Wine cascaded down the Marquis's hat and shoulders.
The man stood quickly, looking embarrassed more than wet. As he removed the hat, revealing dampened hair, Valquiterre apologized with casual indifference.
"My hand slipped. Apologies."
"It's fine, Your Majesty," the Marquis replied, disappearing with servants before the King's carelessness could draw further attention.
But Kaian had seen it clearly. The way Valquiterre's hand had moved—too deliberate, too controlled. A slip of the hand didn't look like that.
The King set down the empty glass and excused himself to rest.
As Kaian watched him depart, something crystallized in his mind. *That wasn't an accident.*
---
## A Memory from Childhood
Kaian was perhaps eight years old when he first realized his cousin was greedy.
Rowen Castle was warm year-round, but winter was when barley ripened in the fields. When Valquiterre announced he was visiting, young Kaian's response was immediate and genuine.
"Mother, does Valquiterre have to come?"
Madame Elise smiled at his complaint. "Why would you not want your cousin to visit?"
"Valquiterre is greedy," Kaian said simply.
His cousin was his only true peer. The children of Rowen's vassals could never be equals—they existed to serve. Other noble children lived days away. Valquiterre was the only one who could match him.
But Valquiterre always wanted what Kaian had.
"The Oberon bloodline has been greedy for generations," Madame Elise had explained, stroking his hair. "Many desires, many wants. It's part of our royal heritage."
She'd said it with pride, not judgment. But Kaian understood: his mother recognized that same greed lived in him, inherited through her blood.
Still, when Valquiterre visited, Kaian would hide his favorite things. He'd create secret places, insist, "This is absolutely not possible!"—knowing that the moment Valquiterre saw something, he would want it.
When Kaian refused, Valquiterre would appeal to their mothers. Madame Elise would sigh, "Just give in, Kaian." But Valquiterre never seemed satisfied with mere possession. He wanted to *prove* he could take what Kaian wouldn't willingly give.
---
One winter, the Grand Duke of Luxen sent gifts—elaborately crafted knight dolls for both boys. They were identical: articulated armor, movable helmet, sword and spear that made clanking sounds when the figure walked.
Valquiterre, with his pretty face and long hair tied with a blue ribbon, extended his finger imperiously.
"I want that one."
"You already have an identical one," Kaian replied.
"It's not here. So I want it."
The Queen didn't reprimand her son. The custom of royal privilege meant that if Valquiterre wanted something, he should have the boldness to take it. But he wanted to force Kaian's surrender first.
Madame Elise would eventually tell Kaian to yield. But this time, something in Kaian rebelled. He grabbed the doll and ran.
His heart raced—from exertion, yes, but also from the thrill of defiance. For the first time, he wouldn't give in.
He hid the doll under the floorboards in his bedroom. A secret vault for things Valquiterre couldn't steal.
Throughout that visit, Valquiterre never demanded it. They hunted together, slept in the forest study, played and laughed like brothers.
When Valquiterre left, Kaian retrieved the floorboards to restore his hiding place.
The doll's neck was broken.
Not a natural break. The helmet was dented—damaged deliberately by small, determined hands. Valquiterre had found it. And rather than ask for it again, he'd destroyed it.
The anger Kaian felt was profound and primal. He'd yielded things he didn't need to lose. He'd been considerate, agreed to unreasonable demands, humiliated himself before their mothers. And when he finally *refused*—when he finally asserted ownership—Valquiterre had taken that ownership away by destroying what he couldn't possess.
Madame Elise ordered him to write a thank-you letter to the Grand Duke. Even as he held the broken doll, even as his chest burned with injustice, he was forced to write: *"I have received the gift you sent me."*
*Valquiterre, you bastard.*
The resentment faded as Kaian aged. He became Duke, then warrior. War consumed him. And after Valquiterre ascended the throne, they'd had no time together at all. Fifteen years passed. Kaian forgot the broken doll.
Until now.
---
*Did Valquiterre deliberately ruin the hat?*
The hat Claudel had given him. The stylish feather hat now trendy throughout the capital. A gift from his wife.
If Valquiterre had asked for it, Kaian would have refused. So perhaps—just as he had with the knight doll—Valquiterre had chosen a different path. Ruin it. Eliminate the object of his coveting by destroying it.
Kaian felt a sickening recognition. *He hasn't changed.*
But then reason intruded. *That's absurd. Valquiterre is King now, not a jealous child. This is paranoia.*
Yet the deliberateness of the spill, the casual indifference afterward, the way he'd left without checking on the Marquis—it all felt calculated.
"I've been away from Valquiterre too long," Kaian muttered. "Old memories are playing tricks."
But he couldn't quite convince himself.
---
## At the Hunting Lodge
The night sky over the rural hunting grounds was extraordinary. Without the capital's lights, stars burned brilliantly.
Claudel watched from the window with Hannah and Madame Marcel, wrapped in blankets.
"Your hands are cold," Hannah said finally, closing the window. "Stop looking now."
"I want to see more," Claudel protested softly.
"You'll see the same stars tomorrow," Hannah assured her.
As Hannah tended the fire and Madame Marcel changed into her nightgown, the room became quiet. Claudel stared into the flames, lost in thought.
A knock on the door.
She opened it without hesitation.
Kaian stood in the threshold, his expression unreadable.
"This spell works here too," he said quietly. "You opened the door without asking who it was."
"I knew it was you," she replied simply.
He stepped inside, and she realized something was wrong. His usual composure held an edge—tension beneath the surface, controlled but present.
"What happened?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pulled her close, his embrace firm enough to be almost fierce.
"Nothing," he finally said. "I just needed to see you."
She relaxed into him, but part of her remained uncertain. Whatever had happened at the gathering had troubled him deeply.
For the first time since arriving at Rowen, Claudel wondered if there were secrets in Kaian's past that she didn't yet understand—wounds that ran deeper than she'd realized, and rivalries that hadn't truly healed with time.
---