“Damn him! How dare he insult Mother?!” Marielle’s voice rang out as soon as we stepped away from the dining room. Her hands balled into fists, her entire frame trembling with anger.

  I pulled her gently by the arm, trying to calm her. “Marielle… breathe. You know Rowan has always been like that.”

  “That’s no excuse!” she snapped, glaring at me. “Not only did he insult Mother, but Father didn’t even defend her. And he made us leave! It’s unfair!”

  I sighed deeply. Compared to me, my elder sister bore the brunt of the family’s discrimination. I had grown accustomed to it—emotionally detached after countless lifetimes—but Marielle could never ignore the injustices that surrounded us. She craved acknowledgment, a sense that Father valued her and Mother’s memory.

  Our position in the palace had always been precarious. Mother had died shortly after giving birth to me, leaving Marielle and me without support from the powerful factions that favored Helena and her children. Being born after Father’s first children meant that we were always second-class in the eyes of the court. And Rowan, with his cruel words, exploited that weakness at every opportunity.

  The reason he dared call Mother a “slut” had deep roots. Before marrying Father, Mother had been the daughter of a minor noble, serving as a maid in the palace. Father had been married to Helena and already had our eldest brother, Alan, when he fell for Mother. Obsessed, he insisted on marrying her as his second empress, ignoring court objections and Helena’s anger.

  In life, polygamy was common in the empire. But Mother’s low social standing made her ascension as queen scandalous. Many nobles whispered that she had seduced the emperor, clouding his judgment. While she lived, Father’s support protected her honor. After her death, however, the court—and especially Rowan—used her memory as a weapon. Father’s guilt over leaving Helena and her children alone only allowed Rowan’s insults to go unpunished.

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  I guided Marielle into a side room, shutting the door behind us. “Daisy, make sure no one comes in,” I instructed quietly. Once alone, I turned to Marielle.

  “Why do you always lose your temper so quickly?” I asked softly. “I told you it’s better to ignore him.”

  “I know, Edric!” she snapped, her dark eyes glimmering with tears. “But how can I ignore it when he insults Mother? I can’t understand how you stay so calm!”

  I reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek. “It’s for our own good. Father has always favored Helena’s children. Fighting back only puts us at a disadvantage—especially when he’s nearby.”

  Marielle’s shoulders slumped slightly. After a long pause, she whispered, “Sorry… I caused trouble again.”

  “You’re my sister,” I replied. “It’s not trouble. I’m here to protect you.”

  Marielle’s face softened, and she reached out to hold my hand. “You’re the only one I can rely on, Edric,” she murmured. Her grip was firm, yet there was a quiet vulnerability in her voice.

  I nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “Always,” I said.

  A faint knock interrupted the moment. “Big brother, Marielle… are you here? Can I come in?”

  Marielle immediately let go of my hand and smoothed her dress, regaining her composed, dignified demeanor. “You may,” she said.

  I opened the door with a small smile.

  Standing in the doorway was my youngest sister, Sylvia Valemont, just sixteen years old. She had the Valemont family’s signature blue hair and striking blue eyes. Her height was between Marielle and Daphne, giving her a graceful, balanced presence.

  “Good morning,” I said warmly. “Come in, Sylvia. You don’t need to be nervous—we were just talking.”

  Sylvia stepped inside cautiously, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I… I wanted to see you both before Father starts his meetings,” she admitted softly. “I thought… maybe we could spend some time together first.”

  Marielle gave her a subtle nod, her expression softening. “We’re glad you came. You’re always welcome here, Sylvia.”

  Sylvia’s small smile grew, and she moved a little closer. Her presence, quiet and gentle, brought a rare calm to the room. For a brief moment, the tensions of the palace, the rivalries, and the insults of Rowan felt distant.

  I leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. Even amidst the scheming and cruelty of the court, these moments reminded me of why family mattered. Perhaps, despite everything, there was still something worth protecting in this fractured household.