The imperial solar was grand, yet eerily intimate.
The golden sun filtered through high arched windows, casting sharp beams across the polished obsidian floor. The room was devoid of courtiers, ministers, or guards. Present were only Emperor Valien and his children—each seated in their designated place around the long council table.
At the head sat Valien himself, his fingers steepled, eyes sharp beneath his silver crown. To his right:
Maleaus, the Crown Prince, rigid and silent.
Rythe, expression unreadable, his gaze fixed forward.
To the emperor's left:
Prince Kael, standing—not seated—with Lord Halric behind him.
Then came Prince Elion, the fourth-born, a calm and watchful diplomat.
Prince Dain, third-born, still too young for command but observant.
Princess Rhalia, sharp-witted and unreadable.
Princess Vaela, soft-spoken and fiercely intelligent.
And Princess Astrid, the youngest, her face closed like a sealed book.
The tension was a noose around every throat.
"Begin," Emperor Valien said, voice cold.
Kael swallowed hard, the weight of eyes pressing on him from all sides.
"I went to meet Vereth," Kael began. "He had long been our ally. I believed he could be… persuaded to provide support—political and material—for my claim to... greater responsibility."
"And?" Valien's voice cut through like steel.
"He betrayed us. It was an ambush. He never intended diplomacy. He planned to murder Halric and me… and frame Rythe for it. He meant to fracture the court and leave the kingdom vulnerable to invasion."
A stunned silence settled like snowfall. Then Maleaus scoffed. "So, you tried to cut a deal behind Father's back, and nearly caused a civil war?"
"Brother—"
"Don't call me that," Maleaus hissed. "You don't deserve it."
Kael bowed his head. "I was misled."
"Manipulated," Rythe corrected softly, his arms folded. "You always were."
Halric cleared his throat. "Your Majesty, I take full responsibility—"
"You'll take nothing," Valien snapped. "You gambled your own child for power, Halric. "
Halric paled but did not speak.
Astrid, ever blunt, asked flatly, "How many times do you need to endanger the Empire before you're satisfied?"
"Enough." The emperor raised a hand. His children fell silent.
"You went behind my back, Kael. You conspired with a foreign power. And then—when your puppeteer turned on you—you had to be rescued… by the very man you sought to bring down."
Rythe's eyes didn't flicker. But Kael flinched.
Valien leaned forward slowly. "What would you do if you were me?"
Kael hesitated. "I would… punish betrayal."
"Would you?" Valien mused, then straightened. "Then hear your punishment. You and Lord Halric are confined. Thirty days. No contact, no attendants, no communication. Your correspondence will be reviewed. Your movements tracked."
Kael's lips parted to protest, but he stopped himself.
"If I find even a breath of ongoing treason, I will strip your titles and have you tried."
Vaela murmured, "He's being merciful."
"I'm being just," Valien said. Then his voice lowered like a blade drawn. "I have lost my patience with entitled ambition."
He looked to Halric. "You've failed both as a father and as a subject. Consider this your last chance to act with integrity."
Halric bowed stiffly.
Then the emperor addressed them all. "Let this be a lesson. We are not gods. We bleed. And if any of you think this throne can be taken through shadows, I assure you… the only thing you'll find in the dark is me."
No one breathed.
The heavy doors creaked shut as the guards bowed and escorted Lord Halric away.
"Ensure he is confined," Rythe instructed the guards without even looking. "No visitors. No distractions."
The moment the doors closed, a charged stillness filled the hall. The emperor sat on his throne in silence, and around him were gathered all his children.
It was rare for them to be in the same room without courtiers or advisors. Rarer still for such silence to fall among them.
Rythe stepped forward.
He turned first to his father, then let his gaze sweep across the siblings, pausing at Kael. Then back to the emperor.
And then, his voice came. Low. Firm. Steady.
"Father, your words just now on loyalty and duty... they would have inspired me once. But now they only leave a bitter taste in my mouth."
A small shift among the royals. But no one interrupted.
"I am hurt, Father. Disappointed. Because I know you have long known of Kael's ambition to take the throne from Maleaus. You have known of his schemes, his recklessness, his whispered lies… and yet you said nothing. As a father. As emperor. You let it fester."
Kael flinched slightly, but Rythe did not pause.
"Everyone knows Maleaus deserves the crown. Not only by birthright, but by merit. But when Kael—your own son—began sowing chaos, rather than call him to order, you allowed your silence to become permission."
His voice dropped lower, darker.
"You allowed our once close family to fracture. Each of us pursuing our own hidden motives, mistrusting one another, while the empire we are meant to guide stands on shaky ground."
He stepped forward again.
"And worst of all—you allowed an innocent omega to suffer. Aurean."
Now the room stilled further. Kael's hands clenched. The emperor's eyes narrowed, but still he said nothing.
"You knew, Father. You knew he was sent by his own father—and my own brother—to kill me. You knew it was a trap. Yet it was Aurean who bore the humiliation.
The pain. The shame. While the true orchestrators walked free."
His voice cracked—once—but he pushed through.
"And yet, Father, you speak of dignity. Of loyalty. Where was yours?"
He turned to Maleaus now.
"You, brother. You once loved an omega. And Father hated you for it. Is that why you turned away from me when I saved him? I am the reason your beloved still breathes. But instead of gratitude, you distanced yourself from me. I fought your battles. I shielded you. You are still the Crown Prince because of me."
Maleaus's lips parted, but he could not find words.
Rythe moved on.
"Elion. Dain. Rhalia. Vaela. Astrid. I have stood between all of you and death. I was kidnapped—three times. Beaten near death. I carry nightmares that wake me gasping. And still I return to fight your wars. Your enemies. Your rumors. Your guilt."
"I've waged wars on entire kingdoms for you. I've protected your secrets. I've given you peace where there should have been punishment. And in return?"
His hand clenched at his side.
"I asked for nothing. Not recognition. Not a crown. Not even thanks."
"But when it came to Aurean…"
"A man who had already lost his name, his future, his body, his dignity…"
He paused. Then dropped the truth like thunder.
"He carried my child. And he lost that child—in a dungeon sanctioned by my own father and my own brother while I was away on a mission you sent me on, Father. With a beta of your choosing. While the omega who bore my child was left to bleed alone in chains."
Gasps broke the silence like shattered glass.
"Yes. My child is dead. Gone before I even knew it existed. And his murderers?
His own grandfather. His own uncle. And yes—his father. For I let it happen."
Even Kael looked ill now, sweat beading on his forehead.
"And what crime was Aurean truly guilty of? Being used. Being desperate. Being an omega in a world that sees omegas as expendable."
Rythe looked up, jaw clenched.
"You hated mother because she left. But have you ever asked yourself why? If she suffered even half of what Aurean did, then I do not blame her. I envy her."
No one dared speak.
"And you, Kael." Rythe's voice was quiet, cutting. "You are no murderer. You're not cold-blooded. But you are weak. Weak enough to be used. And your ambition—your blind hunger—almost brought down this empire."
Kael looked up, stricken.
"Vereth is dead. He took the truth with him. We are vulnerable now, and I will keep us safe. Because that's what I've always done."
He turned to the others again, one last time.
"I do not want the throne. I never did. All I wanted was peace. But I can't even remember who I am anymore. And as for Aurean…"
His eyes closed.
"He doesn't love me. Why should he? I am a curse to him. I was his final undoing."
A beat. His voice fell to a whisper.
"So there is nothing left."
Without another word, Rythe turned and walked out, his cape sweeping the floor behind him.
And in his wake, silence fell—not one of reverence, but of shame. Of a family shattered beneath the weight of one man's truth.
A truth too long buried. Too long ignored.