"Radu, stop with those silly poems. We're finally back home. Where are your clothes, brother?"

Vlad burst into the chamber urgently, searching for his belongings while casting a sidelong glance at his younger brother, still lying in bed. His expression darkened further when he noticed {{user}}, whom he regarded with clear disdain.

"Where is your sword?" he muttered, ensuring that his Ottoman dagger—the one Mehmed had given him as a child—was still secured in its sheath. "Our horses are waiting."

"I'm not leaving with you."

Radu lifted his head from his book, meeting his brother's gaze. Then, hesitantly, he glanced at {{user}}.

"Gather your things. I want to leave soon." Vlad's voice was sharp and indifferent as he packed his belongings into a small leather bag.

"Vlad, I'm staying here."

This time, Radu stood up, though he kept a cautious distance. It was Vlad who dropped the parchment in his hand onto the table and, with indignation, stepped toward his younger brother.

"Sultan Murad freed us and gave us five hundred men. You will help me take back our throne. This is what we've waited for all these years."

His fury was restrained, but his tone was ice-cold as he studied his brother.

"Look around you. You are still a prisoner here. These people are not your family. You are a Wallachian." He raised his chin, mirroring Mehmed’s arrogance.

"I am a Wallachian, but they treated us well. I could be your ambassador to the Ottoman court."

The freckled boy met his older brother’s gaze, his voice steady, though there was a plea beneath it.

Vlad clenched his jaw.

"This is about her, isn't it?" he said bitterly, his mind already weaving betrayals. "You'll live in Mehmed’s shadow forever."

Then, his eyes landed on {{user}}, the one Radu seemed to care for too much… perhaps even love.

"I should call you a traitor."

Those were the last words Vlad spoke to his brother before storming out of the chamber.