The walk back from the courtyard had warmed Ace’s blood, but the sight that met them in the main hallway froze it again.
Jade.
He was walking toward them from the direction of the council chambers.
He was not alone.
Behind him, like a flock of sleek, hungry crows, trailed several of the older ministers.
Minister Kalgen was at the front, his face a mask of smug satisfaction.
They were talking in low tones, but their eyes were fixed on Jade’s back with a kind of greedy respect.
Jade himself looked different.
He wore another new coat—this one a deep charcoal grey, finely tailored to his slender frame.
His white hair was perfectly neat, tied back with a simple black ribbon.
He carried a thick leather-bound ledger under one arm, and a stack of papers in his other hand.
His silver reading glasses were perched on his nose.
He looked every inch the serious, studious heir apparent.
Their paths were about to cross.
There was no way to avoid it.
Alex’s steps didn’t falter.
He kept walking, his face settling into its usual calm mask.
Ace forced himself to do the same, though every muscle in his body tightened.
Jade looked up from his papers as they drew near.
His crimson eyes, magnified slightly by his glasses, found Alex first, then slid to Ace.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing in them.
No warmth, no anger, no regret.
Just a cool, assessing look, like a scholar examining a difficult text.
Then, the ministers behind him fell silent, watching.
Jade stopped.
He offered a small, polite nod.
“Good morning, little brothers.”
The words were soft.
Polite.
They dropped into the silent hallway like stones into a still pond.
Alex froze.
Just for a second.
A tiny hitch in his step.
His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Ace snorted, the sound harsh in the quiet.
“We are not your little brothers.”
One of the ministers behind Jade—a thin man with a pinched face—leaned over and whispered something to the man beside him.
Ace caught the words: “…at least one is definitely not…” The other minister covered a smirk with his hand, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
Jade didn’t argue.
He didn’t even seem to hear the whisper.
His gaze was fixed on Alex, taking in his damp hair, the practice sword still in his hand, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin.
“Early morning training?” Jade asked, his tone light, almost conversational.
Alex gave a single, stiff nod.
“Yes.”
Jade’s lips curved into a faint, thoughtful smile.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“You are young.
You should tone down with such intense training.” He shifted the ledger in his arms, his gloved fingers tapping lightly on the leather.
“It’s not good for your health.
And also,” he added, his voice dropping to a more confidential tone, though it still carried in the quiet hall, “you should go out less in public events as heir.
At least for now.”
Ace felt a hot spike of anger.
“What business is it of yours?”
Jade’s eyes flicked to him, then back to Alex, dismissing Ace’s outburst.
“Because I am here,” he said simply, as if explaining something obvious to a child.
“So now, it is my job.”
He said it with such calm certainty.
*My job.* To care for their health.
To manage their public appearances.
To be the responsible older brother.
Then, he made to move past them.
The ministers shuffled to follow.
But as he crossed in front of Alex, Jade paused.
He turned his head.
He lifted his free hand—the one in the fine leather glove—and reached out.
Ace tensed, ready to knock it away.
But Jade didn’t touch him.
He placed his gloved hand on Alex’s shoulder.
It was not a hard grip.
It was a light, almost paternal pat.
Two firm taps.
He looked up at Alex, who stood a full head taller, his expression still unreadable.
“After all,” Jade said, his voice so quiet it was almost a breath.
“I am the firstborn.”
He let his hand linger for a second longer.
Then he removed it, turned, and continued down the hallway without a backward glance.
The ministers scurried after him, their whispers starting up again like rustling leaves.
Ace stood rooted to the spot, watching the grey coat disappear around the corner.
The air where Jade had stood felt cold and charged.
He turned to Alex, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“That—!”
“Stop.” Alex’s voice was low, but it cut through Ace’s building fury like a knife.
“But he just—!”
“I said stop.”
Ace glared at him.
Alex was looking straight ahead, down the empty hallway where Jade had gone.
His face was like carved stone.
But Ace saw the muscle working in his brother’s jaw.
He saw the way Alex’s hand was clenched around the hilt of the practice sword, the knuckles white.
“He is playing a part,” Alex said, his voice measured.
“He is putting on a show for them.” He nodded slightly toward the retreating backs of the ministers.
“He is acting like the concerned elder.
The responsible heir.
It is a performance.
Do not give him the reaction he wants.”
“It didn’t feel like a performance,” Ace spat.
“It felt like a claim.”
“It *is* a claim,” Alex said, finally turning to look at him.
His crimson eyes were hard.
“A legal one.
A political one.
But that is all it is.
He can pat my shoulder and call me ‘little brother’ until the snow melts in hell.
It does not change what is real.
It does not change who you are to me.
It does not change who we are in this house.”
He started walking again, his boots striking the stone with a firm, deliberate rhythm.
“Come.
Ignore it.
The more you react, the more power you give him.
He wants you angry.
He wants you off-balance.
Do not give it to him.”
Ace followed, but the anger was a hot coal in his chest.
He couldn’t just ignore it.
The touch.
The words.
The smug, whispering ministers.
The way Jade had looked at Alex—not with brotherly concern, but with a cool, calculating ownership.
My job.
I am the firstborn.
They reached the door to the family wing.
Alex pushed it open and held it for Ace.
As Ace passed him, he saw it.
The spot on Alex’s grey tunic, on the shoulder where Jade’s gloved hand had rested.
A faint, almost invisible smudge of greyish dust from the old leather glove.
Alex didn’t seem to notice.
He walked in, heading for his chambers.
But Ace stared at that tiny smudge.
It looked like a brand.
A mark of possession.
He thought of the blue thread on his bow, still tucked away somewhere in his room.
Another brand.
Another claim.
You are my younger brothers, too.
Ace closed the door behind him, shutting out the hallway, the whispers, the memory of that gloved hand.
But the feeling remained.
Cold.
Heavy.
Settling over him like the snow outside, covering everything familiar, leaving the world silent and strange.