Marco slipped back into the castle under the cover of night, his cloak damp with salt, his thoughts heavy. The guards didn’t question him—none dared question one of the four kings. Still, he moved quietly, avoiding the torchlight, his heart pounding with every step.

  When he reached his chambers, he shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. His brothers were asleep in their own rooms, their breathing steady through the stone walls. The regent council would meet again in the morning. No one knew.

  No one but him.

  Marco sat at his desk, staring into the dim glow of the lantern. His hands trembled, the memory of Sapphire’s voice and the vision of Coralyth playing again and again in his mind.

  Why, Father?

  He thought of Gerald—the hero, the protector, the man who gave his life for them in the square. The father who taught them to be strong, to stand united. The father who told them to cherish their kingdom and its people.

  But now he had seen another side: Gerald the conqueror, the king who had burned his glory into the depths of the sea, who had stolen the lifeblood of another people to feed his own realm.

  Marco clenched his fists, water swirling faintly around them as his emotions spilled into his element.

  Was it necessary? Did he have no choice? Or did he hide it because even he knew it was wrong?

  The whispers of the sea still echoed faintly in his ears. Sapphire’s eyes—full of sorrow but also truth—haunted him. She had not lied. He could feel it.

  He pressed his palms into his eyes, trembling. If war came, it would be because of Gerald’s choices long before Marco’s birth. The people would look to him, to all four of them, to defend the kingdom. But how could he defend a legacy built on stolen tides?

  The water at his feet rippled in silence, answering no questions.

  The Next Day – Training with Vanessa

  The training court was quiet save for the sound of flowing water. Marco moved in steady, practiced forms, his mother circling him like a tide, correcting his stance with small gestures. His body followed the motions she’d drilled into him—fluid strikes, redirecting sweeps, defensive spins—but his mind was far from the courtyard.

  Vanessa noticed immediately. His movements lacked intent. The water he summoned faltered, crashing to the ground instead of flowing with precision.

  “Again,” she said, her tone calm but sharp.

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  Marco obeyed, but his eyes were distant, clouded with thought. After his third mistake, Vanessa caught his wrist mid-motion and stilled him. Her gaze was steady, probing, the kind only a mother could wield.

  “You’re not here,” she said softly. “Your hands move, but your heart is elsewhere. What troubles you, my son?”

  Marco hesitated, staring at the ground. The weight of Sapphire’s revelation sat heavy on his chest, yet he couldn’t reveal it—not yet, not without understanding it himself. Still, the question clawed at him, begging to be spoken aloud.

  Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers.

  “Mother… what if a king—long ago—did something terrible? Something hidden, something that hurt others… but it made his kingdom thrive. His people grew stronger, safer, richer because of it. Does that make it right? Or was it still wrong, even if it saved his realm?”

  The water at his feet rippled faintly, echoing the tremor in his voice.

  Vanessa studied him in silence, her expression unreadable, as if she already sensed there was more to this than mere philosophy.

  Vanessa held Marco’s gaze for a long, quiet moment. Her grip on his wrist loosened, and she stepped back, letting the water between them fall into stillness.

  “A king’s choices,” she began softly, “are never simple. Sometimes, to protect his people, he must make sacrifices—sacrifices others would call cruel, or even monstrous. It is easy to judge when you are not the one carrying the crown.”

  She turned, pacing slowly along the edge of the training court, her eyes distant as if recalling Gerald in his younger years.

  “But,” she continued, her voice firm now, “a choice that prospers one people at the ruin of another is no true victory. It plants seeds of bitterness that will grow, even if it takes a generation to bear fruit. The world remembers, even when men try to hide their sins.”

  Marco’s chest tightened at her words.

  Vanessa looked back at him, her tone gentler. “The greater good is not only measured in the lives saved today, but in the peace it can hold tomorrow. Power can protect… but it can also wound. A wise ruler must see both truths at once.”

  She stepped closer, brushing a hand along his cheek like she had when he was a boy. “If ever you are burdened by such choices, Marco, remember this: mercy and justice must walk together, or else one will always destroy the other.”

  Her hand fell away, and she turned, signaling for him to resume his stance. “Now… again. Flow like the tide, not the storm.”

  Marco obeyed, though her words pressed deep into his heart, echoing against the secret he carried.

  Marco flowed through his mother’s drills, his movements sharper now but still carrying a heaviness he couldn’t disguise. From the far edge of the training court, half-hidden in the shade of a column, Jax watched.

  He leaned casually against the stone, arms folded, eyes narrowed. To anyone else, Marco looked like a boy practicing forms, but Jax knew better. He knew the way his brother’s jaw tightened, the way his gaze flicked not inward for focus but outward for escape.

  Something’s eating him, Jax thought, spinning a knife lazily between his fingers. And it isn’t just training fatigue.

  He didn’t call him out. Not yet. Jax never pressed directly—that wasn’t his way. He preferred to wait, to observe, to let people reveal themselves. And Marco, despite his discipline, was showing cracks.

  That evening, as torches burned low and the castle slipped into silence, Marco stirred from his chambers. Cloak drawn close, steps soft against the stone, he moved with purpose, slipping past guards like a shadow on the wall.

  But another shadow followed.

  Jax trailed a dozen paces behind, his movements silent, every step hidden in darkness. He kept his distance, knives tucked away, letting Marco believe he was alone. His smirk was faint, but his eyes were sharp, watching every motion.

  Brother, Jax thought, whatever secret you’re chasing, you’re not chasing it alone anymore.