“The Duke himself—what an unexpected visit.”
Ressas’s voice held both wariness and anger. It had been a while since he had shown such raw emotion, and Seiyad tilted his head as he looked down at him. Though this was someone he’d seen in his final moments, many things now felt unfamiliar. There were slight discrepancies from his memory. His shorter stature, for one—he hadn’t grown into his full height yet. His demeanor, too, lacked even the hatred necessary for resentment, treating Seiyad without agitation or hostility. These details were telling.
Much younger than I remembered.
The youthful traces of boyhood on Ressas’s face gave Seiyad an odd feeling. His sleek, sharp jawline still bore soft curves, and his fair skin appeared not so much smooth as it did downy. His long neck hadn’t yet taken on the firmness of the twenty-five-year-old Ressas he’d once known, and his broad shoulders were still underdeveloped. Though it was clear at a glance that he had a naturally athletic build, honed through swordsmanship training, he still carried the softness unique to a young man.
Seiyad had forgotten, perhaps because the grown Ressas had always been so upright and formidable, but the prince was actually four years younger than him. When they had butted heads over everything from politics to the subjugation of Nir’a, Seiyad had never considered age relevant. But now, facing a twenty-year-old prince stripped of all power… it was disconcerting.
Had he really been directing his ire at such a child?
To the twenty-nine-year-old Seiyad, this present-day Ressas seemed strikingly immature. And having lived beyond this moment in time, Seiyad saw him not as just nine years younger, but as someone emotionally far behind.
Leaving this boy alone in the snowy plains while going to meet the Crown Prince now felt troubling. Though protocol dictated that the prince be escorted by at least one Tither, and Seiyad knew he had been safe at the time—surrounded by enough royal knights to quell any danger—the memory still gnawed at him.
He had been far too harsh on a child who still hadn’t shed his down.
Seiyad himself had been just as young when he lost his mother, and maybe that’s why he’d acted as he had—swept up in grief. His hardened heart had, over time, developed an inertia of its own, naturally casting everyone connected to the current queen as an enemy. If he believed in his mother’s innocence, then they were all, by extension, his foes. It was only logical to treat them as such.
And yet, despite all that, Ressas had never once retaliated in kind. He had shown anger, suspicion, and even censure—but never more. He hadn’t deliberately insulted Seiyad, nor had he plotted to put him in danger.
Among all those tied to the Queen, ironically, it was her firstborn son who had never harmed him. Not even when House Shildras and the Queen herself had allied to strip House Brosius of its standing.
Seiyad, recalling things he hadn’t realized before, grew pensive and fell silent. Ressas’s face stiffened. Biting down on his pink lips, the prince waited a few more moments before speaking, his voice barbed.
“How rude of you, Your Grace.”
Ah. I’ve upset him.
The unfamiliar awareness had drawn Seiyad into brief contemplation, and that moment of hesitation had done its damage. Unsure how best to handle the prince, he made a quick decision—to act normal, for now.
“Something urgent came to mind. Forgive my discourtesy.”
Seiyad’s voice, low and curt as always, made the knights escorting Ressas visibly tense. But rather than recoil, Ressas bit his lip again. It seemed he suspected some ulterior motive.
“Allow me to escort you inside.”
Seiyad decided to cut the conversation short and simply lead the prince to his quarters. Turning on his heel, he walked ahead into the castle. As they climbed the long stairway and entered the hall, the warmth inside surrounded them. A glance over his shoulder showed that Ressas’s expression had relaxed somewhat. He let out a shallow sigh and began looking around the place.
‘Now what?’
As they walked to the prince’s newly assigned chambers, guided by Kellaran’s arrangements, Seiyad mulled over the situation. Showing the prince warmth or familiarity was impossible. Seiyad wasn’t someone accustomed to expressing his emotions—let alone warmth—after all. If he suddenly wiped away all hostility and acted friendly, Ressas would surely grow suspicious.
He hadn’t said anything kind to another person in nine years. Smiles, kindness, concern—those belonged to a distant past. He had forgotten how to smile, how to cry. So attempting to show Ressas any emotional familiarity was out of the question.
Besides, all Seiyad wanted was to make use of the prince’s power. He had no interest in becoming one of his confidants. There was no need to win Ressas’s affection. His personality was naturally fair. As long as Seiyad righted the wrongs of the past, Ressas would willingly lend him the power of purification.
For now, let’s start by preventing what’s going to happen today.
Just then, they arrived at the prince’s quarters. Located at the far end of the eastern wing, the room had two small adjacent chambers where knights could stay as well. It was a good distance from the banquet hall and the garden, but still preferable to staying in a detached palace, as Aster had once suggested.
Ressas surveyed the room with no sign of displeasure. It was actually Sir Anka who looked at the prince with something like pity, while the man himself remained calm. If anything, he seemed slightly surprised. He inspected the room several times, then fixed Seiyad with a wary stare.
“You’re acting… different today, Your Grace.”
It was a relationship in which doing nothing at all could raise suspicion. It had been ages since Seiyad had even acknowledged him.
“Is there something you want from me?”
Though it wasn’t the reason Seiyad had approached him, the prince wasn’t wrong to assume so. He hadn’t waited to meet Ressas just to see his face.
“This is your first Ritual of Invocation. It’s understandable you wouldn’t know… but it’s more a dangerous rite than a festival.”
At the mention of the Ritual of Invocation, the slight ease in Ressas’s face vanished.
“Especially for someone inexperienced, it’s even more dangerous.”
Seiyad didn’t want Ressas to take part in the rite at all. If something were to happen and the prince lost someone close to him, it would be better never to let such a circumstance arise. Waiting for someone like Sir Anka to get injured just to gain Ressas’s sympathy was inefficient and unnecessary.
“It’s not experience you’re questioning—it’s ability, isn’t it.”
Ressas snapped sharply, cutting in.
“This isn’t like you. Speaking in circles like some typical noble isn’t your style. Why not just say it like before? ‘You’re useless, stay out of the way.’”
His pale face flared with fury. He glared at Seiyad like someone who had briefly harbored hope—only to cast it away entirely.
The atmosphere grew colder still. The knights escorting Ressas, perhaps lacking in loyalty, stood stiffly and stared at Seiyad with hardened expressions. Sir Anka was no different.
Seiyad realized then that there was no gentle way to deliver what he needed to say. Perhaps if he had the gift of eloquence, it would be different—but for years he had lived detached from any kind of emotional interaction. And given that just recently he had likely been saying the very words Ressas had thrown back at him… it only made things worse.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t attend at all. I’m suggesting that you join the opening rite of the Ritual of Invocation, then return before the hunt begins.”
At that moment, Anka stepped forward in place of the prince. Though he was merely a knight in the royal guard and held no authority to oppose a Tither like Seiyad, he spoke up regardless—risking offense.
“Please, do not humiliate His Highness any further, Your Grace. His Highness is the rightful light of Solias.”
“But not a Guide,” Seiyad said bluntly.
At his unfiltered remark, Anka’s expression darkened. It was a widely known truth, but few dared speak it aloud. Rather than pacifying the prince, Seiyad chose to present reality as it was.
“Nir’a is a monster that can only be killed by destroying its core precisely. You can take its head—it won’t die. Cut off its limbs—they’ll regenerate. No matter how small it is, someone without experience will inevitably panic. And no Tither is happy about having more people to protect.”
“I and my knights are strong enough to defend ourselves. What you’re saying is no different than mocking the Royal Shield.”
Ressas slowly began to swallow the anger that had previously flared in him. Seiyad faintly recalled that this moment was not far from the point in time when Ressas would stop getting angry at him altogether. Almost as if even anger had become too tiring, Ressas ended the conversation.
“The Prince of Solias must attend the Ritual of Invocation. I have no intention of breaking that tradition. My presence may irritate you—but that alone is no justification. You may leave now.”
In place of any further words, Ressas fell silent, lips pressed firmly shut. As Seiyad watched him avert his gaze, he chose to withdraw for the time being.
“Then, rest well.”
The knights’ gazes sharpened even further, likely interpreting his words as mockery. Seiyad swept his eyes over them—knights who served the prince yet enjoyed none of the power that service usually afforded. Then, he turned his gaze one last time to the prince.
Ressas had already turned his face away, refusing to meet his eyes. Seiyad took in the profile of that averted face, then turned and walked away.
