The sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting bright, colored patterns across the tiles. A warm breeze fluttered the curtains. In the center of the room, a low table sat surrounded by cushions.
Carlos had dragged Erevan here.
The king still looked too pale, but at least he was sitting upright, blanket wrapped around his legs, mug of tea in hand. His crown had been abandoned on the windowsill, replaced by a loose braid Lumira forced him to wear because "you are not dying again with tangled hair."
"You can't bully your king," Erevan mumbled.
"I can if he keeps coughing blood in front of the public like some tragic heroine," Carlos replied, slicing an apple with precise, soldier-like hands. "Seriously. Do you have to make dramatic entrances every time?"
"Pot," Erevan said, sipping his tea, "meet kettle."
From the corner, Lumira scoffed as she unpacked a basket of herbs.
"You two are impossible," she muttered. "If I had a coin for every time one of you collapsed, I'd build a new infirmary just for your melodrama."
Carlos pointed at her with the apple slice. "You love us."
"No," she said flatly. "I tolerate you because I swore an oath."
"Cold," Erevan muttered.
The door opened with a creak and a familiar clanking.
Ser Edric, the youngest knight in Carlos's Eastern company, stepped in holding a tray stacked with bread and cheese. He blinked at the room, then grinned.
"Ah. The royal sickroom turned brunch garden."
Carlos rolled his eyes. "You were supposed to bring the reports, not breakfast."
"His Majesty needs strength," Edric said innocently, placing the tray beside Erevan. "And you need food before you murder another queen."
Carlos stared. "You're lucky you're useful."
Erevan laughed so hard he almost dropped his tea. Lumira caught it with a glare.
"You're all children," she said. "Every single one of you."
---
AFTER BREAKFAST
Later, when the food was gone and the others drifted away, Erevan leaned his head back against the wall, gaze distant.
"The priests come tomorrow," he said softly.
Carlos nodded, more serious now. "To ask which god you'll bind the Empire to."
Erevan hesitated. "What if I choose wrong?"
"You won't."
"I might," he said. "I killed Father without a god. Without a blessing. I've ruled alone. But if I choose wrong, the whole kingdom might suffer."
Carlos looked at him long and hard.
Then, quietly, he said, "You've already chosen one god before anyone else."
Erevan blinked. "What do you mean?"
Carlos leaned back. "You chose the people. You chose the Empire. You chose peace over power. That's more than most kings do."
Erevan smiled faintly. "And what about you?"
Carlos shrugged. "I didn't choose. I was chosen. Not a fan of fate, though. She's or he's loud and opinionated."
That earned a tired laugh.
"Don't worry," Carlos said, quieter now. "You'll pick someone. But even if you didn't… you'd still be my king."
And Erevan—strong, weary, but smiling—reached over and gripped his brother's hand.
"And you're my duke." he whispered.
---
NIGHT BEFORE THE CEREMONY
The stars glittered above the palace like scattered fragments of fate, cold and watchful. Below, the city lights pulsed with quiet life.
Carlos leaned on the stone rail of the balcony, a cloak over his shoulders. His gaze was sharp, focused on the horizon—where the white spires of the Temple awaited the dawn.
Behind him, Lumira arrived with her usual silence, a flask of tea in hand.
"He's sleeping," she said.
Carlos didn't turn. "Good."
Kave followed moments later, hair ruffled, a scowl in his eyes. "Barely," he said. "The priests keep slipping messages into his quarters. 'Advising' him on which gods will benefit the Empire most."
"They're all snakes in robes," Lumira muttered, sipping from her flask. "And the king needs a break."
Carlos exhaled, slow. "We all agree."
He finally turned to face them, the firelight from the brazier behind casting deep shadows on his face. The tired lines around his eyes had become permanent these days.
Kave crossed his arms. "Then why are we letting them do this now? Why not delay?"
"Because the nobles are watching," Carlos said. "The Empire needs strength after the Queen's execution. They'll accept a boy king—barely. But not one without a god."
"He's not without a god," Lumira said. "He just hasn't bowed to one."
Carlos gave her a glance of understanding. "He chose the people. But they want to see a god's mark on his skin. Something divine."
Lumira's voice softened. "He still shouldn't be on that altar tomorrow. He's barely healed."
"I know," Carlos said.
Silence fell between them. The wind whispered.
"I just…" Carlos began, then paused. "I wish I could take his place."
"You already have," Kave said quietly. "Over and over again."
Carlos didn't respond, but Lumira reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder.
"Then let's make sure this time," she said, "we protect him from what's coming. Together."
Carlos nodded, gaze firm now. "Together."
---
DAWN
The Temple courtyard was silver with dew, lit by the slow rise of the sun. The banners of the Empire hung high above, and the air shimmered faintly—magic thick around the sacred stones.
A path of pale marble led to the central dais, where five thrones stood—each representing a god that ruled over the Empire's faith.
Erevan stood at the edge, cloaked in royal blue. His hair was tied back, and a golden circlet rested on his head. He looked more prince than king—but his gaze was unwavering.
Behind him, Carlos and Kave stood with a quiet tension. Lumira stood at the edge of the priest ring, arms crossed. She was not a fan of pageantry.
Drums beat once.
The High Priest stepped forward. His robes shimmered with enchantment.
"Let the young king of the Empire step forward," he called, "and speak the name of the god whose flame shall guide our future."
Erevan took a breath.
Carlos watched his brother walk alone toward the dais.
And far above them all, fate held her breath.