Ace woke up slowly.
The first thing he felt was warmth.
A soft, heavy warmth wrapped around his side.
He blinked his eyes open.
The grey light of morning filled his room.
He was in his bed.
The blankets were pulled up to his chin.
Then he felt the hand.
It was resting on his arm, just above his elbow.
The fingers were slender and gentle.
They held onto him even in sleep.
He turned his head.
His mother was there.
Lady Roseline Valebane was curled on her side next to him, still in her dress from the day before.
Her eyes were closed.
Her face was peaceful in sleep, but even then, he could see the tracks of dried tears on her cheeks.
Her eyelashes were wet.
She must have slipped into his room after Alex left.
She must have climbed into his bed and held onto him, like she used to do when he was little and had a nightmare.
Ace’s throat felt tight.
He swallowed hard.
“Mama,” he whispered.
The word came out rough.
“You really…”
He stopped.
He couldn’t finish.
His throat bobbed up and down.
He didn’t know what to say.
*You really still love me?
You really still want me?
Even though I’m not yours?*
He didn’t say any of it.
He just watched her sleep.
After a minute, he sighed.
It was a soft, sad sound.
He carefully pulled the blanket up higher over her shoulders, tucking it around her properly.
She made a tiny noise in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the pillow.
Ace slipped out of the bed.
He moved quietly, like a thief in his own room.
He didn’t want to wake her.
He walked to the washbasin in the corner.
The water in the pitcher was cold.
He didn’t care.
He poured some into the basin.
He leaned over and splashed the cold water onto his face.
Again.
And again.
The shock of the cold helped.
It washed away the last bits of sleep.
It washed away the feeling of his mother’s tears on his shoulder.
He dried his face with a towel.
He looked at himself in the small mirror on the wall.
The same face looked back.
Black hair.
Crimson eyes.
Sharp jaw.
But it felt like a stranger’s face now.
A face that didn’t belong to anyone.
He turned away from the mirror.
He pulled on a clean shirt and trousers.
He didn’t bother with a coat.
He just walked out of his room and into the hallway.
The castle felt different.
It was the same stone walls.
The same tall windows.
The same torches in their holders.
But it felt… colder.
Heavier.
As he walked, he saw servants.
They were doing their morning work—sweeping floors, carrying firewood, folding linens.
But when they saw him, they stopped.
They didn’t bow.
They didn’t smile.
They just stared.
Then, as he passed, they would lean their heads together and whisper.
Their voices were low, but he could hear the hissing sound of them.
Like snakes in the grass.
*”…not really a prince…”*
*”…found in a cave…”*
*”…all this time, lying…”*
*”…no right to be here…”*
He kept walking.
His back was straight.
His face was blank.
He didn’t look at them.
But he heard every word.
He turned a corner and almost walked into a group of young lords.
They were sons of the northern families.
He knew them.
He had hunted with them.
Drank with them.
Laughed with them.
Now, they looked at him like he was a strange animal.
One of them, a tall boy with red hair, sneered.
“Look.
It’s the cave pup.”
The others snickered.
Ace kept walking.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t answer.
His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he kept them down.
He passed a maid carrying a tray of breakfast things.
She saw him and quickly looked down, her face turning red.
But it wasn’t a shy blush.
It was embarrassment.
Shame.
Like she was ashamed to have ever smiled at him.
Everywhere he went, it was the same.
The whispers.
The stares.
The glares.
The castle that had been his home, his kingdom, now felt like a prison.
And everyone in it was a guard.
He was nobody.
And they all knew it.
He walked faster.
He didn’t know where he was going.
He just needed to move.
To get away from the eyes.
He pushed open a heavy door and stepped out into one of the inner courtyards.
The cold morning air hit him like a slap.
The sky was grey.
The ground was covered in a thin layer of fresh snow.
And there, standing in the middle of the courtyard, was his brother.
Alex.
He was dressed for training.
Black trousers, a simple grey tunic.
No coat.
His long black hair was tied back.
He was holding a practice sword, just standing there, looking at the sky.
His breath made little clouds in the cold air.
He looked calm.
Solid.
Like a mountain.
Ace stopped.
He stood in the doorway, watching him.
For a second, he thought about turning around.
Going back inside.
Hiding.
But then Alex turned his head.
His crimson eyes found Ace’s.
There was no surprise in his face.
No anger.
No pity.
Just… recognition.
He lowered the practice sword.
He didn’t smile.
He just nodded, once.
A small, quiet gesture.
*Come here*, it said.
Ace took a deep breath.
The cold air filled his lungs.
He stepped out into the courtyard.
The snow crunched under his boots.
He walked across the empty space until he was standing in front of his brother.
They stood there, facing each other.
The snow began to fall again, soft and slow.
Alex looked at him.
Really looked at him.
He saw the tightness in Ace’s jaw.
The shadows under his eyes.
The way he held his shoulders, like he was waiting for a blow.
“You’re up early,” Alex said.
His voice was normal.
Like it was any other morning.
Ace didn’t know what to say.
He just shrugged.
Alex studied him for another moment.
Then he held out the practice sword.
“Here.”
Ace looked at the sword.
It was just a simple wooden thing.
But it felt heavy with meaning.
“Why?” Ace asked.
His voice was rough.
“Because you need to hit something,” Alex said simply.
“And I’m here.”
Ace stared at him.
Then, slowly, he reached out and took the sword.
The wood was smooth and familiar in his hand.
Alex walked over to the weapon rack by the wall and picked up another practice sword.
He came back and stood a few feet away.
He settled into a ready stance.
“Come on,” he said.
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Ace looked at his brother’s calm, steady face.
He looked at the sword in his own hand.
He felt all the anger, the hurt, the confusion, boiling inside him like a storm.
He took a breath.
Then he attacked.