Outside the veranda, there was a long bench — a cozy resting place, especially when the cold air embraced the twilight and the night was walled by stars. That kind of comfort wasn't only longed for by children, but also by the farmers, who were now being quietly watched by a child from afar. They didn't look tired. They could stay up until dawn and face the next day without anyone scolding them, even if they did nothing of note.
Not far from there stood another child — smaller than Eliot, or perhaps older, but frail and gaunt from malnutrition. Beside him was a younger child with curly, dirt-matted hair — likely the son of a pigsty worker. They had been up before sunrise and would only return once the last light vanished behind the mountains.
"I'll just stay here…" Eliot sighed quietly, a bitter smile creeping across his face, full of loneliness. In his heart, he wished he had a younger sibling to keep him company.
"If my parents want a new child, Merliah… would they leave me behind?"
No one heard his quiet complaint. No one, except a squirrel perched on the magnolia tree that seemed to be paying attention. The small creature tilted its head at the young prince and shook it gently, as if disagreeing with his words.
Samuel's words from days before still lingered in Eliot's chest — words that filled him with doubt and sadness. Eliot's room was at the highest tower in the castle. If he were to jump, his body would shatter instantly. But he wasn't afraid. In fact, he often used the height to gaze out at the vast countryside beyond the palace walls.
"If only I could see Mother's carriage from here…" Eliot murmured.
The grapes on the table were left untouched. He was hungry but had no appetite. Merliah had told him that morning that Thalia would return in a few days. If the meeting she was attending bore fruit, a grand gathering would be held upon her return.
"Merliah… is my father here?" Eliot asked, his voice barely a whisper.
He heard the rustling of blankets being laid. Merliah was changing the sheets and covers.
"Yes, he is. He's meeting with Lord Marcus right now," Merliah answered softly from behind. She never raised her voice, no matter the situation. Perhaps due to deep empathy, Merliah always treated Eliot with unusual tenderness.
Born but neglected by his own parents — that's what Merliah saw in the sweet boy. She loved Eliot dearly.
"Eliot…" she called gently, omitting his noble title. She stroked the prince's head with care, though Eliot didn't turn to face her.
From skin tone, speech, and social class, they came from different worlds. Yet deep inside, Merliah made a quiet vow:
"If a power struggle happens, and you're no longer wanted... I'll adopt you. I'll protect you like my own."
"My uncle! He's here! When did he return?" Eliot suddenly brushed away Merliah's hand, eyes sparkling. His gloomy face transformed into one of joy.
"Where are they now?!" Eliot leaned out over the veranda as he heard the barking of dogs from the gardens below.
So it was true — the crowd he heard that morning… the man had returned.
Marcus had been sent across the border — his orders were simple: observe and report on the growing unrest in the southern region.
But what he witnessed wasn't their war. That land wasn't even part of the kingdom. The baron who ruled there had long lost control of his people — those who poisoned the land, turned against each other, and rejected all forms of authority. Desperate and powerless, the baron made an offer to the king:
Eliminate them — and the land is yours.
The king hesitated. But his cousin did not.
With only a handful of loyal knights, Marcus crossed the border and seized the territory in the king's name. What followed was swift and ruthless — a massacre. No negotiation. No prisoners.
"The rebels didn't even target the baron," Marcus recounted proudly to his brother, Lukas. "That's the truth."
Lukas leaned against a stone arch, arms crossed, a dry smile playing on his lips.
"Lord Ramsey should've come to me directly if he had a problem with you taking the throne."
Marcus scoffed.
"That idiot? He's as much a coward as he is short. He's the one who paid the rebels in the first place, wasn't he?"
A moment of silence passed — filled with shared cynicism.
Lukas laughed quietly, nudging Marcus with his elbow.
"So you knew."
Marcus grinned.
"Of course. The moment I pretended I was no longer interested in the territory, rebels suddenly appeared in the one region I was told not to touch? Please." He rolled his eyes. "They claimed to fight for noble houses — without naming which. They rampaged, harmed civilians, all just to get the king's attention… and to humiliate Ramsey's greatest rival."
"What did he tell you, little brother?" Lukas asked, more serious now.
"Ramsey confessed. He hired retired mercenaries… and a few addicts. People who didn't care if they died. He paid them to create chaos on his own land. Either he was desperate or suicidal — but it cost him everything. He couldn't control them once things got bloody."
Marcus laughed at the memory, then looked around, searching.
"Where's my boy?"
A small voice echoed from behind the marble pillars.
"Uncle!"
Eliot came running, his short legs moving fast, while Marcus's dogs barked with excitement, rushing to greet the little prince.
Marcus knelt immediately, arms wide open.
"My darling! My little short prince!"
The boy ran straight into his arms, and Marcus easily lifted him up, kissing his cheek affectionately.
"Uncle, I missed you," Eliot said, wrapping his small arms around Marcus's neck.
"Have you gotten shorter?" Marcus teased, pretending to inspect him. "My brother's not starving you, is he?"
Lukas approached and kissed Eliot's other cheek.
"I don't know, Marcus. No matter how much he eats, he doesn't grow. I think he'll stay tiny forever."
Eliot giggled.
But behind that soft laughter, Lukas felt a tightness in his chest. He was jealous — if only his son greeted him with the same warmth. Lately, Eliot had grown distant… maybe even afraid. Always too quiet when Lukas drew near. And Lukas, buried in state affairs, didn't know how to fix it.
He knew what happened last night. Samuel had told him.
From afar, Lukas had seen it: Eliot, crying alone, eating bread given by Brian.
"Son," he called gently.
Marcus lowered the boy.
At that moment, one of Marcus's dogs trotted over, barking to be picked up.
"Jealous, Daisy? Come here, sweetheart!" Marcus laughed, petting the dog.
"You're cuter than this tiny guy, aren't you? And bigger too — obviously!"
Eliot pouted in mock protest. Meanwhile, Merliah, standing nearby, couldn't help but smile — the warmth of affection filling the cold halls of the castle.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Lukas asked softly, touching his son's hair.
They looked into each other's eyes.
"You can sleep in my room, you know," Lukas continued. "I know how scary that wing can be… at night."
He hesitated, then added, "I used to sleep in that same room. The silence... those corridors feel alive after dark."
"Erm…" Eliot's lips moved, but no words came out.
Lukas didn't understand. His son used to be open — even clingy. A year ago, Eliot always had nightmares. Lukas couldn't leave him like that, so he had moved Eliot to a room closer to him and Thalia — so the boy could come to them anytime.
"You're still not okay, are you?" Lukas whispered. "Don't wander off alone again. Sleep in my room… until your mother comes home."
He gently touched the dark circles under Eliot's eyes.
Eliot nodded quietly. He had left that room only for two weeks… before returning and refusing to leave again. When asked why, his answer had made Lukas shiver:
"There's something in that room. And if I stay there… it'll hurt you or Mother."
Lukas remembered the whisper as if it were yesterday. Even now, the words tightened his chest.
He held Eliot's hand — small and cold. The sadness on the boy's face was deep. Whatever happened, Lukas would never let this child go. If fate demanded Eliot's life — Lukas would lie, deceive, or betray… anything, as long as the boy's head never touched the sword.
"That thing…" Lukas swallowed. "Is it still in the room?"
Eliot shook his head. "Not anymore."
"Then sleep there again. It's directly connected to our room. It's the safest place in the palace."
Eliot looked down.
"If what happened yesterday happens again… Mother will blame you."
Marcus overheard part of the conversation, but stayed silent — it wasn't his place to intervene. He didn't live there. He didn't know what kind of entity lurked in the palace halls.
"I'll sleep in your room, Father. I don't want to be alone."
Relief washed over Lukas's face. He had waited so long for this moment — when his son no longer looked at him like a stranger.
He wanted to kiss Eliot's forehead like Marcus always did. But he hesitated.
From across the hall, Marcus caught his eye. He raised a glass of wine, lifted his eyebrows, and nodded at Eliot — as if to say: Go on. Do it.
Embarrassed, Lukas merely tapped Eliot's cheek gently.
"Or," Marcus interjected, lifting his dog from his lap, "you could just spend time with this version of your father — the short one."
"You—!" Lukas rose in protest. "Can't I just have a moment with my son?! Stop interrupting."
Eliot turned away from his father and looked at Marcus with joy.
"I won't be here long, Eli," Marcus said, kneeling again. "So, be my companion for this one week, okay?"
He emphasized one week with a mischievous smile.
Eliot glanced at Lukas, then nodded.
"Alright. Until Mother comes home."