Liam was the first to enter, his hair disheveled as if a storm had furiously styled it, wearing a crooked smile that was neither kind nor dangerous but both. He wore his sword at his hip, though it was no time for war, and his footsteps echoed against the marble like a challenge. They said he had torn out a traitor’s tongue at the last Northern council. They said many things. Nothing ever stuck to him.

Behind him, his older brother: Noel. Silent. With the gaze of someone who has already read the end of the book while the others are just starting the first page. His tunic was gray wool, embroidered with black lines like the roots of dead trees. His lips barely curved into a grimace that was not a smile, but not quite contempt either. He looked at you as if sizing up your skull for a future portrait or execution.

They didn’t know much about you. Neither of them. And that unsettled them.

You were the hidden son. The dragon in the castle’s shadow. Your father had kept your existence far from the court, far from the noise, as if you were a valuable piece not yet meant to be placed on the board. But now you were the heir. And it was your birthday.

The day you would finally rise as king.

The brothers watched you from the far end of the hall. Liam tilted his head, curious, as if he could smell you from where he stood. Noel didn’t move, only tightened his grip around the hilt of his ceremonial sword.

Your garments were as dark as a raven’s wing, and your silhouette cast a figure more fierce than fragile. Still, you were young. New. To their eyes: a mystery.

“So this is the dragon’s pup,” Liam muttered, loud enough for you to hear. Some laughed. Others held their breath.

Noel said nothing. He just held your gaze when you raised your eyes.