The room settled into a stillness so thick, even the candle flames dared not flicker.
Carlos stood motionless at Erevan's side, jaw tight, shoulders square—but behind the walls of anger, something fragile twisted in his chest.
Lumira stepped back from the bed quietly, her healer's gaze softening as she looked between the prince and the sleeping king. "I'll leave you both," she said, tucking her sleeves. "He's stable. But don't yell. His heart still hates excitement."
Carlos didn't answer. He didn't need to. Lumira was already gone, her footsteps clicking away like the last lines of a spell.
Silence again.
And then—
"You shouldn't speak to her like that."
The voice was raw, low, and roughened by sickness. But alive.
Carlos's breath caught in his throat as he turned sharply toward the bed. Erevan was awake—barely, weakly—but awake. His eyes, dull with pain, flicked toward the ceiling.
"You heard?" Carlos whispered.
Erevan's lips barely moved. "Enough."
Carlos sat back down, fast, as if afraid his brother might vanish again.
"You should rest—"
"You should stop fighting everyone." Erevan's eyes drifted toward him now. "I'm not a child."
"You were dying."
"But I'm not dead."
"That's not the point."
Carlos's voice rose, just a bit—then steadied, hardened as he remembers the words the healer had said. "His heart still hates excitement."Carlos' eyes burned like his cursed hands.
"She tried to kill you, Erevan. With lilies. With wine. With all those little smiles she hides behind."
Erevan turned his head slowly toward him. His gaze was still that of a king—even in weakness.
"I know," he said. "I've known."
Carlos blinked.
Erevan sighed, long and rattling. "But I can't touch her."
"What?"
"She's the Empress Queen. If word spreads that the new king ordered the death of his mother—no matter how justified—it will fracture the people. The southern nobles adore her. The priests call her the Blessed Regent. She made herself the empire's angel so that she could become the queen and take down you mother in the past. And it is still effective towards the nobles, priests and even to commoners. You think I could raise a hand against her and stay on the throne?"
"You'd rather die?"
"I'd rather live with my hands clean."
Carlos stood, fury coursing through his veins like wildfire. "Your hands were clean the day she put lilies in your hands. Do you think that matters now? She was going to let you rot on your birthday."
Erevan winced, eyes fluttering closed. "I don't care about what she did to me. But you—if she thinks you're a threat…"
Carlos leaned forward. "I am a threat. And that's why she should fear me."
The words hung in the air like lightning before the strike.
Erevan turned away, silent." You are fifteen...."
Carlos continued,not listening to what his brother had said, his voice low and shaking. "Do you know what it's like, watching you almost die? Carrying you, while everyone else just watched? I saw my past life end with your body cold in my arms, and I swore I'd tear the world apart before I let that happen again."
Erevan's brows pulled as he don't understand altogether."Carlos—"
"You're my brother. Not a symbol. Not a puppet king with a paper crown and a mother who poisons him when he stops smiling."
He swallowed hard, eyes glassy with pain.
"I'd burn the whole palace before I let her take you from me again."
Silence. Then—
Erevan chuckled, softly, bitterly. "You really are more stubborn than me."
Carlos's mouth twitched at the corner. "Took you long enough to realize."
" About the past life.... And what is it." Erevan asked and Carlos didn't answer.
There was a long pause between them. The storm still hung in the air, but the worst of it had passed.
Carlos sat back down, resting his arms on his knees. He stared at the floor, his voice quiet now.
"So what do we do?"
Erevan stared at the ceiling understanding that his brother didn't want to speak about that, so he followed the next case."We gather proof. Not just suspicions, not just whispers. Real evidence. Enough that even the nobles she owns can't save her."
Carlos looked at him. "And then?"
Erevan didn't answer right away. His fingers twisted in the edge of the blanket. His voice was softer this time.
"Then I won't have to be the one who stops her."
Carlos blinked. "You mean—?"
Erevan met his eyes.
"I'll order it if I must. But if she dies, it can't be by my hand. The Empire can't know a king killed his mother. Even if he loved her once."
Carlos leaned back, breath slow. "Then I'll be your knife. Again."
Erevan didn't reply. But in the silence, in the small peace between the thunder, that old bond settled again. Not prince and king. Not soldier and ruler.
Just brothers.