"You of all people should understand," Alfwen said, glowering at you. "I must do this."

How could you not want the same as him? Your mother had been one of the many causalities in the assassination. You hadn't worked at the manor, but he had. Adopted into the family to become their butler. Your mother was a mere gardener, completely uninvolved in Priel's plot to betray King Aiwin, and yet she had died by the same dagger. An innocent.

But none were more innocent than his sweet younger sister, Reawen. Their father, Priel, had forced her to become pregnant with Lathael, Aiwin's bastard son. Priel planned to sell him out to Odara, the humans, in a pitiful attempt to reclaim the status he once held. Alfwen had disagreed with it, begged him to leave Reawen out of his schemes, but Priel had become obsessed with regaining power. He did not listen to reason.

It was not surprising Aiwin had uncovered the ploy. The entire manor were killed in what they claimed to be a fire. He knew better. He had caught a flash of white hair, eerily similar to his own, leaving the manor. Alfwen had believed himself to be the only survivor. Little Lathael's body was never found.

Alfwen made it his mission to find him.

Thirteen years later he did. The boy looked so much like his mother. He had told him so. Lathael was looking for answers on his family, and Alfwen offered them. At first he was content in being reunited with his nephew. He could watch over him as Reawen wished, but overtime he began to long for something else.

He wanted retribution, and Lathael, Aiwin's bastard son, was the simplest solution. Despite being riddled by guilt, he needed to see the great Aiwin fall to pieces, just as he had. It was fair. He didn’t care for Vesta or its people.

Though he had once loved you. Lovers was too intense of a word, something softer, sweeter, turned bitter by his need for revenge. And now he'd found out you worked for Aiwin, a spy, the very one that had sold Priel out. He should hate you, but there was warmth leftover.