The chamber was lit by late-afternoon light, filtering in golden through stained glass. Carlos leaned against the windowsill, arms folded, watching Erevan sleep. He was breathing steadily now, color returning to his face. For once, Carlos allowed himself a slow breath.
Beside him, Lumira poured tea into a cup. She moved with a healer's grace—quiet, certain, strong. Not many dared speak plainly to Carlos, but Lumira did.
"You know," she said, handing him the cup without asking, "you're more difficult than your brother."
Carlos took it, raised an eyebrow. "That's impossible."
She chuckled. "I said more difficult. Not worse."
They sat in a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the leaves outside the open window. Carlos glanced sideways. "You don't talk like a palace healer."
"I wasn't born one. My father was a war doctor, not a court man. I followed him into camps, not ballrooms."
"Hm." Carlos sipped. "That explains why you didn't faint when Erevan did."
She smiled. "That explains why I didn't faint when you walked in with the forest half-burned behind you."
A flicker of a smile tugged at Carlos's mouth. Small, barely there. But it stayed.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Carlos felt like someone might actually understand him—not as a prince, or as the king's brother, but as someone trying not to break under the weight of two lives.
---
Kave's Return
Kave arrived just as the sun dipped low. He was covered in dust, jaw tight, fingers stained with ink and dried blood. He didn't bother with courtesies.
"It's the chef," he said. "Hired six months ago. Appointed by the queen herself."
Carlos's expression didn't change. "And?"
"The wine was imported from the South Isles. Untraceable. The lilies? Transplanted two weeks before the celebration—garden records wiped. Only she had the authority."
Carlos was quiet for a moment.
"But we can't act," Kave added bitterly. "Not until Erevan gives the order. No official move without royal command. And he won't. You know he won't."
Carlos's fists clenched, knuckles white.
"He won't," he echoed, voice low.
They both knew why.
Erevan would rather bleed than believe his own mother was the one tightening the noose. In his heart, he still looked for her love.
In Carlos's heart, he only saw fire.
---
The Past Bleeding Through
Carlos stood, his shadow long and sharp.
"She's the reason," he said quietly. "She's the reason he died in the last life."
Kave looked at him sharply.
"He trusted her. She and the god she bound him to. She fed him poison and lies until he had nothing left but war—and I had to stand across the battlefield from him."
Carlos's voice trembled—not with fear, but with the fury of memory. "I won't let that happen again."
Kave lowered his eyes. "Then what?"
Carlos looked down at Erevan's sleeping form, his hand tightening on the edge of the table.
"We collect every truth," he said. "We dig out every root, every whisper, every false smile. And when Erevan sees it all... even he won't be able to deny it."
"And then?" Kave asked.
Carlos's answer came without hesitation. "Then she falls."
---
In the Quiet
Later that night, Lumira came to check on Erevan and found Carlos still at his side, not asleep, not moving.
"You know," she said gently, "you don't have to do this alone."
Carlos didn't look at her. "I've already done it alone once. And it cost him everything."
She knelt beside the bed, resting her hand lightly over Erevan's.
"Then maybe," she said softly, "this time it won't."
Carlos didn't answer. But he didn't move away.