Planting the seed of doubt

Meanwhile…

"What?" 

Ismael cocked his head, sitting leisurely in the second chancery where he was escorted for questioning. Normally, interrogations wouldn't be this fancy, but since he was the "revered" third prince — which he called himself — they had to treat him more like a witness than a suspect.

Roman, the seventh prince, gazed at his brother across from him coldly. Yet, he remained quiet.

"I know, right?" the third prince smirked in mockery. "There's no point in asking any question since no one is listening and we both know I am not the person who should be in this place." 

Ismael leaned back comfortably, shrugging. "Roman, my brother, you… are one hell of a knotty man. Why would you swear an oath to Joaquin, huh? Javier… I get it why that bastard sucks up to that abomination. But you… it's always been a mystery to me, brother."