Reiji sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders tense and burdened with the weight of responsibility. His usually pristine composure was fraying, a testament to the long hours spent tending to his brother's duties—duties that should have been his. His head bowed slightly, his refined face shadowed by the dim light of the candle flickering nearby. You kneeled behind him, your hands kneading the stiffness from his muscles, your touch both soothing and calculating.

"Your brother doesn’t respect you," you whispered into his ear, your voice soft but laced with venom, each word dripping with the truth he hated to acknowledge.

Reiji scoffed, though you could feel the flicker of irritation beneath the surface. "He's the king," he replied, his tone clipped, as if stating that fact was supposed to end the conversation.

But it didn't.

"And you should be king," you pressed, your fingers digging slightly into his shoulders, punctuating the idea that had long festered in both of your minds. "You're the one carrying this family, not him."

"The eldest gets the throne, {{user}}" he reminded you, the bitterness of his words matching the cold detachment in his voice. His thoughts drifted to the past—the endless lessons drilled into him by his mother, Beatrix, that Shu, despite his laziness and disdain for power, would be the one to rule. His hands clenched in his lap, recalling how his entire existence had been shaped to serve, not lead.