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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤
♔ 𝔖𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔙𝔞𝔰 𝔊𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩 𝔱’𝔈𝔰𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔞

                 “Have I rendered you speechless, brother?” Gran taunted, voice imperious as whispers broke out in the mindless audience, milling about like cows marinating sod in their mouths. “Should I even still call you as such?”

                 “I can hardly recall a time when you have.” Korel finally spoke, voice hooking on an uncertain note. Mistaking it for a tremor, Gran’s smile widened in victory and he turned upon the onlookers, raising one arm in a showman’s gesture.

                 “You must understand my shock, when I learned you had not been sired by our- my father- but were instead the result of an affair of the late Empress. I had wondered why you alone were treated so reservedly by father. Now I know he was being supremely generous, to care for one who was not even of his own flesh and blood.”

                 Korel laughed. Only a child would say something so cruel, and only a child would find hurt in it.

                 The laughter halted Gran’s speech, forcing his words to taper off as he looked upon his brother with newfound suspicion. Victory was his and thus Korel should have been unable to do little more than grit his teeth and fume in frustration. So why then did it seem as though Korel were having the time of his life, eyes gleaming with something brightly confident? A confidence that, after he smoothed the grin from his face with his free hand, turned sharp and cold.

                 “Granderel.”

                 “... what?”

                 I forgive you, should have been the words he uttered. As someone his senior, Korel should have chosen to be a guiding light. To treat venom with kindness. To walk the higher road and choose to be a better person.

                 But, well…

                 He was not so gracious an adult.

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱
❦ 𝔈𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔖𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔢

                 “I see.” She murmured, sinking in on herself and looking dejected as pale locks of dawn pink hair drifted across her cheeks. Her eyes- a jewel-like aquamarine- seemed shadowed as she mulled over this little bit of information, before she laughed sadly. “No wonder you were always so frustrated with me.”

                 That drew his attention, and he frowned. “That was not your fault, Ellianne.” He finally spoke, blinking in surprise when she turned her infamous sunshine bright smile upon him, though markedly bittersweet in nature.

                 “Because it can’t be helped, right?” She said, echoing a sentiment he himself had inwardly thought a countless number of times. “I know you tried to be kind and couldn’t help but to find me wanting.” And then she leaned back, breathing deep a sigh of relief as though she were letting go of some heavy burden. “But it was sooooo frustrating for me too, you know?” She said at the end of that breath, her smile sweetly kind and, as far as he could tell, utterly sincere. Hinted only with a small shadow of regret. “I worked so hard to try and match you, to keep up with your interests, but every time we met it was like… like you were always staring at something past me. Like I was just something you had to put up with until you could be free.”

                 Korel blinked, surprised and a bit speechless.

                 “And… and that was how I met Gran. Because we were both trying so hard to match you, and we found comfort in that. I don’t expect you to forgive me- no, I don’t want you to forgive me. I want you to think of me as some wretched, ugly woman with loose morals and hate me to your heart’s content. If that is what would finally bring you some satisfaction…” And she trailed off once more, ever unsure and uncertain even now, despite the revelation of her cunning insights.

                 He wondered if she was aware of the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. “... I do not hate you.” He replied carefully then, unfolding his arms and staring at her properly. When she sniffed, he felt an unexpected surge of guilt. Reserved as he had been towards her, he had never meant for that to be a source of distress. He had thought a sense of distance would serve to make the separation easier when they must inevitably go their separate ways. He had never thought he could become someone she would cry over.

                 “I know. One must care in the first place for hate to manifest.” She muttered, bitterness seeping into her voice as she reached up and wiped at the edge of her eyes, smearing a line of wet into her hairline. And while that was not entirely correct, Korel allowed her the sourness of her impartial truth as a poor comfort, opting instead to reach out with a hand and place it gently upon the top of her head.

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫
⚔ 𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔙𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔫𝔢𝔯

                 “Really, why did you even bother to come if all you were going to do was yell?” Korel asked then, reaching up to straighten the collar of his rumpled shirt and brushing away some imaginary dirt on his sleeves. “Isn’t a strongly worded letter the preference of you blue-blooded gentry? Or, failing that, a glove to the face?” Why is it, as soon as you lot see my face, all you can do is abuse me? “If you loathe the breath that I draw so desperately, you ought to have woken me with a blade to the throat rather than your honeyed words.” He added dispassionately. “I’m sure there is someone who would thank you for finally doing the deed.” Last night’s visitor notwithstanding.

                 Bernelle quieted then, something harsh and still overtaking his expression as he offered Korel a single, piercing look. “You think I would bear steel to your neck?” He laughed- an ugly thing that became unsettling on his attractive face. “You think I would allow you an easy death?”

                 Korel stilled, unpleasantly stunned by the naked vitriol wrought in Bernelle’s declaration.

                 “You-” Bernelle continued, his very visage a knight of vengeance, “who has ruined lives without consideration? You who stole away futures unrepentantly and then flaunted it in the faces of the bereaved. Who abused their Majesties’ good will knowingly and took from Gran the right to rule. Who scorned Lady Ellianne’s pure devotion. You dare to presume the freedom of a merciful end?” Bernelle hissed, finally gaining a measure of disbelief from Korel as he raised silver-gray eyes to meet the red of his. “I know you think yourself above us- better than us. That despite having given us nothing but pain and hurt, you have only ever been magnanimous. If you had held even a single godsdamned shred of regret about how you have wronged us- all of us! Not just Lady Ellianne or his highness but us- me-” His voice cracked and Korel felt something abruptly twist his heart through the carefully maintained apathy- something dangerously like grief. “If you had once apologized for Lanciel-”

                 “Enough.” The frost that creeped from his lips was not imagined, nor the cold gusts that had no place on a warm spring day whipping at their hair as the wind picked up. His buried emotions- coiled tight and furious- seeped through the cracks, emanating in shards of something sharp and glimmering in the air about them. “As I have said before- again and again- Lanciel did his duty. That prized, invaluable thing you hold in such high regard.” Korel sneered, his lips filled with a mockery of Bernelle’s earlier words. “In giving his life, he ensured the survival of mine, and I will not be made to apologize for being alive.”

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔫
♛ 𝔈𝔪𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔞𝔩 𝔙𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢 𝔱’𝔈𝔰𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔞

                “You have had all the time in the world to renounce your kinship. Not a noble alive would blame you in light of my mother’s disloyalty. The Knights would be pleased to be rid of an upstart blue-blood, the Tower would hardly care who it is that conducts their business so long as they are competent. Holding me in place would only present a threat from the Church and malcontents. You gain nothing and stand to lose everything.” The longer he spoke, the more shadowed Verendelle’s expression became- nothing so kind or merciful in his expression when faced with Korel’s impudence- as he had known it would be. As it had always been.

                “To question the wisdom of the Emperor… truly, you have lost yourself and your grace.”

                “I am throwing it away!” The bellow that burst from his lips was hateful and full of poorly masked grief. “I have given you every opportunity to gain your heart’s desire so that I may have a little of mine! Give Granderel the throne! Let him marry Ellianne! Strip me of my titles, silks and duties- have it all! I have never wanted the godsdamn title and you have never wanted me there! The only thing I long for is to be free of you and this wretched, gilded cage of a palace!”

                “And you imagine you would survive out there? Spoiled, pampered thing that you are?” Verendelle hissed, finally rising to his feet, placing down a falcon’s feather quill and raising himself to his full height- taller than Korel already and made more so by the difference of their flooring. “You, who have supped upon tender veal and sugarspun confectionery since birth? Who have lounged in luxury with your every want attended to by another? You imagine you would survive as a penniless waif? How vainglorious.”

                Korel laughed- a cruel, ugly noise bordering hysteria. “Is that what you think of me? I waged war in your name. I slept in the dirt and snow. I ate the slop of your war camps. I burned and bled in your name. Killed in your name. Watched others die, in your name. And at my lowest- when I was certain death had come at last and it was you who held my fate- I hoped for nothing for I knew nothing would be given. You left me to die after I won your war and were it not for one stupid, foolhardy idiot-”

                The air left his lungs- an oppressive heat slamming down against his chest and sending him to his knees in an instant. Like the weight of the sun’s rage burned against his skin- stripping of him his entirety… And still it did nothing to abate his fury. His hatred. His fear.

                And at the center of the heat- so extraordinary as to make Bernelle’s fire seem as little more than the flame sputtering at the end of a candlewick- His Majesty and the blessing of the god of sun- of El.

                The Radiance of the Empire.

                “Your reckless ventures into the North were noted, and dismissed.” Verendelle spoke when Korel had fallen to all fours, sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he struggled to breathe. “Your failures in being captured were recorded, and forgiven.” His words were cool in spite of it all as he stepped down from the dais, bringing that oppressive heat even closer. “Your impudence towards me, my son and the Empire were recognized for what they were- the tantrums of a child- and will not be tolerated. You will be made to obey. ​To serve.”

                Bile rose up in the back of his throat at the very thought.

                “To think you would be allowed the freedom to roam without responsibility because of a letter… That such generosity as I and the citizens of this realm have given could remain unrepaid merely for want of wanderlust…” Verendelle’s voice was close now, though muted for the pounding in his ears as his boots came to a stop right at the edge of Korel’s rapidly darkening vision. “And you claim to not have been spoilt beyond repair?”

                The pressure vanished, leaving him gasping on carpeted flooring.

                “Such ignorant conceit.”

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔄𝔫𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔯
﹖﹖﹖

                He wished time could be rewound to that moment.

                To the things he could have said to change their future.

                The ice claws at his feet- blackened shards crashing into a barrier of light hastily conjured into existence by a panicked Ellianne- who moved without thought for love of her friends. The wind that claws at his skin sings like it means to rend- as though there is nothing but raw hatred which moves it... and only now is he realizing how gentle it has always been, softer- kinder.

                “Korel!” The name rips from his mouth as his hands glow bright with the weight of his blessing- to do… what? What can be done in the face of a creeping winter’s fury that slowly overtakes the entirety of the hall- shattering stone tile and sealing out the light of the sun’s rays? What can he do against the solitary figure near lost to darkness, standing alone as hollow eyes gaze at his hands in disbelief as the ice grows evermore? As though none of this was his will to begin with?

                Verendelle strikes at it- oppressive heat blazing to the full might of the sun- but even that wavers in the wave of ice and cold. Of sharp and cruel. Even the Radiance is cowed.

                It is the cry that finally raises Korellion’s eyes- blank, pale-blues slowly settling on their clustered group like the very image of them is foreign and unfamiliar. A soft, weeping cry from a frightened Anabelle who clings to Arellia’s arms as the wind tears loose her hair from bright ribbons and sends them cascading into the darkness. It is her cry that brings a spark of recognition to Korel’s stare as he finally raises a hand- a spark of brilliant white gathering around his fingertips as he tries to regain control.

                A spark of brilliant white so familiar. Reassuring.

                A spark that immediately collapses with a gasp, Korel moving to immediately clutch at that hand as another wave of ice crashes into Ellianne’s barrier, causing her to cry out as shards scrape at her arms, bringing forth a fount of crimson red to splatter the carpet at their feet. And when Korel looks up once more at that sound of anguish, something in his eyes goes… understanding.

                “Nσ.” The word is out of his mouth before he can halt it, some innate sense of dread seizing his heart and closing his throat with terror.

                He stands alone, a sword in hand and his hair hung loose about his face in messy strands. “Where,” he breathes out like a wounded animal, “was my happiness?” He ɾαιseʂ his eyes and there is an underʂƚαɳԃinɠ in them. A recognition of something beyond his grasp that iɱpliҽs in it something he will never know. “Wԋყ,” and it is a Ⴆroƙҽn voice that speaks, hσaɾse with ɠɾief. “was I bσrɳ?”

                Hҽ raiʂes a ʂɯorԃ, ƚԋe very same ԋҽ gifted.

                His sƈɾeam does not reαch. Not ƚԋҽɳ. Not ɳoɯ. Even ԋeɾe, his eყҽs look up to an unforɠiving sƙy. Seeking nothing. Exρҽƈƚιɳɠ ɳσƚԋιɳɠ. The Ⴆʅαԃe touches his thrσαt.

                There is ɮut one recouʀֆe.