LOGIN*Mykhol*Ana was…. Illegitimate. The words didn’t echo in the study, but they might as well have. They loomed over him, coating like a heavy smoke, seeping into the very corners of the room, staining the stone walls, slipping between the cracks like the soft rasp between his staggered breath.Mykhol stood at his hearth with one hand braced against the mantle, fingers spread over the cold rock as if it could steady him. Firelight licked along the gold of his rings. Usually, the sight pleased him— a reminder of his position, his power—yet now? The metal only clicked when he shifted. A hollow and flinching murmur. Too small. An involuntary sound that felt too close to shackles than the symbol it should have been. As if even the precious metal could be rendered worthless… given the right push. He tightened his grip.Stone bit back through the pads of his fingers. The chill grounded him for a moment—enough to notice the other things that had become suddenly loud: the faint grit of soo
*Bruno*(Song recommendation for this chapter: Light of the Seven by Ramin Djawadi)Bruno stood alone in the middle of the courtroom, feeling the cold sink into him like a living thing—not merely temperature, but a sentience that seemed to understand exactly what had been stripped from him. The stone beneath his feet absorbed his weight with a ruthless indifference, each vein feeling like a silent witness to his unraveling. His skull was still ringing from the marble's brutal kiss.The sting of drying blood pulling at the corner of his mouth each time he swallowed. And the place his mother had been standing was now an absence so sharp it felt haunted—like a missing limb, like a wound that wouldn't stop reaching for what it had lost.His bangs had slipped back into place, veiling his eyes further, but they didn’t feel like armor anymore. Not after Mykhol easily took even that from him. Exposing him, like a babe ripped from the crib and found wanting.And still, across from him, Mykhol
*Bruno*The courtroom felt like an ice-sealed tomb—stone and shadow breathing with a cold so precise it could slice flesh from bone. The long, hollow windows sweated a chill that crept across the air like invisible talons, gripping tighter with each passing moment.Only two figures stood illuminated in the dying candlelight.Like fire and ice.Sir Bruno versus the Black Knight.Mykhol still loomed over him, close enough that Bruno could taste him in every inhale—pepper and something dark, wine-rich and choking. His hand remained near Bruno’s face for a beat longer than necessary, rings catching the last restless flickers of torchlight, as if he were unable to pull himself back. Too tempted to savor this moment where Bruno couldn’t retreat.Bruno’s lip throbbed once more, where Funda had struck him; the wound sealing up now, healing, but the dried blood dragged at his skin like a reminder branded into his very being. He held himself still, jaw locked, palms stinging where his nails had
*Bruno*The moment crystallized like a crack through glass before the door even finished settling on its hinges.A razor-sharp click of heels against marble. A blur of movement so swift it sliced the air—a whip of velvet, the striking gleam of gold rings against pale skin, a hand already rising as if it had been waiting for permission all night.Cold wind rushed past, carrying the bite of stale ashen fire pits gone to embers, the sputtering torchlight, and Lady Funda's perfume— a thick gagging cluster of overlayered scents that had burned a hole in some corner of his vulnerable memories. It swallowed him.Bruno’s body tried to move- do what it had been systematically trained for. A mechanical response caved into him by fourteen years of relentless abuses. Hands instinctively rising. Head angling down. Shield the face. Brace for impact constructed from learned helplessness.But this time, his mind was a heartbeat too slow.The slap landed with a sound that seemed to crack the very marb
It was late. Very late. Bruno didn’t need a clock to tell him—he felt the hour etched into the very bones of the palace. The air had transformed into something razor-thin and sharp, as past midnight had carved itself into the very atmosphere. Sound itself seemed reluctant, exhausted, the corridor holding its breath like the walls were living things that had witnessed too many secrets.The moment he slipped out of Ana’s chamber, the warmth was ripped from him.Most torches had surrendered to the night, burning down to fragile, trembling stubs. Those few flames that still clung to life did so weakly—more phantom than light, casting more shadow than comfort. No servants moved through this wing now, no hands to trim wicks or replenish oil. Ana’s corridor was forgotten, ignored, as if like before —save for just hours ago, when servants and nobles stalked marble in wake of a collapsed Empress. The only time it ever seemed to have changed in all his fourteen years.The door clicked shut beh
*Bruno*“Boy,” the voice came out softly. Almost too much so that for a moment Bruno didn’t even register that it was meant for him. No one spoke to him like that. In such a considerate or respectful manner. Not besides his own mom and Ana, that was. Words that weren't barbed and brutal, slurs and vulgarities towards him or Naska, that he'd learned to let slide past like snow falling on stone.So he didn’t answer.He remained rooted where he'd been planted for hours at the edge of Ana’s bed, shoulders squared in a posture that had long ago shed any remnant of childhood—angular, controlled, a shield built from survival. The chamber had quieted down now, stripped of the chaos that had stormed through it hours earlier— no more frantic servants tripping over themselves, no desperate clatter of medical implements, no arguing physicians whose voices scraped like broken glass.Only the fire spoke now.It chewed through seasoned wood with a steady, almost petulant rhythm, as if disappointe
*Ana*“A confession?” What could Pendwick possibly have to confess to me? I must say, it is quite a surprise to hear, coming from him, of all people.Pendwick is the most forthcoming person I know. He may be shy in his words, yes, but he is candid with me. So, it’s quite a surprise to hear we had s
*ana*“Bruno, I would have thought you, out of everyone, would have liked this idea.” But clearly, I am wrong. And, instead of excitement like I thought, I now have a 14-year-old boy, brooding at me. Bruno’s overgrown dusty red bangs cover his eyes, making it hard to see where he is looking, let a
*Sir Pendwick*He’s going to be mad. Pendwick didn’t even need to bother pretending. The instant he opened his mouth, he knew what he did. No one overspoke the head of the Celbest family.But I did. Worse, Ana even went with his idea. No, this would not be overlooked, and, inwardly, Pendwick sigh
*Ana*“Hidi,” I go, but Hidi simply smiles back at me, the damage already done.“It will fit.” Hidi turns back to overlook the procession of more crates. Her newest ‘gifts’ of ‘decor’ are looming in multiple boxes. Just looking at the boxes now, I’m afraid to even ask what they are.“Hidi,” I sigh







