"Everyone is telling you not to go, and yet you still will?!" The young man's voice thundered, echoing against the stone walls of the high-ceilinged hall.
The two men stood face to face, glaring at each other with burning hostility. The younger was tall and broad-shouldered; his opponent, older, of more average stature, wore a thick beard and bore a calmer, more tempered air.
"Brother, step aside." The reply came in a quieter, almost gentle tone yet laced with menace.
The young man narrowed his eyes, studying his big brother's face in disbelief. Beneath the mask of composure gleamed a will have steel.
"Have you lost your mind?" he roared, slamming his fist onto the heavy oak table. The silver candelabrum trembled at the impact. "Have you stilled not realized that foreign witch is controlling our father? Because of her whispers, he now wants you dead!"
His brother did not flinch. He lifted his head, gaze lingering on the chandelier above as though searching for resolve, and spoke at last:
"Whether someone is controlling our father's mind or not... it doesn't change my path."
Fury drove the younger man forward. He seized his big brother's arm, desperate to stop him.
"Path? That path leads only to death! Listen to me, brother. For the survival of our realm, we must rebel against Father. If we do not, that witch will see us all destroyed!"
The words cut through the heavy air like a blade. Yet before an answer came, fire exploded across his cheek — the sting of a merciless slap.
Without hesitation, his brother had struck him, his hand falling with cold finality. The crack resounded through the chamber, shattering the silence.
"Never utter that word again, Elmond," his elder said, voice as frigid as unyielding ice. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. But don't ever let thoughts of rebellion enter your mind again."
Elmond staggered back, clutching his burning cheek, his eyes aflame with rage and disappointment.
"Rebellion?" he muttered hoarsely. "It is you who cannot see the true rebellion, Marcellion. Our father has grown old… and that woman has turned him into her puppet. But if you are so eager for death, then go. I will not stop you."
He turned and stormed away, summoning his knights to depart at once for his own banner-city. As a prince, he was bound to govern vast lands of his own. To leave his domain without cause and ride into his brother's territory was dangerous, for it often meant rebellion. But Elmond had not come to rebel, only to warn.
The empire he belonged to had seen its golden age half a century ago, and even now remained the strongest across the four continents. Yet Emperor Sulezar had grown old, consumed by an unhealthy obsession with a concubine sent as a "gift" from a foreign kingdom.
Elmond's elder brother, Marcellion, was the First Prince, heir by birthright, son of the emperor's first wife, and beloved by all. The army, the nobility, the court, and even the common folk adored him.
Why? Because Marcellion was truly gifted. Unlike the aging emperor, who had waged no wars for over a decade, he longed for conquest. He was learned, devoted to science and the arts, and unfailingly courteous. He aided the poor, championed the education of girls, and adored his one true wife so openly that bards composed songs of their love.
Everyone wished to see Marcellion crowned emperor; everyone except one. The emperor's favored concubine. She schemed tirelessly to place her own sons upon the throne, weaving intrigues to widen the rift between father and son.
The emperor grew increasingly fearful that Marcellion would one day rebel. And should he rise, none would doubt the outcome: the realm would unite behind him, and the emperor would not only be dethroned, but lose his very head.
Yet rebellion was never in Marcellion's heart. At thirty-eight, a father himself, he still waited patiently, unwilling even to imagine such a crime against his sire. But poisoned whispers from the concubine and her allies stoked the emperor's dread with each passing day.
It was bitter irony. For had not the present emperor himself, once the youngest of princes, seized the throne through rebellion against his own father? Now he lived in constant terror of suffering the same fate.
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The city walls shimmered like silver under the moonlight. Hooves rang against cobblestone as Elmond rode, head bowed in heavy thought. Even his knights kept silent, sensing the storm of grief and fury within their prince.
At the castle gates, the people greeted him with lanterns raised high. Ordinarily, the sight would have stirred his spirit, but tonight it left him hollow. Mounting the stone steps of his palace, his brother's voice still echoed in his mind:
"Never utter that word again, Elmond."
That word… rebellion.
In his chamber, men awaited him: banner-lords, advisors, and his steward. Their anxious faces revealed what he already knew: the air of the court was poisoned.
Felric, his aged tutor and chief counselor, stepped forward, adjusting his heavy robes.
"My prince, we all know how deeply that witch has ensnared the emperor. You cannot remain silent."
For a long moment, Elmond said nothing. Then, his fist slammed onto the table. "I do not want rebellion! All I want is for my family not to be torn apart!"
His words drew only bitter smiles. Felric lowered his voice. "Majesty already sees you and your brother as threats. Whether you rebel or not, the day will come when you are branded traitors. And when it does, who will protect your people? Who will shield your lands?"
The words cut Elmond deeper than any blade. For this was his greatest fear: that his people would suffer, crushed beneath the weight of palace intrigues. However, Elmond knew full well what his tutor Felric had planned and what he wanted when he uttered those words. He merely clenched his jaw and kept quiet.
That night he found no sleep. Wandering the ramparts, he lifted his gaze to the heavens. The wind tugged at his hair, and moonlight painted his face with a pale glow.
"Perhaps a single warning will suffice. I do not wish to be a traitor… but if fate forces me into that role, then I must be ready."
And in the depths of the night, unseen decisions took root. Already, some of his knights whispered oaths behind his back. For history had shown: many a prince set out only to warn and ended by shattering empires.