PART VI: Alone Again
As Nex slept, waiting for the carriage's next stop, he was awakened by a whisper carried on the wind.
"Where are you..."
He jolted upright, breath hitching in his throat. Mist left his lips—faint puffs of condensation in the cold air. But that couldn't be right. They were traveling through the warmest region of the continent.
He looked around the dim interior of the carriage. Just the driver, silent and still. The voice had not belonged to him. It didn't sound like any man at all.
Nex tried to dismiss it as a dream—just a trick of the mind.
Then he heard it again.
"Where are you, my prince?"
The words reached into him, threading through his thoughts like a cold thread of memory. A vision struck him—not something he recalled on his own, but something forced upon him by the voice.
He was four years old again.
The palace balcony stretched wide—a grand space surrounded by lush gardens, enormous fountains, and trees planted by generations of emperors and empresses. The warm sun bathed the stone in golden light. It was seven years ago.
A young Nex was hiding behind a tree, peeking out at the scene with wide, curious eyes.
In the open courtyard, Damon—fourteen years old—played with the twins, who were ten at the time. They chased each other through the garden, laughing loudly.
And in the middle of it all was Sarah, twenty-nine years old, running among them with a joyful smile, half-heartedly trying to catch the children. Her efforts to restrain them were playful at best—she made no real attempt to stop their chaos.
Their laughter rang through the air like music.
A gentle tap on Nex's shoulder startled him. He turned around to see Lucy, dressed in a fancy red gown with a toy crown perched atop her head. She beamed at him, catching him mid-stare, clearly noticing his longing to join his siblings.
Behind her stood Empress Alica—green-eyed, poised, and distant. Her cold smile barely shifted as she watched her son, Damon, playing in the gardens. She seemed entirely indifferent to the presence of anyone else.
"Do you want to go and join them, young prince?" Lucy asked warmly, her smile widening as she knelt down to Nex's level.
The young boy nodded without speaking, his teeth gently gnawing at his fingernails—a habit he shared with his sister Abigail.
"Well then, you'd better hurry, before they finish playing," Lucy said with a soft laugh.
Nex's face lit up. He smiled and began to run—slowly at first, then faster—toward his brothers and sister.
But as he approached, something strange happened.
The servants stopped to watch. The Imperial Guards stiffened. Even the Empress's gaze flickered. One by one, smiles faded. The laughter dimmed. The cheerful excitement dissolved into uneasy silence.
Even his siblings looked up at him—not with joy, but with something closer to worry.
"What is the Prince of Death doing in the garden of the Emperors?"
Alexander broke the silence with a loud, mocking tone. Servants and guards nearby stifled their laughter—not at the words themselves, but at the audacity of his behavior. They looked down on Alexander, seeing him as a fool who couldn't hold his tongue, not even around his own brother.
"Watch your mouth, Alexander. He is still your brother," Sarah snapped, immediately silencing him and everyone else who had reacted.
"What a poor little boy," Abigail muttered under her breath, just loud enough for her two brothers and Aunt Sarah to hear. "I wish you were never born. That would've been a greater mercy."
"Enough from you two," Sarah barked, her voice filled with restrained fury. "I will not have the son of my friend treated like an outsider by his own siblings. Lucy and I taught you better than this. Now—apologize."
A tense silence followed. Abigail and Alexander exchanged glances, then spoke in unison:
"We're sorry, Aunt Sarah."
From behind her green fan, Empress Alica let out a quiet scoff, her voice just loud enough to carry.
"What spiteful, mischievous little creatures. I'd wager they take after their mother."
Everyone heard her, especially the twins.
Abigail began to bite her fingernails, her thoughts slipping elsewhere, while Alexander clenched his fists, grinding his teeth in silence.
Then Damon stepped forward.
"You shouldn't be apologizing to Aunt Sarah—but to him."
He crouched down to Nex's level and gave him a soft, reassuring smile. His voice was gentle as he looked into his little brother's teary eyes.
"Don't cry, little brother. You are welcome in this garden anytime you like. And don't hold it against Alexander and Abigail. They're hurting—that's all."
Nex gave a small nod, then turned and walked slowly back toward Lucy. His eyes shimmered, but not a single tear fell.
Lucy awaited him with open arms. As Nex reached her, she wrapped him in a warm hug, one he returned tightly. But then she gently pushed him back, placed both hands on his shoulders, and with an authoritative, angry tone, commanded:
"Damon, would you be a sweetheart and escort the young prince to his chambers? His lessons are about to begin."
A polite smile grew on her face, attempting to mask the storm of emotions brewing underneath.
"Of course, Godmother Lucy," Damon replied, nodding respectfully. He reached out and took Nex's small hand into his own, his grip warm and comforting as he began to lead him away.
"As for you two— with me. NOW."
Her voice cracked like a whip as she turned to the twins and pointed toward her study.
Nex heard her muttering as she walked away with them:
"I did not teach you to act like that. You are people, not animals. You will act with respect and love for your brother, as any—"
Her voice faded into the distance.
Nex turned his head one last time, watching Lucy lead Abigail and Alexander away, their heads slightly bowed. Damon's hand held firmly to his. When Nex looked up, he saw his older brother grinning down at him.
"Do you love Lucy, young prince?" Damon asked with a spark in his eye, then answered himself before Nex could even nod.
"What am I asking, of course you do. We all do. She took care of all of us—the emperor's children."
Nex looked at him, eyes wide with awe. He wanted to ask more, to hear stories about Lucy, about what Damon meant. But before he could speak, reality crept back in.
Servants passed them in the hallway, whispering. As always, they murmured the same word under their breath:
"Death."
Damon felt Nex's hand tighten and glanced down at him. His grin turned sharp, protective.
"Why don't you learn how to speak, so you can tell them to fuck off?" Damon said, not caring if anyone else heard. "I'm sure they're all cowards anyway—scared of even a child like you."
He looked up, locking eyes with a passing servant as he repeated, clearly and unapologetically:
"Fuck. Off."
The servant flinched and quickly looked away.
Nex faintly smiled as he looked up to his brother, then turned his eyes forward. They had reached his chambers.
"Well, little brother, this is your room—as you already knew," Damon said with a soft chuckle. He patted Nex's white hair gently. "She'll be here soon, after she's done teaching the twins some manners. You shouldn't have to wait long."
As Damon turned to leave, his pristine white cloak was suddenly tugged. He looked back and saw Nex's small hand gripping it. He crouched down again.
"Do you want me to stay with you until she comes back, little brother?"
Nex nodded slowly, nervously.
Damon's expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes.
"I'm sorry... I have sword practice with Aunt Sarah. If I skip again today, I'm sure Father would throw me out." He tried to smile, though it wavered. "Maybe next time, brother."
He opened the door to Nex's chambers, gave him a final glance, then left.
Nex felt sad… but reassured. Lucy would be here soon. And next time—next time his brother would stay with him.
The hours passed slowly.
Nex sat on his bed, eyes glued to the door. He waited. And waited.
Fear crept in.
What if something had happened to her? He couldn't imagine what. He only knew that something was wrong.
Eventually, unable to bear it, he slipped out of bed and padded toward the door. But the handle was too high—far out of reach. He looked around, spotted a chair, and began to push it across the floor, scraping and bumping, inch by inch toward the door.
Then he froze.
A woman's scream echoed from the gardens below.
Panicked, he scrambled onto the bed, then onto the bedside table. He pulled himself up just high enough to peer through the window—and what he saw broke something inside him.
There was Lucy. Laughing. Running through the garden. Playing with the twins, splashing water from the fountain. Sarah sat nearby having tea with the Empress. Damon lounged beneath a tree, reading a book.
They were all there.
Smiling. Relaxed.
And he… was here.
Alone.
That was the moment Nex truly understood his place in the world.
Even those who loved him—even those who claimed to care—would eventually leave him behind. They always did.
He climbed down in silence, crawled into his bed, pulled the blanket over his head, and pressed his hands to his ears. The voices from the garden drifted up through the window:
"Where are you... Where are you, my prince..."
It was Lucy, calling out for the hiding Prince Alexander. Not for him.
Not for Nex.
He cried himself to sleep that day.
And now, years later, he wakes—inside a cold carriage, on the way to Stella—his hands still over his ears, his cheeks wet with tears, wrapped in a blanket, trapped in a memory.
Alone again.
But not for long.
In the stillness, as the wheels of the carriage rattled beneath him, flickers of faces began to interrupt the shadows in his mind.
Tazan.
Actaeon the Infant.
Sao.
Tywin.
Small things—quick moments—flashed through him like shards of light slicing through a dense fog. Tazan throwing his arm around his shoulder with reckless ease. Sao's dry wit cloaked in quiet loyalty. Tywin's careful, unspoken respect. Actaeon's innocent, curious glances as if Nex held the answers to questions he hadn't yet learned to ask.
Nex blinked and let out a quiet laugh.
It surprised him.
A short, warm sound—strangled slightly by lingering tears, but real all the same.
He shook his head and wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat. "A dream," he muttered to himself with a bitter smirk, even though he knew the truth.
He never dreamed.
Still… if it was a dream, then that's all it would ever be. A sad tale, trapped in the past.
And that? He could ignore.
So he leaned his head back against the rattling wall of the carriage, closed his eyes again—not to sleep, but to listen. To the road. To the wind. To the faint hum of movement.
To the future that still waited for him in Stella.