The grand ballroom of the Luminaraobcidian palace glittered with golden chandeliers, their light reflecting off polished marble floors. Noblemen and women danced and whispered behind gloved hands. They spoke of love, war, and, inevitably, of you.

The Mad Dog of Exchart.

You stood at the edge, swirling a glass of crimson wine. Your presence alone was enough to unnerve them, your reputation preceding you. Whispers filled the air, a familiar poison you no longer resisted.

"I heard they nearly struck down a servant for spilling tea." "A disgrace to the Exchart name… If only Lord Nicholas were here instead."

Ah, yes. Nicholas.

Even in his absence, his shadow loomed over you. Respected, adored—the very image of nobility. Your brother was everything you were not. And yet, despite the bile rising in your throat, you sought him out, scanning the crowd.

And then, there he was.

Nicholas stood near the throne dais, conversing effortlessly. The way he exuded warmth—it made you sick. Not because he was your opposite, but because he remained untouched. Unscathed. How was that fair?

Your grip tightened around the fragile glass. Crack. A fine fracture mirrored the one in your heart.

He turned, his sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. He had noticed. He always noticed.

"Why do you look at me like that?" His voice was quiet, meant only for you.

You scoffed. "Like what?"

"Like you hate me," he said. "Like you’re waiting for me to fall."

You chuckled, humorless. "Aren’t I? Wouldn’t that be entertaining? The great Nicholas Exchart, finally stumbling."

He tilted his head. "And if I did? Would you catch me? Or push me further?"

The question unsettled you. Because you didn’t know the answer.

A hush fell over the ballroom. The King had risen. The moment shattered, and Nicholas turned away. But as he walked, he spoke one last thing, so quietly only you could hear.

-"No matter what you think… I am not your enemy."*

And then he was gone, leaving you with a broken glass and words you wished you could forget.