Ace’s eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.
The ceiling above him was familiar.
Dark wood beams.
The soft grey light of early dawn came through his own window.
He was in his own bed.
The thick, soft blankets were pulled up to his chin, tucked in neatly around him.
They felt heavy and warm.
He turned his head.
On his bedside table, a single candle burned in a glass holder, its flame small and steady.
Next to it sat a wooden bowl.
Steam rose from it in a gentle curl.
He could smell it—rich, savory broth.
Chicken and herbs.
His favorite when he was sick as a child.
Confusion washed over him, cold and thick.
*How did I get here?*
The last thing he remembered… he was in the library tower.
In his secret nook behind the maps.
He was crying.
The world had ended.
He remembered the feeling of the cold stone floor under his knees.
The taste of salt from his tears.
The crushing weight of being nobody.
He remembered deciding he would never leave that little dark space.
He would just stay there, in the dust, until he faded away.
He must have passed out.
The crying and the shock had been too much.
His body had just… shut down.
But that didn’t explain the bed.
The tucked-in blankets.
The candle.
The broth.
He didn’t remember walking back to his room.
He couldn’t have.
He was a mess.
Then, like pieces of a dream floating up from deep water, other memories came.
Not of walking.
Of being *carried*.
A feeling of weightlessness.
Of strong arms lifting him up from the dusty floor.
He was curled in on himself, but those arms gathered him easily.
He remembered the scent—not his father’s powerful forest smell.
Something cleaner.
Colder.
Like frost on stone and sharp, clean pine.
He remembered his head lolling against a firm, warm shoulder.
The steady, sure footsteps moving through the castle.
Up stairs.
Down hallways.
The world was a dark, rocking blur.
He remembered being laid down on something soft.
His bed.
Gentle hands pulling off his boots.
The weight of the blankets being settled over him.
A touch, brief and careful, brushing the hair back from his damp forehead.
Then nothing.
Until now.
He pushed himself up on his elbows.
The room was quiet.
His room was always a little messy—clothes over a chair, a few books on the floor, a set of throwing knives stuck in a wooden post across the room.
Now, it seemed too still.
His eyes moved from the candle, past the bowl of broth, and landed on the chair he kept by the fireplace.
Someone was sitting in it.
It was Alex.
His brother was slumped in the big chair, asleep.
His head was tilted sideways, resting against the high back.
His long black hair had come loose from its tie and fell across his face.
The pale moonlight from the window fell across him, painting his skin in silver and shadow.
He still wore his clothes from the council meeting—his dark grey tunic, his trousers.
One boot was off, kicked aside.
The other was still on.
And in his lap, one of his hands—still wearing its dark leather fighting glove—was resting, palm up.
Curled within that gloved hand was Ace’s own bare hand.
Alex was holding his hand.
Ace stared.
He couldn’t breathe.
He just stared at their hands.
His own looked small and pale against the dark leather.
Alex’s fingers were curled loosely around his, a gentle cage.
All the confused, broken feelings inside Ace crashed into a single, sharp point.
*Alex.*
His brother.
The one who wasn’t his brother.
The one who had stood behind their father’s chair, straight and strong.
The one who had looked just as shocked and lost as Ace felt when the truth came out.
The one who must have found him.
The cold, clean scent.
The strong arms.
The sure footsteps.
It was Alex.
Alex had come looking for him.
Alex had found him, a crumpled heap in the dust, and had picked him up.
He had carried him all the way back here, through the sleeping castle.
He had put him to bed.
He had lit a candle so he wouldn’t wake up in the dark.
He had gotten broth from the kitchens.
And then he had sat down.
He had taken Ace’s hand.
And he had stayed.
He had fallen asleep watching over him.
Ace’s throat tightened.
A new kind of hurt bloomed in his chest.
This one was warm and aching, not cold and sharp.
He looked at Alex’s sleeping face.
In sleep, all the sternness was gone.
He looked younger.
Tired.
There were shadows under his eyes.
His lips were parted just a little.
He looked… worried, even in his dreams.
This was the boy who had shared pastries with him.
Who had taught him to fight.
Who had stood beside him his whole life.
The brother who had always been there.
The blood in their veins might be different.
The story of their birth might be a lie.
But this?
The hand holding his in the quiet dawn?
This was not a lie.
A tiny sound escaped Ace.
A choked whisper.
It was enough.
Alex’s eyes snapped open.
Crimson eyes, just like Ace’s, but darker, more serious.
They focused instantly, going from asleep to fully awake in a heartbeat.
He looked down at their joined hands, then his gaze flew to Ace’s face.
For a second, they just looked at each other.
The room was silent except for the soft crackle of the candle.
“You’re awake,” Alex said.
His voice was rough from sleep.
He didn’t let go of Ace’s hand.
Ace couldn’t speak.
He just nodded.
Alex sat up straighter, wincing a little.
He had probably gotten a stiff neck from sleeping in the chair.
“You… you scared me,” he said quietly.
The words were simple, but they held a world of meaning.
“I looked everywhere.
The stables.
The gardens.
The taverns in town.
Then I remembered your hiding spot.
The one you showed me when we were kids.” He looked down.
“I found you there.
You were… you were cold.”
He had looked everywhere.
He had been scared.
“Why?” Ace finally managed to say.
The word was a croak.
“Why did you…?” He couldn’t finish.
*Why did you come for me?
Why are you here?
I’m not your brother.*
Alex seemed to understand the unspoken questions.
His jaw tightened.
He looked at their hands again, his gloved fingers tightening just a little around Ace’s.
“You are my brother,” Alex said.
The words were firm.
Solid.
Like the stones of the castle.
“You have always been my brother.”
“The blood—” Ace started, but Alex cut him off.
“I don’t care about the blood,” Alex said, his voice low and intense.
“I don’t care what some old man in a council room says.
I don’t care what a diary says.” He looked right into Ace’s eyes.
“You are Ace.
You are the boy who followed me everywhere when you were small.
You are the one who stole tarts for us.
You are the one who drives me crazy and makes me laugh when no one else can.
You are my *brother*.”
Tears welled up in Ace’s eyes again.
He tried to blink them away, but one escaped, tracing a hot path down his cheek.
“Father and Mother…” Ace whispered.
Alex’s face softened.
“They are devastated.
They wanted to tell you.
A hundred times, they wanted to.
But they were afraid.
They were afraid of… this.
Of you feeling like this.
They love you, Ace.
That was never a lie.
It is the truest thing I know.”
He let go of Ace’s hand then, but only to reach for the bowl of broth.
He picked it up.
“Here.
You need to eat.
You didn’t have dinner.”
It was such a normal, big-brother thing to do.
To fuss about food.
It broke the last of the ice around Ace’s heart.
He took the bowl.
It was warm in his hands.
He took a sip.
The broth was perfect.
Savory and warm.
It felt like life flowing back into him.
He ate in silence.
Alex watched him, his tired eyes never leaving Ace’s face.
When the bowl was empty, Ace set it aside.
He felt more solid.
The world had ended, but in this quiet room, with his brother watching over him, it felt like maybe a new one could be built.
“Jade?” Ace asked quietly.
Alex sighed.
“In his rooms.
He is… confused.
And upset.
I don’t think he wanted any of this to happen like that.” He paused.
“He asked about you.
He was worried too.”
Ace couldn’t process that.
Not yet.
The idea that Jade, the person he had hated, might be worried about him… it was too much.
He looked at Alex.
Really looked at him.
His big brother, who had carried him home.
Who had stayed all night.
“You stayed,” Ace said.
“Of course I stayed,” Alex said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Where else would I be?”
Ace didn’t have an answer.
He just looked at his brother’s tired face, at the glove he still wore, and he knew that no matter what the truth was, no matter what his name was or where he came from, this was real.
This was family.
Maybe not by blood.
But by something stronger.
By choice.
By love.
The dawn light grew stronger, turning from silver to pale gold.
It filled the room, pushing back the shadows.
Ace was home.