The palace library was quiet that morning, sunlight filtering through tall arched windows, pooling over rows of parchment, leather-bound tomes, and gilded maps. It was a calm, studious atmosphere.

  Edmund sat at one of the long oak tables, quill in hand, a stack of scrolls neatly arranged before him. Across from him, Aristide wrestled with a parcel tied shut with Odilon’s unmistakably complicated knotwork. General Grenier, tutor for the day, stood between the two princes with his arms folded in a posture of patient authority.

  “As agreed, Prince Edmund,” Grenier started, voice firm. “Prince Aristide and I will assist you today. Reviewing history with one’s sibling is a fine habit, Your Highness.”

  Edmund nodded. “I suppose so.”

  “A king’s path becomes clearer,” the general continued, “if he understands where he came from.”

  Edmund gave him a respectful nod.

  “Only then can you—”

  “WHOA!”

  Aristide’s shout exploded across the library like a thunderclap, cutting off Grenier.

  The general jolted. Edmund nearly dropped his quill.

  “By the gods, Highness!” Grenier exhaled, pressing a hand over his chest. “You nearly frightened the life out of me!”

  Aristide didn’t hear him, or perhaps he didn’t care.

  He was already tearing into the parcel with spark-like enthusiasm, eyes wide.

  “This… this is incredible!” he exclaimed, lifting a thick ancient tome bound in cracked blue leather. “The Ardeian Realm: The Cradle of Civilization!”

  Grenier blinked.

  “Where in Hemera did Lord Odilon get his hands on that?”

  “What’s that book?” Edmund asked, standing up and leaning over the table.

  Grenier let out a chuckle. “A study of the first known civilization on Hemera. If I recall, only a handful of complete accounts remain intact.”

  Aristide held the book aloft as though it were treasure. “Oh, this is not just an account! This is a masterpiece! Look at the spine, look at the seal, Odilon must have spent a fortune!”

  Grenier raised an eyebrow. “Odilon does know how to trigger your brother’s… ah, very carefully hidden passions.”

  Aristide grinned without shame. “I do not deny it.”

  Edmund slid into the seat beside him, eyes bright with curiosity. “Can I take a look?”

  Grenier lifted a finger, wagging it lightly. “Prince Edmund, let your brother tear through his new book for now. You, on the other hand, will answer a few simple questions from me. Let us see what you’ve remembered.”

  Why did he have to sound so menacing? Edmund thought.

  He swallowed hard, straightening in his chair while Grenier glared as though he just unsheathed a blade the prince couldn’t quite parry.

  “First question,” Grenier began. “When was Ambria first colonized by Cervolna?”

  Edmund’s eyes darted to the ceiling, then the table, searching his mind for the answer.

  “Um… year 300 Before the Concordian Calendar?”

  Grenier shook his head slowly.

  “Mm-mm. Incorrect, Your Highness. That was when Cervolna sent its first explorer.”

  Edmund scratched the side of his head, frowning, clearly stuck.

  Before Grenier could press further, Aristide, still hunched over the Ardeian tome, spoke.

  “Year 216 Before the Concordian Calendar,” he recited, getting the two’s attention.

  “Two years after the Battle of the Ambrian Plains, in which the combined forces of Cervolna, Magenholt, and Baldoraim defeated the united barbarian armies of Ambria, the region was declared open for colonization. The first settlers were soldiers rewarded with land after the great battle.”

  Grenier’s eyebrows lifted in approval.

  “Excellent, Prince Aristide.”

  Edmund slumped slightly in his chair.

  “Now,” Grenier declared, straightening as though preparing to summon a lightning spell,

  “what was the name of the first Cervolnan settlement granted the status of Free City, by which king, and when?”

  A bead of sweat formed instantly on Edmund’s temple.

  He began fidgeting with his fingers, eyes darting anywhere except toward Grenier’s expectant stare.

  Aristide, still without lifting his gaze, answered effortlessly.

  “Year 108 Before the Concordian Calendar. King Clovis II granted the settlement of Eostre the status of Free City after it reached the requisite population of five thousand, along with an annual revenue equal to approximately 1.2 million Ambri in today’s currency.”

  Grenier nodded, thoroughly pleased.

  “Well done once again, Prince Aristide.”

  Then he turned back toward Edmund, slowly, hands clasped behind his back and one eyebrow raised high.

  “Things,” he announced,

  “are not looking good for you, Prince Edmund.”

  Edmund leaned back a little, as if trying to retreat through the chair.

  “I… I knew some of that,” he muttered.

  Grenier’s eyes narrowed with playful menace.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And now,” Grenier said, lowering his voice with the theatrical menace of a man about to deliver the finishing blow, “for my third question.”

  He leaned in, eyes narrowed.

  “When did Cervolna’s Ambrian territories gain their independence, how, and why?”

  Edmund gritted his teeth.

  Sweat rolled freely down from his temple to his neck.

  His throat tightened.

  His mind went blank.

  And before he could even begin to panic properly—

  Aristide answered once again.

  “Year 279 of the Concordian Calendar,” he said calmly. “The True Order, a collective of Cervolna’s old nobility, led by Duke Barthélemy Desruelle VI of Glanum, staged a successful coup that deposed and executed King Ernest III. The king’s famous last words were, ‘If you refuse to accept the future, then perhaps it is indeed your destiny to be buried with the past.’”

  Grenier raised a brow, impressed.

  Edmund silently wondered if his brother actually slept with books under his pillow.

  “In response,” Aristide went on, “the Margrave of Durandal, Philip Archambault, and the Margrave of Aldana, Bertrand Rohan, who refused to acknowledge Barthélemy’s rule, declared their territories independent from Cervolna.”

  Archambault? Edmund thought.

  Before he could think further, Grenier’s voice thundered.

  The general nodded with fatherly pride.

  “A true scholar you are, Prince Aristide.”

  He then turned slowly toward Edmund.

  The older prince shrank in his chair like a condemned prisoner awaiting judgment.

  “Highness,” Grenier said slowly, folding his arms, “is there anything you remember?”

  Edmund’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling, searching for something, anything.

  “I know Aurelith used to be called Lismontagne.”

  Grenier nodded once. “And why the name change?”

  “Rucaldia came and… changed it?” Edmund attempted.

  Grenier’s eyebrow twitched. “What more?”

  Edmund spent an entire minute guessing, fumbling dates, mixing events, and circling the same two names until he tied himself into verbal knots.

  Grenier exhaled through his nose. “Prince Edmund… I see you have completely neglected your studies.”

  The words struck like a hammer. Edmund’s shoulders sagged, his gaze falling to the table.

  “I’m sorry, General…”

  Grenier’s tone relaxed, but only slightly. “Highness, we do not expect you to remember everything as Prince Aristide does,” he flicked a glance toward the younger prince, who remained absorbed in his book, utterly unaware. “But we do expect you to be familiar with the most important events of our history.”

  “Yes, General…” Edmund murmured.

  Before Grenier could continue, an attendant entered the library. “General Grenier, sir, there is a matter requiring your attention.”

  The attendant leaned in and whispered in the general’s ear.

  Grenier clicked his tongue. “Of course it would be now…”

  He turned back to the princes. “Highnesses, this shouldn’t take long. We will continue once I return.” He left swiftly, boots echoing on marble.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The moment the door shut, Edmund’s head snapped toward Aristide to check whether he was looking.

  He wasn’t, still buried in his newest treasure, eyes practically glowing.

  Edmund exhaled in relief.

  If I can impress Grenier… surely he won’t press me so hard. Maybe he’ll even let me go early…

  He reached for a book at random, something large and important-looking.

  “The Fair Dominion; The Golden Age.”

  Perfect, the kind of topic Grenier loved asking about.

  Edmund opened it, flipping quickly at first, hunting for bold text, dates, or familiar names.

  He froze.

  His eyes widened.

  The words that stared back at him were not what he expected.

  Not a simple history line or an easy-to-memorize fact.

  But something sharp and heavy.

  “Unprepared” didn’t begin to cover it.

  He had stumbled onto a page that would change far more than just the day’s lesson.

  Edmund traced the lines with his fingertip, whispering the words as though they might vanish if spoken out loud.

  “In the Year 925, on the nineteenth day of Tria, the Ambrian League, led by Durandal, Aldana, and Trinovantes, emerged victorious from the Second Sordonia–Ambrian War. The League was subsequently reformed, and the Kingdom of Beldomagne founded. Roland II of House Archambault, Grand Duke of Durandal, was elected as its first… king.”

  Edmund’s brows drew together.

  “Archambault…?”

  The name lingered in the air, heavy, familiar in a way that unsettled him.

  House Archambault ruled Ambria?

  Could Count Nicolas… be descended from them?

  A strange pressure gathered in Edmund’s chest.

  He swallowed and flipped through the next pages, skipping charts and maps, searching for names, anchors.

  His eyes fell on a passage several chapters ahead.

  “Year 1343, Gavriel IV, the last King of Beldomagne, hailing from the Sabran branch of House Archambault, recklessly funded foreign wars and implemented disastrous commercial policies… causing the total collapse of the kingdom’s economy…”

  Edmund’s breath stilled.

  Sabran-Archambault.

  He turned another page, faster this time.

  He wasn’t sure what he was looking for anymore.

  Only that the truth felt close enough to reach out and touch.

  Then he saw it.

  Aurelith.

  Aurelien.

  The words leapt out at him.

  He leaned over the page, pulse quickening.

  “Year 1344, in the same year the Rucaldian Empire completed its conquest of Beldomagne, a citizen from Aldana named Henri Cartier was appointed Governor of the new Province of Ambria. The Grand Ducal State of Aldana was then granted to him as his personal domain, renamed Aurelith, and his name changed to Henri… Aurelien…”

  Edmund stared, the silence of the library pressing in around him.

  Henri Aurelien.

  The founder of his line.

  He kept on reading, each page more unsettling than the last. There was a faint ring in his ears. The ink seeming to blur. His fingers going numb on the pages. After a few passages, he closed the book.

  Edmund checked on Aristide, who was still fully absorbed in his new book. He didn’t want to disturb him, but curiosity tugged at his feet until he found himself standing beside his brother’s desk.

  “Aristide,” Edmund called softly.

  “Mm?” Aristide replied without looking up.

  “Was it… was it true that our ancestor…” Edmund hesitated, breath catching. “Was it true he was a commoner, made Governor by Rucaldia?”

  Aristide finally looked up, turning to him and noticing the book in Edmund’s hands.

  “So,” Aristide said slowly, “you… skipped to that part?”

  Edmund nodded.

  Aristide rubbed the back of his head. “Yes. He was.”

  “And House Archambault,” Edmund pressed, “the House that used to rule Ambria… that’s the same family Count Nicolas is from, right?”

  Aristide nodded again. “It is.”

  Edmund swallowed. “It says here… that Henri betrayed his country to gain Rucaldia’s—”

  “Highness,” Grenier cut in as he returned, having concluded whatever business had drawn him away. “I apologize for the interruption. Now—”

  He stopped.

  Grenier’s gaze dropped to the book in Edmund’s hands. One eyebrow rose with slow suspicion. “Highness,” the general said, voice firm but not unkind, “why are you holding that book? Don’t tell me you were trying to bypass the lesson by memorizing a few pivotal points to impress me.”

  Edmund couldn’t meet his eyes. His throat tightened. But he mustered enough courage to answer honestly.

  “General… I saw the part about Henri. I want to know if it was all true.”

  Grenier studied him carefully.

  This was not Edmund’s usual evasiveness.

  No boyish attempt at cheating, no playful excuse. His expression was solemn. His voice had softened into something quieter, smaller.

  Grenier’s sternness eased.

  “It is true, Highness,” he said at last. “Henri Cartier, your ancestor, was made Governor of the new Province of Ambria after Rucaldia conquered Beldomagne.”

  Edmund’s fingers tightened around the pages.

  “Then everything he did—” His lips quivered. “Everything written here was true as well?”

  Aristide stopped reading entirely.

  Grenier exhaled—a deep, heavy sound.

  “They were,” he said quietly. “All of it.”

  He stepped closer, as though the truth demanded his full presence.

  “As Governor, Henri was tasked with dissolving Beldomagne and breaking what remained of its unity.”

  Edmund’s chest tightened.

  Grenier continued, his voice low with grim certainty.

  “After Beldomagne was divided into multiple states, Henri withheld grain and supplies from some while favoring others, fostering internal resentment. He ordered the destruction of numerous cultural sites. He then enforced Rucaldia’s imposed quotas—strictly and without question.”

  A pause.

  “The result was famine, starvation, and death, especially in the poorest regions.”

  Edmund’s breath stuttered, barely audible.

  Aristide watched him, worry slowly knitting into his expression.

  “And Aurelith?” Edmund asked quietly.

  “Yes,” Grenier replied. “You were right earlier, Prince Edmund. Lismontagne was renamed Aurelith City afterward. It had been the capital of Aldana, reassigned to Henri after it was taken from House Rohan.”

  Edmund said nothing, but a faint echo rose in his mind.

  It is pointless to remind people of their faults… despite the scope of their consequences.

  Nicolas’s words.

  Nicolas’s stare.

  They felt heavier now—almost suffocating.

  “It is a dark chapter in our history, Highness,” Grenier finished softly. “But it is history all the same.”

  Edmund’s lips tightened. “So our family…” he murmured, voice beginning to fray, “…betrayed our nation, made its people suffer, and stole this land?”

  Grenier’s expression softened at once. “I understand what you feel, Highness,” he said gently. “But you must not carry guilt for acts you did not commit. These were the sins of your ancestors, not yours.”

  “But—” Edmund’s voice wavered.

  “The reason I’m here now… the reason we have all this… is because our family made the rest of Ambria suffer. How can we—how can I—”

  His voice broke.

  Grenier moved before he even finished speaking. The general knelt before him, lowering himself without hesitation.

  “You love people,” Grenier said quietly, “more than any gold or jewel. That much is clear.”

  Edmund’s breath hitched.

  “Yes,” Grenier continued softly, “it is hard to accept that your place, your crown, your future… stands atop what Henri did.”

  He gently took the book from Edmund’s shaking hands, lifting it.

  “That is why,” Grenier said, holding the volume between them, “you must read all of it. Not in fragments. Not only the painful parts. All of it.”

  Edmund finally lifted his gaze. His eyes glistened, hurt, searching.

  “Understand the circumstances,” Grenier said. “Why Henri chose what he chose. Why others did what they did. What pressures, fears, ambitions, and cruelties shaped that era.”

  He lowered the book back into Edmund’s hands with deliberate care. “And when you have done that,” Grenier added, voice steady and firm, “I want us to speak again.”

  “Not to test you. Not to judge you. But to answer one question—”

  His gaze held Edmund’s unflinchingly. “Where you stand now…

  and what path you will take from here?”

  Edmund observed Grenier’s eyes, then slowly lowered his gaze to the book.

  The subtitle stared back at him as though mocking his innocence.

  The Golden Age.

  “I understand,” Edmund finally murmured.

  Grenier gave a gentle tap on his shoulder. “Well… that’s enough history lesson for one day.”

  He straightened his uniform. “I shall attend to my other duties. Do find a way to relax for the rest of the afternoon, Highnesses.”

  “Thank you for today, General Grenier,” Edmund said, bowing politely. “Until our next… lesson.”

  “Until then, Prince Edmund.” Grenier bowed in return and left through the tall double doors.

  The echo of his footsteps faded into silence.

  Only then did Aristide speak. “Come. Let’s walk around the palace. Maybe we’ll find something to distract you.”

  Edmund nodded faintly. “Right… let’s go.”

  The two brothers stepped out of the library. As they walked down the corridor, Edmund’s eyes drifted upward.

  Toward the gilded chandeliers, the painted vaults, the carved pillars.

  Every glittering ornament felt heavier now.

  Someone paid for this.

  In suffering.

  Aristide’s voice reached him, distant and muffled, as though through water.

  “Edmund.”

  “Edmund.”

  “Brother!”

  Edmund blinked and snapped back. “Oh—uh. Sorry.”

  Aristide followed Edmund’s earlier gaze to the chandelier they’d passed.

  A gold framework, crystalline droplets shimmering like stars.

  “Still bothered by the book?”

  Edmund didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked quietly,

  “What did you feel… the first time you read it?”

  Aristide’s expression slackened. He lowered his gaze, watching two servants tending the potted laurels along the hall.

  “I was disappointed,” he said at last.

  Edmund turned to him fully.

  “A few years ago,” Aristide continued, “I was excited. Thrilled, really. I’d finally reached the part of history about how our family rose to nobility.”

  He walked a few steps ahead and stopped before a tall window overlooking the palace gardens. Outside, the fountain had already been shut off for the coming winter, its marble basin dry and cold.

  “I imagined our ancestor saving the land,” he said softly. “Fending off a great beast. Rallying people. Driving away an invading army.”

  He gave a faint, self-mocking smile.

  “Those were my thoughts. That perhaps he had led the battle against Rucaldia’s legions…”

  Aristide placed his hand gently on the windowpane, as if touching the world beyond.

  “And then?” Edmund asked.

  Aristide exhaled slowly. His fingers curled against the cold glass.

  “Then I reached the part,” he said, “where he accepted the empire’s offer of governorship—where the nobles of Ambria were forced to bow to him… with Rucaldia’s weapons pressed to their people’s throats.”

  Edmund stiffened.

  Aristide continued, his voice tightening,

  “when he led the burning of Eostre, ordered the hunting of the clergy, seized entire estates from families who had lived there for centuries.”

  He stopped.

  His breath came unevenly, the memory still capable of shaking him even years later.

  “It was… too much,” he whispered. “I thought I was reading about the rise of our house. Instead…”

  His eyes clouded, dark and distant.

  “…I was reading the fall of a civilization.”

  Aristide lowered his hand from the window.

  “I felt ashamed. Angry. And helpless all at once.”

  He turned to Edmund.

  “I looked around, just like you did. At the portraits, the marble, the gardens, and realized that every stone beneath our feet exists because someone suffered for it.”

  Aristide’s voice softened.

  “How did you get over it?” Edmund asked.

  Aristide didn’t answer at once.

  His eyes stayed on the courtyard beyond the window—on the trees shedding their last leaves as winter crept in. For a long moment, he simply watched them fall, grounding himself in the quiet motion.

  Then, slowly, a small smile formed on his lips.

  He turned to Edmund.

  Edmund blinked. “What is it?”

  The smile widened, first gently, then into a bright, almost boyish curve.

  “You…” Aristide said.

  Edmund stared, baffled. “Me? What about me?”

  “You,” Aristide repeated, steadier now, “and Father. And Mother. And everyone here.”

  Edmund angled his head, confusion deepening.

  Aristide stepped closer, leaning lightly against the marble column beside them.

  “The reason I got over it,” he explained, “was not because I accepted it or denied it. It happened regardless.”

  “It was all of you.”

  “Every time we talked. Or walked the gardens. Or laughed at the dinner table. Little by little, those moments chipped away at the shame.”

  He breathed out, steady now.

  “It was… embarrassing, yes.”

  His smile faded for a breath, shadowed by the memory of the pages he’d read.

  Then it returned, warm and honest.

  “But I wouldn’t be here now if not for that history,” Aristide continued. “It can’t be changed. None of us can change it.”

  He glanced back at Edmund.

  “So all that was left was to live well in spite of it.”

  He placed a hand on Edmund’s shoulder.

  “And all of you… all of you made that possible for me.”

  Edmund stared at him for a moment, lips slightly parted.

  “Edmund?” Aristide asked, now the confused one.

  Suddenly, Edmund cracked a smile. Small at first, then spilling into a barely contained giggle.

  Aristide raised an eyebrow. “Did I say something funny?”

  Edmund shook his head quickly. “No, no. It’s just… I never thought you were the type to appreciate company.”

  Aristide squinted, calculating, offended, and dramatic all at once, like a predator about to pounce.

  “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice dangerously level.

  “Well,” Edmund said, “you do spend more time with books than with people. Even when we’re together, you rarely show sentiment. Sure, sometimes you say I’ll make a good king, but mostly you talk about history, duty… or criticize my manners.”

  Aristide’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing into a glare.

  “What?” Edmund asked.

  Aristide folded his hands behind his back and lifted his chin in royal indignation.

  “Well, if you find my sentiment comical,” he declared, “then perhaps you’d better find someone else to spend the rest of the day with. Or the week. That might be wiser.”

  He turned on his heel with theatrical grace and began walking away.

  “No—no, that’s not what I meant!” Edmund hurried after him. “I’m sorry, Aristide!”

  Edmund chased after his brother, hands raised, trying and failing to smother his laughter.

  Aristide didn’t slow his pace, chin lifted, hands clasped behind him with exaggerated dignity.

  But even he couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  As they walked down the corridor together, bickering and teasing, Edmund felt something inside him loosen, even if just a little.

  And true to Aristide’s words, nothing eased a burdened mind better than being with one’s loved ones.