The room stilled when the great double doors opened.
The King—Alexander Vandereich—stepped into the banquet hall, every bit the man Eustass remembered: tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a deep crimson cape that caught the golden light. His presence alone commanded the air, and in that moment, every guest rose to their feet.
Thunderous applause filled the chamber.
Alexander raised a hand, silencing them with the ease of a man used to ruling.
"I thank you all for being here tonight… for honoring my thirty-seventh year. My gratitude extends to the noble lords and ladies of our realm… and to the kings and envoys who have traveled from distant lands to stand within my hall. Your presence honors me beyond measure."
The applause returned, louder than before, the music swelled, and the King's voice shifted into something warmer.
"Tonight, I wish to present to the world those who stand beside me—not just as kin, but as the pillars of this kingdom's future."
One by one, he called them forward.
Lucas Vandereich—the First Prince—stepped forward with his practiced, effortless smile. The applause roared for him, the nobles nodding in approval.
Prince Leigh—tall, cold-eyed, already wearing his arrogance like armor. A confident stride. Another wave of clapping.
Princess Alexandra—graceful, poised, every move calculated to draw admiration. The nobles whispered praises with envy in their voices.
Princess Celestia—the mysterious fourth, walking with a serene, warm smile. Whispers rose, but with curiosity rather than venom.
Then—
"And lastly… my youngest son. Kairus Vandereich."
The applause came—but thinner. Shorter.
And then the murmurs began.
"That's him? The concubine's boy?"
"The King truly brought him here… in front of the foreign envoys?"
"How shameless."
"Did you hear the rumors about the mother…?"
A few tried to mask their expressions behind polite smiles, but others didn't bother—lips curling, eyes narrowing, a few turning to speak quietly into their neighbors' ears.
The King didn't notice. But Kairus—Eustass—heard every word. Every sneer. Every ounce of contempt.
And he remembered. This kingdom has always been like this.
He stepped forward, each footfall measured, until he stood beside the rest. The stage felt too small, too suffocating, the air thick with judgment.
The King's smile didn't waver.
"To my family, my blood… tonight, let us not speak of titles or duties. Tonight, we celebrate life. Let us feast, drink, and dance beneath the light of this hall until the candles die."
The cheers returned. Music swelled.
But Kairus was already stepping off the stage before the final toast, the weight of the eyes on his back burning through him. He walked into the corridor, the noise of the banquet fading, until only the quiet hum of the palace remained.
Through the wide windows, the world was drenched in night. The city lights below flickered faintly, but the palace itself blazed bright, towering over everything.
Then a cold voice cut through the quiet.
"What are you doing here, bastard?"
Kairus turned slightly, catching the sneer on Prince Leigh's face.
"I thought your coma would keep you from Father's birthday. Guess I was wrong."
For a moment, Kairus studied him, every word digging into place like pieces of a puzzle. So, there's a chance you had something to do with my 'accident'.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice low—too low for anyone else to hear.
"Be careful what you wish for, Leigh… because you just might live long enough to regret it."
Leigh's smirk faltered, but before he could answer, Kairus leaned in and whispered, his tone sharpened like the edge of a blade.
"And one day, you'll be on your knees before me, wondering how I saw every move you made before you made it."
Leigh froze. His hands clenched, but the boy in front of him had already walked past, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
Kairus didn't look back. He didn't need to.
The banquet awaited—and so did the game.
----
The banquet hall's warmth and noise swallowed him as Eustass stepped back inside.
He let his eyes sweep the room, searching.
It didn't take long to find her.
Elizabeth.
She was in the far corner of the hall, surrounded not by friends or equals, but by servants. She carried a tray, bowing slightly as she served the women at a richly decorated table.
At its center sat Queen Viviane Vandereich, radiant in her silver gown, speaking lightly with royal ladies from foreign courts. Their laughter was like glass—clear, delicate, and sharp enough to cut.
Eustass didn't move at first. He simply watched.
Elizabeth knelt to wipe the floor beside the Queen's chair, brushing dust from the Queen's sandals, replacing empty plates, and polishing the edge of the table when wine spilled.
Eustass's fists curled slowly.
If it were the real Kairus seeing this… he would stay silent. Swallow the shame. Pretend it wasn't there.
But he wasn't Kairus.
I am Eustass.
He strode toward the table with deliberate steps, the sound of his boots echoing faintly on the marble.
Elizabeth didn't notice him—her head bent, her hands moving quickly over the floor.
Then his shadow fell across her.
"Mom," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the chatter like a blade.
"Stand up."
Every eye at the table turned toward him.
Elizabeth froze, her hands tightening around the cloth. Slowly, she looked up. Her eyes glistened—part embarrassment, part something she didn't want to name.
She rose. Eustass said nothing, only brushed the dust from her gown, adjusted the fabric where it had wrinkled, and tucked back a loose strand of her hair. His touch was steady, almost formal.
Then, without glancing at her again, he walked past her to the table.
The Queen's brows lifted slightly. The foreign ladies exchanged puzzled looks.
He picked up the nearest wine glass, swirled the liquid lazily, and stepped toward Queen Viviane.
The air shifted.
He leaned forward as if to offer a toast, but instead, his lips moved toward her ear.
At first, she tilted her head slightly, not catching his words. Her expression held the faintest trace of disdain—until she leaned closer, enough for his whisper to reach her.
"Five years from now, you will look into the mirror and see your own murderer smiling back. They will not kill you with steel, but with the truth you have tried to bury… the truth that will tear your crown from your head before the blade touches your throat."
The Queen froze.
For a heartbeat, the clinking of cups and laughter of nobles seemed far away. Her pulse quickened. Her eyes narrowed in disbelief—but beneath it was something else. A flicker of unease.
When she pulled back, she studied him with a silent question she did not dare voice. How could he know that?
Eustass straightened, his face unreadable, the glass of wine still in his hand. He raised it slightly, as if mocking a toast.
But before he could pour, Elizabeth's hand caught his wrist.
"That's enough," she whispered, pulling him gently toward her.
He didn't resist. Her arms wrapped around him in a quick, protective embrace, her voice low.
"I'm fine."
Without another glance at the Queen, Elizabeth led him away from the table, past the lingering stares, and out of the hall.
The noise of the banquet faded behind them as they walked toward the quiet of their chambers.
But Viviane's gaze followed him until the doors closed—her fingers tightening around her own glass, her thoughts echoing the same unspoken question.
Who are you really, boy?
----
The corridors were silent as they walked, the muffled echoes of music and laughter trailing from the banquet hall.
When they reached their chamber, Elizabeth said nothing. She stepped inside first, closing the door behind them.
Eustass stayed near the entrance, his eyes following her.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling in her lap. Then, without warning, tears slid down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that… pathetic, kneeling on the floor like some worthless servant."
She tried to hide her face in her hands, but the words kept coming, spilling from somewhere deeper.
"I know what I am, Kairus. I'm not blind. I'm not a queen, I'm not a noble… I'm nothing compared to the women in that hall. I'm just a mistress. A mistake your father made."
Eustass's expression, until then a calm, unreadable mask, shifted. His eyes sharpened—not in anger, but in something close to disbelief.
A mistake? And you're saying that in front of your own child?
Elizabeth saw the change in his face, and her own voice faltered. She quickly wiped at her eyes.
"I— I didn't mean it like that," she said, her voice almost breaking. "I just… I don't belong in that world."
For a long moment, Eustass said nothing. He simply walked toward her.
He was taller than the boy she thought she knew. His steps carried a weight she couldn't name.
Then he sat beside her, placing a hand on her trembling shoulder.
His voice was quiet, but steady.
"Listen to me. The world will decide your worth a hundred times over—and every single time, it will be wrong. People will call you less, they'll point out what you're not, they'll try to make you feel small… until you believe it yourself."
Elizabeth's eyes met his, glistening.
"But you," he continued, "you are the only one who can decide what you are. Not them. Not the crown. Not even me. And if you think you're nothing… then they've already won."
For a moment, there was only silence. Elizabeth's breath hitched, her tears falling harder now—but the look in her eyes was different.
Eustass wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a steady embrace. His hand patted her back with a slow, grounding rhythm.
"You're not a mistake," he said softly. "And neither am I."
Elizabeth closed her eyes, letting the words sink in.
The night outside was deep and still, but inside that room, something shifted—small, almost imperceptible, yet strong enough to hold against the weight of the palace walls.
When they finally pulled apart, Elizabeth managed a faint smile through her tears. Eustass didn't smile back, but his eyes were warmer now.
He stood, moving toward the window.
"Rest, Mom. Tomorrow, we face them again."
And in the quiet that followed, the sound of distant music faded into the hush of the night.