Zeliot?" he asked, rubbing his temple.
Zeliot grinned, a little sheepishly. "What, is it that obvious I want something?"
"Yes," Raamiz replied dryly.
Zeliot matched his pace. "Look, its been three months! Can you just give me a little information. Whatever this thing is, you said it could help keep me safe, right? Why not just tell me?"
Raamiz stopped walking and turned to face him fully, letting out a long sigh. "I told you, I'll tell you when there's something worth saying. For now, you're just going to have to trust me."
Zeliot's grin faded slightly, replaced by a hint of disappointment. He nodded reluctantly. "Alright... I trust you."
Raamiz's tone softened as he started walking again. "Besides, isn't Luca practically glued to your side these days? He's basically your..." He smirked. "...guardian angel."
Zeliot chuckled faintly. "Yeah. I guess."
"Just stick to what you're doing," Raamiz said. "I'll let you know when the time is right."
Zeliot didn't reply, his steps slowing as Raamiz pulled ahead.
Raamiz noticed Zeliot slowing behind him and turned, his voice softening. "Are you okay? Look... I'm sorry, Zeliot. I'm not trying to hide things from you—it's just that I have to be careful, you know?"
Zeliot looked up, his expression unreadable at first, before giving a small nod. "Yeah, I get it. Don't worry." He paused, then added, "I just remembered—I promised to meet with my mother after class."
Raamiz smirked faintly. "Ah, that should be fun."
Zeliot let out a long sigh. "Yeah... sure." He adjusted the strap of his satchel and gave a weak smile. "Anyway, I'll probably see you later, right? Gotta make plans for when we visit the capital this weekend."
"Yep," Raamiz replied. "See you later. Usual place."
Zeliot nodded and turned down a different corridor, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared around the corner.
Raamiz stood there for a moment, watching him leave, before continuing down his own path. He wasn't lying to Zeliot—it wasn't about wanting to keep secrets. It was about having to.
There was too much at stake, too much to lose. And it wasn't just his safety on the line—it was someone else's. Someone whose survival depended on Raamiz playing things exactly right.
Truth be told, Raamiz had expected this whole mess to be sorted out weeks ago. He'd been meant to meet with his contact a month earlier, but nothing had gone to plan. Every day the delay dragged on, the risk grew higher.
He clenched his fists, pushing the thought aside for now.
Raamiz rounded the corner, his mind already racing with thoughts of the capital trip and the weight of everything that needed to fall into place. He barely had time to process the presence ahead of him before her voice cut through the air.
"Raamiz."
He stopped in his tracks, his posture stiffening as he turned to face Duchess Gaius. She stood tall, her dark hair intricately braided, and her sharp, snake-like eyes seemed to dissect him where he stood. Idris lingered beside her, his arms crossed in his usual pose of smug indifference, though the corner of his mouth curled in a faint smirk.
"Mother," Raamiz greeted her, his tone carefully neutral. He nodded to his brother. "Idris."
Gaius's gaze swept over him, assessing, as though searching for cracks. "You're restless," she said flatly, her tone neither harsh nor kind. "It's written all over you."
Raamiz tensed but forced a casual shrug. "Just preoccupied."
Idris let out a soft laugh. "Preoccupied, hmm? What could you possibly have to think about? The logistics of sulking, perhaps?"
Raamiz shot him a glare but kept his voice calm. "You should know, Idris. You've been perfecting the art for years."
"Enough," Gaius said sharply, her gaze snapping to both of them. The single word carried enough weight to silence them. "I don't have time for childish bickering." She turned her attention back to Raamiz. "I assume your preparations for the capital trip are complete."
Raamiz nodded once. "Of course."
"Good," Gaius replied, though her expression didn't soften. "You'll be expected to carry yourself appropriately. The capital is no place for mistakes. Your father will have enough to manage without cleaning up after you."
Raamiz's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of the Duke, but he nodded again. "Understood."
Gaius studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable. "You're sharp, Raamiz. Use that sharpness wisely."
Idris gave an exaggerated sigh. "Really, Mother? I think you're being a little optimistic."
Gaius's gaze flicked to Idris, silencing him with a look before returning to Raamiz. "You are a Valorian. Act like it."
With that, she turned and swept past him, her gown trailing behind her like a shadow. Idris lingered for a moment, his smirk returning as he leaned in slightly.
"Careful, brother," he said, his tone mockingly light. "Mother might be disappointed if she finds out what's really on your mind."
Raamiz didn't respond, his expression stony as Idris followed Gaius down the corridor.
As soon as they disappeared around the corner, Raamiz exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. The tension of the encounter lingered, but he pushed it aside. He had bigger things to worry about.
"This weekend," he muttered to himself, continuing down the hall. "This weekend, I'll make it happen."
The Valorian estate was quiet as the sun dipped below the horizon, its orange glow fading into the deep blue of evening. The faint hum of activity from the day was replaced with the occasional echo of footsteps in the halls. Raamiz sat in the library, a map of the capital spread across the table before him. Candles flickered, their warm light dancing over his sharp features as he traced his fingers along various routes and landmarks.
The door creaked open, and Zeliot slipped inside. He moved with less of his usual carefree energy, his steps deliberate and quiet. "You're here," Zeliot said, closing the door behind him. "With the way you have been acting, I was starting to think you'd bail on me."
Raamiz snorted softly, not looking up. "And miss your relentless questions? Never."
Zeliot grinned and flopped into a chair across the table. "You say that, but I can tell you love my company." His purple eyes flicked to the map, curiosity flashing in them. "So? What's the plan for the capital?"
Raamiz leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "On the surface, it's not exactly exciting. We'll be there for the assembly. There will be meetings, appearances, and plenty of dull speeches."
"Right," Zeliot said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "And where do we fit into all that? You said this trip is important."
Raamiz sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "From the perspective of being a noble envoy, it's important because everything we do will be watched. Every word, every movement. The family has to appear unified, competent, loyal. That's our job."
Zeliot frowned. "So... we're props."
"Pretty much," Raamiz said, his tone flat.
Zeliot stared at the map for a moment, then pointed to a mark near the city's center. "What's this?"
"The assembly hall," Raamiz replied. "That's where most of the meetings will happen. It's also where the representatives will gather to discuss whatever the Duke has planned to propose."
"Like what?"
"I have a basic idea, but not the specifics," Raamiz admitted. "Either way, I know we're not supposed to. That's why I know the stakes must be high. The Duke won't tolerate slip-ups."
Zeliot's gaze lingered on the map, tracing the marked spots Raamiz had drawn. "So where does that really leave us?" he asked, his tone quieter now, less sarcastic and more probing.
Raamiz leaned back in his chair, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. "I'm not sure if we'll find anything concrete, to be honest," he said, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "But why pass up the opportunity?"
Zeliot's brow furrowed. "Opportunity? For what?"
"To observe," Raamiz replied, leaning forward and pointing at the assembly hall's location on the map. "Think about it, Zeliot. If someone out there has a grand plan to take you out, where do you think they'll be this weekend? In the grand assembly. Among the House of Prosos. Whether it's one of Father's rivals, my own mother, or some other ambitious aristocrat."
Zeliot let out a short, nervous laugh. "Wait, so you think that someone might target me? In the middle of the assembly?"
Raamiz shrugged, his smirk fading into something more serious. "No…I doubt anyone will have the leeway to make direct moves against you. But if they're working against us, they'll be there, watching, maneuvering. That's where we'll learn the most. Hopefully, these people can't help but reveal their intentions if you look closely enough."
"And by 'we,' you mean you," Zeliot said dryly, crossing his arms.
Raamiz's smirk faded as he leaned back, his expression turning serious. "Actually... no. Not me."
Zeliot's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean, 'not you'?"
Raamiz sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. "I mean I won't be able to look into this myself. I've got other things on my plate."
Zeliot's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face.
"Before you even ask," Raamiz said sharply, cutting him off, "I can't tell you."
Zeliot's mouth snapped shut, his jaw tightening as frustration flared in his expression. "That's not fair," he muttered.
"Well, you're going to have to deal with it for now," Raamiz said firmly, his amber eyes meeting Zeliot's.
For a moment, the tension seemed to thicken, though for just a brief moment. Then Zeliot exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Fine. So wait, what am I supposed to do then?"
Raamiz's posture relaxed slightly, but his tone remained matter-of-fact. "Exactly what I said before: stick close to Luca, keep your head down, and pay attention. You're better at reading people than you think, Zeliot. If something feels off, trust your gut and let me know—but don't try to handle it on your own."
Zeliot crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "That's your big plan? I just wander around and hope someone slips up?"
Raamiz smirked, leaning forward. "Zeliot, Zeliot—you wound me. Am I really one to leave things so simple?"
Zeliot crossed his arms. "Of course not. Spit it out."
Raamiz adjusted his posture, suddenly more serious. "I have intel. Important intel."
Zeliot raised a brow. "Okay, what is it?"
Raamiz gestured toward the map spread out between them. "The big topic of this assembly will be the potential Penusian alliance—or rather, unification. A merging of territories into shared governance and trade agreements."
Zeliot tilted his head. "Sounds like a big deal, but why should I care?"
Raamiz exhaled, his tone leveling out. "Because if you're dead, the alliance is as good as lost. Think about it—your death would scream infighting. A Valorian heir murdered? Penusia would see it as too much of a risk. They'd back out immediately to avoid getting caught in the fallout."
Zeliot's mouth parted slightly as he absorbed the implications. "So, whoever's targeting me... they're against the unification?"
Raamiz nodded. "It's a potential angle. If they can make it look like the Valorians can't keep their house in order, they can crush the alliance without ever stepping foot in the assembly hall."
Zeliot frowned. "But why? What's so bad about the alliance that they'd go this far?"
Raamiz leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Who knows? It could be political, personal, or just a power play. Maybe they're worried about losing influence if the territories merge. Maybe they're just desperate to keep things the way they are."
Zeliot nodded slowly. "Alright. So what am I supposed to do?"
Raamiz's expression sharpened, his voice steady. "Simple. Look at who stands out—someone who's desperately against the unification. They'll be the one to watch."
Zeliot's eyes narrowed, leaning forward. "Wait. Weren't you sure that someone wanted me dead to make sure Alba became Duke? What does that have to do with Penusia?"
Raamiz exhaled, his expression guarded. "That was my personal theory. I still think there's some truth to it—knowing Mother, I wouldn't rule it out. But..." He paused, his tone shifting. "That's not the only angle."
Zeliot frowned. "What do you mean?"
Raamiz leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Even the Duke thinks there's more at play. Remember when he was talking to Alba in secret? He mentioned how family divisions could be exploited."
Zeliot nodded slowly. "Yeah. Something about that being a weakness enemies could use."
"Exactly," Raamiz said. "If Father believes your death would have made the alliance impossible, then I can believe it as well."
Zeliot sat back. "So, whoever's behind this... they're trying to stop the unification."
"Again, its just a possibility," Raamiz said, his tone calm but firm. "Regardless, if this theory is true, whether it's someone outside the family or someone closer to home, it's all about the alliance. Father's convinced of that."
Zeliot ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening briefly into a fist. "And you think it's still worth keeping an eye on your Mother?"
Raamiz gave a small, grim smile. "I think we'd be fools not to."
There was a brief pause as Zeliot leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. Raamiz watched him, his brow furrowing as the silence stretched on. Finally, unable to hold back, he broke it.
"So," Raamiz said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "What's on your mind? Are we good?"
Zeliot looked up, blinking as if snapped out of a trance. "Sorry," he said. "Just wondering about something. Everything you said makes sense, but..."
"But what?" Raamiz pressed, his tone cautious.
Zeliot hesitated, then leaned forward. "Look, I know you've said you're against it, but I still feel like we should try to get information from Al—"
Raamiz cut him off, his voice sharpening as his posture stiffened. "No. We cannot do that."
Zeliot raised his hands slightly in mock surrender. "Okay, fine. But hear me out. Alba is the closest source of information about the Legon alliance that we have! I mean, he's literally the one being potentially married off for it."
Raamiz's jaw tightened, but Zeliot pressed on. "If we think the alliance is the reason I'm being targeted, we should use him. He might know something, and we already know he talks to Father about me being targeted—"
"Zeliot," Raamiz said with a sigh, cutting him off again. "Look, I know my brother. I know how close he is to my mother—who is a prime suspect, need I remind you—and I know how secretive he is. If we discuss what we know with him, he could either betray us, use it against us, or do gods knows what else."
Raamiz's tone softened slightly, but his words remained pointed. "As much as I hate to admit it, Alba is highly capable. In short, Zeliot, I don't trust him."
For a moment, Zeliot simply stared at Raamiz. Then, his eyes brightened with a sudden idea. "Who said anything about trusting him?"