ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
Alba and I made our way through the halls, the sound of our footsteps echoing softly in the silence. Neither of us spoke, the only noise between us the steady rhythm of heavy breaths as we climbed the stairways leading to the council chambers. My nerves churned, an anxiety bubbling in my chest that I couldn't quite explain.
What could Father want with me? Did this have something to do with what Raamiz and I had planned? My stomach tightened at the thought. If it had backfired... that would be the worst-case scenario.
I stole a glance at Alba, hoping to get a sense of what he was feeling, but his expression gave nothing away. He walked just ahead of me, his pace measured but purposeful, his hands balled into loose fists.
The tension between us felt suffocating, growing heavier with each step. The silence gnawed at me, and I couldn't take it anymore.
"Do you—" I began, my voice breaking through the quiet like a crack in glass.
"Shut it, Zeliot," Alba snapped, his voice sharp and unyielding. "No questions."
I blinked, caught off guard by the bite in his tone. Alba wasn't usually like this. He'd never spoken to me this way before. I bit back a retort, my jaw tightening as I shoved my hands into my pockets. Fine. If he didn't want to talk, I wouldn't force it.
Still, the unease in the pit of my stomach grew heavier.
After a painful walk, we arrived at the doorway of the council room. Something was off. Oddly, there were no guards standing on duty, which was unusual enough. Even odder, the air around the room felt unnaturally still, like the silence itself was waiting for something to happen.
I glanced at Alba, and he glanced back at me, his expression unreadable but taut. Without a word, he stepped forward, his movements deliberate. I followed closely behind, a quiet cough escaping my lips and echoing faintly in the empty corridor as we entered.
The council room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of candles casting long, restless shadows along the walls. A large table dominated the center of the room, covered in maps, documents, and scattered strategic pieces that hinted at some recent planning session. But the room was empty—almost eerily so—except for the figure who stood at the head of the table. Father.
I hesitated for a moment, my eyes flitting to the chairs that lined the sides of the table. Should I sit? But Alba remained standing at the table's edge, his hands clasped in front of him. Taking his lead, I stayed where I was.
"Hello, my sons," the Duke began, his deep voice breaking the quiet like the crack of a whip. "I am grateful that you could make your way here this evening."
Alba was the first to respond. "Of course, Father," he said, his tone calm, though I could sense the tension beneath it. "I could never deny your summons."
"Yes," I added quickly, trying to match Alba's formality. "It's too bad that dinner was canceled, but I'm happy to see you, Father."
Father nodded, though his expression didn't soften. "Yes, yes," he said, his tone clipped. "It's truly a pity. There was so much to discuss with the whole family, but unfortunately, more pressing matters arose."
Before either of us could respond, Father stood and, in an instant, closed the distance between us. I almost jumped at the suddenness of his movement, my pulse quickening. He positioned himself right in front of us, his sharp gaze cutting between me and Alba.
The Duke leaned in closer, his voice, low and measured, sending a chill down my spine.
"I have been hearing things," he said, his tone deadly serious. "From the Capital. Whispers of a nature that I will not stand for. The kind that could ruin me—ruin us."
Alba opened his mouth, his voice unsteady as he began, "Father, I—"
"Do not speak unless I allow you, boy." the Duke's sharply rebuked, freezing Alba mid-sentence.
The Duke's voice was low but razor-sharp. "This is a matter I take extremely seriously. I will not tolerate any infighting in this household." His gaze zeroed in on Alba like a hawk tracking prey. "I thought we were very clear on this, but it seems I trusted you too much."
Alba stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. "What do—"
"I SAID DO NOT SPEAK UNLESS TOLD TO!" The words struck like thunder, freezing the air in the room.
The Duke's movements were swift and deliberate; in a blink, he seized Alba by the jaw, pulling him closer. Alba's eyes widened in shock, his hands twitching at his sides as if debating whether to push away or stay perfectly still.
"Are you hiding anything from me?" the Duke hissed, his voice quiet but cutting like broken glass. "Speak. Now."
Alba's words came out strained, his jaw contorted in his father's iron grip. "No, Father. I—I would never hide anything from you."
The Duke leaned in closer, his face mere inches from Alba's. His piercing amber eyes drilled into Alba's, and for a fleeting second, I saw something strange—a faint glow, a flicker of light deep within Father's irises though it was gone as quickly as it came.
The Duke held him there, locked in that excruciating stare for what felt like an eternity. The room itself seemed to shrink, the oppressive weight pressing against my chest. Alba's breaths were ragged, his face pale.
And then, without warning, the Duke released him. Alba staggered back, clutching his jaw, his composure shattered.
The Duke turned away, his tone suddenly calm, almost dismissive. "So, you haven't betrayed me." He straightened his coat as if nothing had happened. "Alba, you are dismissed. And speak of this to no one."
Alba stood frozen for a moment before bowing his head slightly. "Yes, Father," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
As he turned to leave, he caught my eye for a brief moment. It almost felt like we shared a whole conversation in just a single glance.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the Duke.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my thoughts racing. He didn't dismiss me. What does he want from me?
The Duke lingered by the table, his posture stiff, his gaze distant. For a moment, it was like he forgot I was even there. His lips moved faintly, murmuring something too quiet to hear. Was he talking to himself?
Before I could think of what to do or say, his head snapped toward me. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unrelenting. My stomach tightened, my breath catching as he moved—no, rushed—toward me, his hands reaching out.
I flinched instinctively, my body tensing. My mind went into overdrive, expecting the worst. He's going to hit me. Or worse. What did I do?
But the blow never came. Instead, Father's hands settled on my shoulders—firm, grounding, but not suffocating. The warmth of his touch was so unexpected it jolted me as much as a strike might have. I froze, too stunned to move or speak.
Father looked down at me, his expression... different. Not angry. Not cold. Something else entirely, though I couldn't name it.
"Zeliot," he said, his voice steady but quieter than usual. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
I blinked up at him, trying to process the words.
"I only did what I did because I had no other choice," he continued, his tone softening. His amber eyes bore into mine, unwavering. "The world is a dangerous and scary place, and all I want is to keep my children—my legacy—safe. And I will do whatever is necessary to make that the case."
I nodded automatically, my voice caught somewhere in my throat.
"Zeliot," he said again, his hands tightening slightly on my shoulders, still not enough to hurt, but enough to demand my attention. "I need you to promise me something."
I swallowed hard, managing a faint, "What is it?"
"At the capital," he said, his voice growing firmer, "you will not leave Luca's side. No matter what."
I nodded again, the action feeling mechanical. His words weren't fully registering yet—I was still stuck on the fact that he was holding me like this.
"Zeliot," he pressed, his tone sharpening. "I need to hear you say it. Say, 'I promise.'"
"I... I promise, Father." The words left my mouth before I'd even decided to speak them.
His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he let out a soft sigh. "Good." His hands slid from my shoulders, and he straightened up, looking down at me with a faint, unreadable expression. "I don't want you to be afraid. But know this, Zeliot—I need you to stay vigilant. Be ready for anything. Do you understand?"
I nodded again, still too stunned to do much else.
"Good," he said, his voice softening once more. He turned and walked back to the head of the table, his movements deliberate and measured. "You can leave, Zeliot. But as I told Alba, speak of this to no one."
I hesitated for a second, unsure if I should say something, but his attention was already elsewhere. Without another word, I turned and left the room, my legs carrying me down the corridor like they had a mind of their own.
I couldn't even begin to process what had just happened. The way he looked at me. The way he held me. That moment was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—not just in this life, but in the one before it.