ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
I stomped down the castle halls, overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions—mostly, anger and frustration, —all swelling within me in uneven waves. But the strongest among them was a familiar one:
Confusion.
Alba confused me. I had no idea what he truly wanted, what desires drove him, or what motivations might lie beneath the surface. And just when I thought I had him figured out, he'd throw me off again. And again.
In my past life, these were always the hardest people to deal with—not just to read, but to contain. The ones with murky motives, who gave nothing away… yet somehow had the strongest resolve to see their hidden goals through to the end.
Politics, in any sphere, is a game of understanding your opponents'—and even your comrades'—motivations, then planning accordingly. More often than not, it boils down to information: whoever holds the most critical pieces wins.
Raamiz, to some extent, gets this. But he often gets distracted—lost in the haze of political theater. He just doesn't have the patience to sit still and endure it.
Alba doesn't have that issue. He lacks Raamiz's intuition, and he lacks the guidebook I carry from another life. But he keeps his cards close and plays his advantages well.
As Zeliot, in this new world, I've come to understand my strengths and weaknesses well. The chaos of an identity crisis has dulled, and with it, the sense of being unmoored.
Put simply: I know what I'm doing.
And yet, Alba still presents an extreme challenge to me.
I turned another corner, still caught in those thoughts, and finally made my way up the stairs toward my corridor. Before I did anything else, I needed to drop off the book Ms. Miresse—or rather, Alba—had given me.
The hours passed through the day, marked by the ringing of bells. There was no mandatory family dinner, so at the Vesper bell—signaling the early evening hour of rest and transition—I simply went to the kitchens and had the servants serve me roasted poultry with dark bread and boiled roots.
I retreated to my room and spent the evening reading Lineage and Dominion: A Complete Record of the Valorian Bloodline, gathering a few interesting details along the way. When the final Compline bell rang—struck just before nightfall to signal the beginning of curfew and silence throughout the halls—I closed the book.
I stood up and looked in the mirror, adjusting my plain appearance. My eyes were tired—faintly red, underslept for days. My face looked paler, sharper than usual. I hadn't been eating or sleeping well. With a final glance, a sigh, and the necessary materials gathered, I left.
Luca was waiting outside my quarters. As I stepped out, he raised his eyebrow. I gave him a small nod to show I wasn't in the mood to talk.
That didn't stop him.
"Where you heading off to?"
There was no point in lying to Luca—doing so only ever led to more trouble.
"To Raamiz's quarters."
"Hmm… you seem to go there often. And for some reason, always at night."
I turned to him. "Do you have some thoughts on that you'd like to share?"
"Absolutely none. It's your business, after all."
This kind of exchange was routine with Luca. I'd learned early on that while his job was to watch me, he went about it with restraint. He kept his distance, stuck to his orders, and rarely meddled. Honestly, I appreciated it. I doubted he even reported anything meaningful to our father. His task was to keep me safe, and that was the extent of it.
It was also becoming clear that, with each passing day, Luca respected me a little more.
"I will say this, though, Zeliot…" He paused, voice low. "I'm not the only one watching you."
Just another one of his usual reminders.
"I understand."
"Good. Then be on your way."
And with that, I trekked through the night to my annoying brother's room.
Since both Raamiz and I lived on the second floor of the castle, it wasn't much of a walk to reach his quarters. Compared to the rest of the family, ours were the closest—while the Duchesses and the Duke resided a floor above, Idris and Alba lived on the ground level. It was odd how scattered the family was, but I assumed it was intentional. Maybe it was meant to foster individuality—or a sense of perseverance. Just a guess, though.
I approached Raamiz's door, where his personal guard was already waiting. It was only recently that I'd actually remembered his name—which, frankly, I found a little embarrassing. Then again, most people didn't bother learning the names of guards who weren't assigned to them. As I stepped into view, the man stiffened instinctively, then relaxed and offered a polite bow.
"Lord Zeliot. A pleasure to see you at this hour."
"The pleasure's all mine, Calen," I replied, flashing a wry smile. I nodded toward the door. "Is he waiting for me in there?"
He straightened from his bow, a kind smile forming on his face.
"Yes, Lord Raamiz has been expecting you. Please, go in."
With that, he opened the door for me. I stepped inside slowly.
Raamiz was lying on his bed, like he usually did, doing the same basic routine of tossing a ball in the air and catching it over and over. Occasionally, he'd throw it just far enough that he'd have to nearly dive for it—like he was trying to make a game out of boredom. It was a strange little habit, but kind of endearing, in the way cats do random things that somehow make perfect sense to them and no one else.
Though today, I was in no mood for his weird antics. That must've been obvious on my face, because the moment Raamiz looked up, he immediately started suppressing a grin.
"Wow, you look pissed! Hah—you must not be happy with me."
I pulled up one of the chairs by his desk and dragged it across from him. Then, slowly, I took a seat.
"Let's just say it hasn't been the greatest couple of days—and you haven't exactly been helpful."
Raamiz didn't turn toward me as he said this—nor did he answer right away. He just kept tossing that damn ball, like he hadn't heard me at all. His eyes, however, weren't on the ceiling. They were fixed just over my shoulder—past me, focused on something else entirely. His grin was gone now, lips pressed into a contemplative line.
Flustered by his maddening lack of cooperation, I let out a sharp sigh and turned slightly, trying to see what exactly he was so fixated on. There was nothing there—just a blank stretch of wall and a standard clock, its ticking steady and unbothered.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
I turned back to Raamiz, each tick piling onto the fire already simmering inside me.
However, before I could say anything, he caught the ball one last time and let it fall gently onto his chest.
"Hm," he muttered, almost too softly to hear. "Guess you came a little too early."
I blinked. "What?"
He finally turned his head to face me—and then broke. His expression cracked wide open into laughter.
He rolled slightly on the bed, barely keeping the ball from falling, clearly having been holding it in since the moment I walked in.
What the…
Confusion, it seemed, had chosen to be my closest companion today. I was so utterly perplexed that I forgot, if only for a moment, just how pissed I was just a moment ago.
Speechless, I stood like a statue, with what I could only guess was a completely dumbfounded face. And maybe because of how dumb it all felt, I just waited—letting Raamiz finish his little routine of uncontrollable laughter.
After what must have been at least thirty seconds, Raamiz started to ease into a calmer chuckle and slowly sat up, looking at me with that bright smile of his.
Judging by his face, I must've still looked thoroughly lost. His grin twitched like he was tempted to start laughing all over again—but he held back.
"Okay… okay," he said, breathless. "I've calmed down. Sorry. I had to."
I didn't bother with a response, and my expression made that perfectly clear. Raamiz, seemingly understanding this, decided to continue.
"I understand that you have to be frustrated with me, and, uh, me almost laughing to death certainly doesn't help my case. But you gotta understand—this is all your fault."
"What!? What are you—"
Raamiz held up a hand, cutting me off. His grin had faded into something sharper—eyes gleaming, posture now upright. He wasn't joking anymore.
"I mean, it's your fault that I'm laughing so much when you've got that look on your face."
I opened my mouth to snap back, but before I could get a word in, he pushed ahead, this time more deliberately.
"No, but seriously. This is all going according to plan. My plan—well, technically your plan."
I stared, utterly lost. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Instead of answering, Raamiz gave a small nod past me—toward the wall.
I turned. It was just a clock. Ticking.
9:59.
Tick.
9:59 and thirty seconds.
Tick.
Forty.
Fifty.
Sixty.
10:00.
"That should do it," Raamiz said.
The instant he made that passing remark, my head split open, carving a stabbing wound that pierced like the worst migraine imaginable. Except I knew it wasn't. Just three months ago, I'd experienced far worse.
The pain came in a sharp spurt, but by the time it passed, I was drenched in sweat—on my hands and knees without even realizing it.
Raamiz had already sprung from the bed. He crouched beside me, eyes wide with real concern. No smile now.
"Zeliot? Are you okay? Are you with me?"
I looked up, breath shallow, sweat dripping from my brow. His face held a quiet sadness, like he was trying to mask how deeply it had shaken him to see me like this. And for the first time today, I understood why.
"I'm alright, Raamiz. I'm alright."
His expression eased, just slightly. He extended a hand. I took it without hesitation, rising back to my feet, now standing eye-to-eye with him.
"And I'm more than alright, Raamiz. In fact, I'm ecstatic."
I wasn't lying. I was elated—beyond measure.
"So do you rem—?"
"Yes," I cut in. "I remember everything. And better yet, the plan worked perfectly."