I'm sorry mother

I despise these gatherings. The Gilcha lizard soars through the skies, carrying us to the royal palace for yet another obligatory event—the welcome banquet for the princes and princess of Brendholm. Across from me sits my brother, Ceaser, the heir. To his left, my father, and beside me, my stepmother. Their presence feels suffocating, as always.

I close my eyes, trying to escape the weight of my reality, even if just for a moment. But the feeling of constraint is relentless.

As we arrive at the palace, the awe I feel upon seeing the majestic buildings never fades. The crystal pillars, standing tall and glowing in the twilight, seem like something out of a dream. If only the life within them felt as enchanting.

I fade into the background of what they call my family, going through the motions as we're introduced in the hall. Once inside, my father and brother are quickly surrounded by other nobles, while my stepmother is swept away by a group of noble ladies. I'm subtly ignored, not that it matters to me.

Slipping away, I search for a drink and a quiet corner to hide in. Eventually, I find a perfect spot—tucked away, offering a clear view of the hall but keeping me out of sight. It's a small relief.

Taking a sip of wine, I survey the room. The gathering has clearly divided into three factions. The first belongs to Prince Linus and his followers. The second, where my brother has aligned himself, supports the Third Prince, Luan. Ceaser is apparently a close friend and a staunch ally of the Third Prince, a connection that has inadvertently drawn the rest of our family and Vossenfield-associated nobles into his camp.

The third faction remains neutral, not aligning with either group. As I watch, a lady giggles at something Ceaser says, clearly charmed by him as he works the room. I close my eyes, letting myself zone out. As expected, no one approaches me. It's an open secret that I'm not the duchess's son, and no one wants to risk getting on her bad side—or the heir's, for that matter.

The isolation always leaves me feeling uncomfortable and out of place. My thoughts drift to my mother, who I will never fully understand. She spent her life begging for the Duke's affection, and crumbs were all she ever received. Even on her deathbed, she didn't harbor any hatred toward him. It's a mindset I'll never understand.

The sound of whispers pulls me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to the left. There, I spot the source—a striking man in royal guard attire. It would be hard to find a soul who doesn't recognize him: the so-called genius of the century. He's also rumored to be the third princess's lover, one of three, if the gossip is to be believed.

I study him for a moment. Despite the stares and murmurs directed his way, he remains unfazed, his expression locked in a perpetual scowl, his posture as rigid as steel. It's clear that the attention doesn't bother him in the slightest. How admirable.

He merely stands to the side, exuding an air of stoic indifference. I watch him, intrigued by his composure. Just as I lose myself in thought, the presence of the royals is announced, snapping me back to the moment.

They descend the grand staircase, and as they reach the bottom, everyone in the hall bows in unison. The Emperor's voice booms through the room, though his words are secondary to the overwhelming aura he projects. His presence alone is enough to command absolute attention and respect. As expected of one of the strongest man on the continent.

The banquet quickly resumes its lively pace, but I find myself taking a deep breath, still unnerved by the lingering presence of the Emperor. His aura is something I'll never grow accustomed to.

The banquet's lively chatter fades into the background as I find myself fixated on the scene before me. Haroun, usually so composed and stern, has a look in his eyes that I've never seen before—soft, almost reverent. My curiosity deepens as I trace his line of sight to the third Princess.

I've seen her countless times through crystal broadcasts and in the newspapers, where she's always depicted as beautiful, a true emblem of the royal family's grace. But seeing her here, in the flesh, is an entirely different experience. She doesn't just possess beauty; she radiates it, a mesmerizing aura that draws the eye and holds it captive. Her every movement is fluid, every glance deliberate, as if she commands the very air around her. I'm completely awestruck, unable to tear my gaze away. It's as though the light in the room gravitates towards her, leaving the rest of us as mere shadows in her presence.

I watch as the Princess maneuvers gracefully through the throng of people, her steps light and purposeful. She heads straight for a table laden with treats, and the sight brings a chuckle to my lips. There's something endearing about the way she helps herself to a bite, unbothered by the grandiosity around her. When she spots Lady Marwood and greets her with an easy smile, I can't help but find the combination of the two women rather odd, yet amusing. They fall into an animated conversation, and it's clear that the Princess is fully engaged, her expressions lively and unguarded.

Then Haroun approaches, offering her a drink, and I'm taken aback by what I see next—a wink from her, and, unless my eyes deceive me, a hint of a blush from the stoic swordmaster. The image of the hardened warrior, momentarily softened by her attention, is both surprising and strangely satisfying.

As they begin to move through the crowd, Haroun guiding her with an air of protectiveness, they draw even more attention. It's almost as if the room shifts to accommodate their passage. Without really thinking about it, I decide to follow. There's an inexplicable pull, a curiosity that I can't quite shake. I hand off my glass of wine to a passing waiter and slip into the crowd behind them.

Careful not to lose sight of them, I follow as they slip into the maze. I blend seamlessly into the shadows, my presence unnoticed by the few stragglers left behind. My familiarity with assassin techniques serves me well; it's a risk, but tonight, I'm feeling particularly daring.

From my concealed vantage point, I watch as the Princess interacts with a small, injured bird, her gentleness striking a stark contrast to the cold elegance she displayed earlier. But then, I make a rookie mistake, stepping too close, too soon. Before I can react, there's a flash of movement, and I feel the cold steel of a sword against my throat.

My heart pounds, realizing just how close I came to losing my life in that split second. Haroun's eyes are deadly, his grip on the sword unwavering. I struggle to calm the situation, stammering out an apology, but it's the Princess who ultimately diffuses the tension. Her soft words soothe the storm brewing in Haroun, and he reluctantly withdraws the blade.

Breathing heavily, I introduce myself, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But as I meet her gaze, something shifts inside me. In her eyes, I see something that stirs a memory—something that pulls at the deepest parts of me. In this moment, all I can think about is apologizing to my mother. Because now, I realize that, just like her, I too would do anything for mere crumbs of affection.