The sun had barely touched the horizon when Saezu stepped into the echoing halls of the north wing—a part of the palace few ventured without invitation. Here, behind heavy velvet curtains and guarded alcoves, the royal brothers held court not in public, but in whispers, in wine, and in war games disguised as dinners. Saezu had been summoned by Leontes. No context. No explanation. Just a sealed note slipped under his chamber door before dawn.

  He didn’t need to guess what it meant. This wasn’t a welcome.

  It was a test.

  The chamber beyond the lion-carved doors smelled of incense and polished wood. Varric sat by the hearth, sharpening his sword without urgency. Hadric lounged on a long couch, a book open in one hand, his fingers toying with a silver ring. Leontes poured wine into three cups, flashing his charming, empty smile as Saezu entered.

  "Our little brother has arrived," Leontes said cheerfully.

  "Little bastard," Varric corrected, not looking up.

  Saezu closed the door behind him. "Is this another duel or just a family gathering of knives and smiles?"

  Leontes laughed. "Why not both?"

  Hadric shut his book. "We thought it was time we got to know you, brother. The court already has. They whisper about you like you’re a godling."

  "They whisper because they’re afraid," Varric growled. "And fear doesn’t belong in a stable court."

  Saezu stepped closer to the fire, the light casting deep shadows across his face. "If you wanted me gone, you should’ve done it before I knew how to fight."

  "You think that matters?" Varric said, finally rising. "You think you’ve earned something? This place? Our father’s scraps?"

  "I’ve earned every scar on my body," Saezu replied. "And I’ll earn the next ones too."

  The silence that followed was not empty. It was loaded, like a bow pulled back, waiting to release.

  Leontes was the first to break it. He handed Saezu a cup of wine, which Saezu did not take.

  "You know," Leontes said, swirling his own drink, "I once thought bastards were amusing. They pop up in stories. Heroes with no name who win crowns and rescue damsels. But that’s the thing about stories—they end. And usually, the bastard dies."

  Hadric smiled without teeth. "Or becomes the villain."

  Saezu stood unmoved. "I’m not here for a story. I’m here to train. To serve."

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  "Serve?" Varric scoffed. "You think swinging a sword earns you a place here?"

  "No. I think surviving earns me the right to choose what comes next."

  Hadric leaned forward. "You’ll find the court doesn’t like choices. It prefers puppets."

  "Then they’ll hate me."

  Leontes chuckled and raised his cup in mock salute. "To that, at least, we can agree."

  In the weeks that followed, the brothers made their disdain clear.

  Varric had Saezu assigned to the worst duties in training—cleaning the stables, night watch in the freezing tower, mock duels with armored veterans twice his size. Hadric planted rumors in the court—claims that Saezu was cursed, a child of sorcery, that he bore a blade tainted by blood magic.

  Leontes was subtler. He invited Saezu to gatherings, seated him beside nobles, smiled in public. Then spread lies in private.

  "They’re grooming the bastard," he’d whisper to lords. "The King favors him more each day. You should be worried."

  Saezu endured. He listened. He learned.

  He made allies in shadows—guards who had no love for politics, servants who remembered Mirelle, lower knights who admired how he fought without complaint.

  He kept his letters hidden, wrote to no one. Every message he received was burned after reading.

  He trained harder. Slept less. Watched more.

  Each morning, he walked through the court with his head high. Each night, he whispered the names of his enemies until he fell asleep.

  One evening, in the royal library, he met her.

  Elayna Vey.

  She wore scholar’s robes and carried herself like a noblewoman who had seen too much. She didn’t curtsey. Didn’t flinch. Just looked at him over the rim of her book.

  "You’re taller than I thought, Saezu Goldhearth."

  "You know who I am."

  "Everyone knows who you are. Some just pretend they don’t."

  "Which are you?"

  She closed her book. "I’m someone who reads people. And I think you’re not as calm as you look."

  "I’m not."

  She smiled. "Good. Calm men die in palaces."

  Over the following weeks, Elayna became an unexpected ally. She was connected, smart, and careful. Through her, Saezu learned of meetings held in secret wings, of lords who whispered rebellion, of spies within the castle.

  She also made him laugh, something he had almost forgotten how to do.

  She taught him how to play court games with words instead of swords. How to insult without speaking. How to win by smiling.

  But he never trusted her fully. He couldn’t.

  Not yet.

  Then came the night of the masquerade.

  It was tradition—once each season, the court gathered in masks, pretending they were not enemies, not schemers, not rivals. For a night, the blood was disguised, and the daggers were hidden in silk.

  Saezu entered dressed in black and gold, his mask shaped like a wolf. He stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching. Waiting.

  He saw Varric speaking with a group of generals. Leontes dancing with a duchess whose husband had vanished weeks ago. Hadric, of course, nowhere in sight.

  Elayna approached in crimson, her mask shaped like a fox.

  "You look dangerous," she said.

  "You look like trouble."

  They danced once, slowly.

  Then she leaned in. "They plan to test you tonight."

  "How?"

  "They’ll provoke you. Make you react. If you lose control, they’ll brand you savage. If you don’t react, they’ll call you weak."

  "So what do I do?"

  "You smile. And you remind them you’re not afraid."

  And so he did.

  When Varric cornered him by the fountains, challenging him to a duel “for honor,” Saezu laughed and toasted to brotherhood.

  When Leontes spoke loudly of bastards and traitors, Saezu clapped him on the back and thanked him for the wine.

  When Hadric appeared beside him near midnight and whispered, "We found your mother’s grave," Saezu said nothing. Just met his eyes.

  And smiled.

  The court remembered that smile.

  Because it was not warm.

  It was a promise.

  A quiet vow.

  And it was the beginning of the end for the brothers who thought they could break him.