The High Priest wiped his blood-stained hands on a linen cloth, his face pale with exhaustion as he delivered the news. Tristan would live—the divine magic had stopped the brain bleeding and repaired the fractured skull—but the force of the trauma had left him with a severe concussion and a localized loss of memory.
When Tristan finally opened his eyes three days later in the quiet sanctuary of the palace recovery room, he looked around the room with soft, bewildered confusion. He remembered his name, how to walk, and how to hold a blade, but the intricacies of his life—and the bitter feuds that had plagued his upbringing—were gone.
Cassian never left his bedside.
Day and night, Cassian sat in the velvet chair beside Tristan, feeding him warm broths, placing cool cloths over his fevered brow, and patiently answering every hesitant question the boy asked. For Tristan, the void in his memory was quickly filled with warmth. He learned that Cassian was his parent, that Lucien was his father, and that he was deeply loved by his family.
When Ruby burst into the infirmary on the fifth afternoon, her velvet skirts rustling with frantic rage, she rushed to her son's side, grasping his hands. "Tristan! My boy, look at me! It's your mother!"
Tristan pulled his hands back slowly, shrinking into the pillows with a frown of uncomfortable unfamiliarity.
"I–... I'm sorry, my lady. Do I know you?"
Ruby went deathly still. She whirled around, her eyes wild with venom as she glared at Cassian, who was quietly standing nearby with a cup of tea.
"What did you do to him?!"
Ruby shrieked, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
"You witch! You stole my son's mind! You turned him against me so you could have him all to yourself!"
"Lady Ruby, calm yourself—" Cassian began softly.
"I will not!" she spat, lunging forward as if to strike him. "He was mine! I raised him, and you bewitched him the moment you walked back into this realm just to ruin my life! Just to spite me!"
Before she could lay a finger on Cassian, Lucien stepped into the doorway. With a face like thunder, he signaled the imperial guards. They seized Ruby by her arms, dragging her kicking and screaming down the grand corridor, her bitter curses fading into the distance. Tristan merely blinked, sinking deeper into Cassian's comforting embrace, entirely unbothered by the loss of a mother he could no longer recall.
While warmth blossomed inside the infirmary, cold isolation consumed Aurelian.
Sora's punishment was absolute. Aurelian was grounded to his private quarters, stripped of his sword, and forbidden from attending any royal functions. Guards stood outside his door, but the true prison was the command given by his father: Aurelian was not to step within ten paces of Tristan.
Every time Aurelian tried to sneak down the quiet corridor to see his brother, Sora would appear like a phantom, stepping into his path with an icy, unyielding gaze.
"Return to your room, Aurelian," Sora would say, his voice flat and devoid of its usual warmth.
"You have done enough."
Guilt ate Aurelian alive, gnawing at his ribs until he could barely breathe or sleep.
From the high arched window of his chamber, Aurelian watched the palace gardens below. On the sunny afternoons that followed, he saw Cassian slowly walking beside Tristan, helping the recovering boy steady his footing. He watched Cassian laugh gently at something Tristan said, adjusting the boy's cloak against the breeze. He watched Lucien join them, placing a broad, protective hand on Tristan's shoulder.
They looked like a complete, peaceful family.
Standing alone behind the cold glass, Aurelian clutched the stone sill, tears quietly threatening his eyes. The sight stirred a deep, agonizing ache inside him—not of anger anymore, but of profound, self-inflicted ruin. He realized that in his desperate fear of being replaced, he had carved himself entirely out of their lives.
He stepped back from the window, letting the velvet curtains fall shut, drowning his room in darkness. He decided to stop reaching out. He would keep his distance, bearing the silence he deserved.
*****