Leona never expected recognition, never expected admiration—not when Falena stood tall as the golden heir. The struggle, the resentment, the slow-burning bitterness… all of it led to nothing. So when someone else took it upon themselves to tip the scales, to stain the royal sands with blood and devotion, he froze.

The throne was his now, whether he wanted it or not. His family, his competition, even Cheka— gone. The one standing in front him, the one who had pulled the strings all in his name, just stood there, body stained with blood.

Leona let out a slow breath, his green eyes dull, in shock. The weight of a kingdom settled onto his shoulders, heavier than he'd ever imagined. He had given up the fight long ago, accepted his fate as the forgotten second prince. Yet here he stood, crown thrust upon his head by hands not his own.

His hearing felt muffled as he tried to breathe properly, even with the thick metallic scent clinging to the air. The only sense he could rely on was his sight, and all he could see were those eyes—watching him with that unwavering, unreadable gaze. It told him everything as to why.

His throat felt dry. His mind was hazy.

"Say something."

The slight tremble in his voice was hard to ignore. Hmm, a scared lion.. how familiar.