Evening light streamed through the tall, arched glass panes of the room, painting the floor in streaks of gold and crimson. Outside, the sky was a deepening lavender, clouds lingering like bruises from a fading storm. Inside, the warmth of the elaborately furnished war room felt oddly stifling-like silk stretched too tightly over something festering beneath.
The room was empty, save for two figures.
Elliott sat by the window, his hands gripping the arms of his chair hard enough for his knuckles to pale. His body was still weakened- thin and hunched slightly from illness- but his gaze remained sharp, cutting, unforgiving. His expression betrayed none of the turmoil inside. He hadn't moved since he had summoned Aiden.
Aiden stood a few feet away, arms folded across his chest, jaw set like iron. The stark white of the bandages around his neck was jarring against his dark clothes- an ugly reminder of recent violence. He didn't speak. He didn't move. Neither did Elliott. The silence that stretched between them was not peaceful- it was heavy. Charged. The kind of silence that begged to be broken, even if it shattered something in the process.
It was the first time since the illness that Elliott had been coherent enough to resume courtly responsibilities. That morning, after their conversation at breakfast, he had quietly summoned the Grand Admiral after Aiden left. He had asked questions- pointed ones- but not to Aiden. Not about the bodies. Not directly. And somehow, that omission made everything so much worse.
Aiden hadn't dared face him again until now.
He didn't know whether it was guilt or anger that curled in his chest like physical weight. Maybe both.
At last, Elliott spoke.
His voice was calm, but deathly quiet- like the warning stillness before lightning strikes.
"You hanged soldiers from trees," he said.
No preamble. No lead-up. Just plain, hard truth, laid bare.
Aiden didn't flinch. His gaze met Elliott's squarely, cold and unwavering. "I did," he said.
Elliott's jaw tightened. "You poisoned their supply lines. Burned the crops. Salted the earth."
"Yes."
"You killed their soldiers. Left the messengers alive but mutilated."
Aiden's fists clenched at his sides. The disappointment in Elliott's voice was like knives dragging across his bone. Still, his face remained unreadable. "I did what was necessary."
"Necessary?" Elliott's voice cracked- sharp and raw now. "You committed war crimes, Aiden."
The words rang out like a slap.
Aiden's body stiffened, rage flaring in his chest. "They started this."
Elliott exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. He pressed a hand to his temple, rubbing it as though the pain was physical. "Since when," he said, his voice hard, "do we answer cruelty with more cruelty?!"
"Since they tried to kill you!" Aiden exploded. His voice rose like a sudden thunderclap. "Multiple times, Elliott! Since they mocked you, humiliated you- dared to laugh while you lay unconscious in a bed, fighting for your life! Since they thought we were weak!"
He dragged a hand through his hair, disheveled strands falling into his eyes. His breathing was shallow, erratic. "You weren't there, Elliott. You didn't see what they did. What they said. You didn't hear the things they said about you. About us. About me."
Elliott's heart clenched. His voice softened, almost pleading now. "That's not us, Aiden. This is not you."
The words, which once used to be calming, now rang hollow to Aiden's ears.
"Then what is us, Elliott?" Aiden shot back, his voice rising again. "Tell me. Are we the pushover nation that bows every time someone raises a hand? Are we the empire that lets our people be slaughtered while we smile and ask for peace?" His voice cracked. "Is that what you want us to be?"
Elliott's tone was weary. This was not the first time they were having this argument. "I'm not saying that."
"Then what are you saying?" Aiden demanded, stepping closer. "What do you want from me, Elliott?"
"I'm saying..." Elliott struggled for the words. "I'm saying we are not them. If we stoop to their level, if we become what they are, what's the difference between them and us?"
It was meant to soothe. To remind Aiden of the ideals they used to believe in. "We're not them, Aiden. We're better," Elliott had said a thousand times before. And every time, Aiden had swallowed his fury and listened.
But not today. Not after the conversation at morning.
"Difference?" Aiden repeated, his voice bitter. His eyes glistened with something sharp and dangerous. "You say what I did is wrong. That I went too far. Fine. Maybe I did. But what about you, Elliott?"
Elliott's expression faltered, ever so slightly.
Aiden laughed. It was a sharp, humorless, terrible sound. "You bury the truth to protect your conscience. I burn the world to protect you. Maybe we're both monsters. But don't pretend your hands are clean."
Elliott's eyes widened. "Aiden-"
"No." Aiden cut him off, voice raw and shaking. "You don't get to lecture me about morality. Not now. Not when you've spent your entire reign hiding the rot because facing it was too hard. You let your mother live like a queen while she destroyed people's lives. You let the Rosethrone murders be swept under the rug. You let me believe I was nothing- nothing!- because acknowledging the truth was too painful for you."
Elliott's hands trembled against the arms of his chair.
Aiden pressed on, relentless, too far in to stop now. "You want to talk about cruelty? Fine. I'm a monster. I'll take that. But what about you, Elliott? What do you call it when you let innocent people rot? When you let generations suffer because you couldn't bear to admit the truth? You want to know what's cruel? It's not soldiers swinging from trees. They came to battle. It's a mother forced into forcing her daughter into marriage with a man twice her age, and you doing nothing because it's easier to look away."
The words echoed between them, sharp and heavy like shattered glass.
And then silence.
Aiden stood there, chest heaving, throat tight. The room was too quiet. Too still.
And then-
"...You're right," Elliott whispered.
Aiden froze.
The words hit him harder than a scream ever could.
"I was cruel," Elliott said, voice breaking. "I was. I know I was."
His eyes dropped to his hands, gripping the armrests as though anchoring himself. "I wasn't cruel because I wanted to be," he continued. "I was... afraid. Of what I'd find. Of what I'd have to become, if I started digging too deep."
Aiden said nothing. His anger had begun to dim, replaced by something colder, heavier. Guilt. Confusion. Grief.
Elliott looked away, blinking hard against the tears brimming in his eyes. "But that fear- My fear- It doesn't justify this. It doesn't justify any of this. And it doesn't make what you did right either."
The truth hung between them like fog, dense and suffocating.