Creak... Talant pushed the door open. Paris had just rolled from bed, bare-chested, sleep still clinging like mist, fumbling into his clothes.

“Well, my good brother, aiming to be a beacon for the ages or a colossus for all time?” Her voice was a blade wrapped in silk. “Planning the realm while hugging a woman in bed?”

Paris dressed in a rush, smoothed his robe like a calm lake, and stepped close to touch Talant’s cheek. “What, a king can’t share a bed now? Am I a king, or a devotee?”

Talant flicked his hand away, cold as frost on iron. “Beds aren’t the problem. You slept with your own vassal. She’s the vice-commander of your first knightly order—the Heavenly Dragon Corps. Should I read it as you using love and power to wash this poor girl’s mind clean?”

“Heh...” Paris’ gaze went crooked, a fox-smile in twilight. “Talant... did you forget I’m your king?”

Talant’s smile bloomed like a dangerous flower. “How could I forget, my beloved majesty? You’re the only legitimate blood left. All Ogathas hangs on you to carry the line.”

“Does it?” His smile hardened like cooling steel. “You don’t sound happy. Do you still think I’m to blame for Elyu and Father?”

“Isn’t it true?” Her words trembled like a bowstring. “When the disaster struck, why didn’t Father and Elyu stand with you against Delaia? Why did only you walk away alive?”

“We had won the war, hadn’t we?” Her voice fell like rain on stone. “Then why... why...” Tears burst forth, a spring from shattered rock.

The darkness in Paris’ face loosened like a storm breaking. He pulled her into his arms, soothing her as if smoothing wind-ruffled reeds. “Oh... my dear sister... the world is cold, like winter river-water. Didn’t Father teach us, whatever happens, Eunomia comes first?”

“We did win. But disasters—heaven-sent or man-made—are pain a kingdom must pass through, like a forest fire clearing undergrowth. It just fell on our generation. Even so, we walk on with our wounds, don’t we?”

“Don’t forget. Fifty million subjects of Eunomia stand behind us like a sea.”

Talant’s willow brows twisted with pain; her eyes went blood-red like sunset, her mouth trembled like a torn thread. She wept without end, rain on a ruined garden. Paris drew a clean kerchief and wiped her tears with careful fingers, slow as drifting snow.

Now she looked ravaged, like fallen petals and frayed silk, on the verge of tearing. Paris held her, stroked her dark hair like stroking a tame hawk. Brotherly fondness warmed his face, yet a thin smile of triumph curled beneath, as if the chessboard under heaven lay in his palm.

After a long while, the tears ebbed, leaving her eyes swollen like peaches, her makeup washed away like ink in rain, haggard enough to stir pity.

“Don’t overthink it. Leave it to your brother,” Paris said, voice gentle as a night lamp.

Talant nodded, dazed, like a moth stunned by light. Spent, she drifted for the door, steps heavy as wet boots. Outside, Hippo stood at attention. One look at her pallor and swollen eyes, and he almost cried out like a startled bird.

The proud, warlike woman now wore a face white as paper. Two clear tracks of tears stained her cheeks like twin streams. Her fingers crushed her skirt hem into pleats, small and helpless as a lost fawn.

...

“Your Majesty! She’s acting! She wasn’t like this when she came!” Velledo stomped a heel, rosy fists clenched, anger sparking like flint.

“I can tell if it’s an act,” Paris said, face flat as a sealed mask. “She’s a woman in the end. Not everyone is a god. If you’re human, feelings move you like tides.”

“Talant’s no exception. Doubt or certainty, it changes nothing. She’s human. I know my measure. Don’t fret.”

“But—” Velledo started, then froze under his fearsome gaze, sharp as a drawn blade. She clicked her heel, spun, and stormed off like a gust.

From a shadowed corner, Talant watched it all, eyes like water over polished jade. Her scarlet lips curled into a blossom, her gaze rippling with layered meanings. Then she slipped away, light-footed as a cat into the night.