Chapter 14

Footsteps pattered down the dimly lit corridor, punctuated by the distant chirping of crickets. Having received word that his younger brother had finally awakened, Tristan set out at once, Gilbert trailing close behind.

As they reached the chamber, Kyle and the Godfrey escort knight bowed in silent greeting. But before Tristan could take another step, the door creaked open. Wilhelm and Sanchez stepped out, bringing Tristan and Gilbert to a sudden halt.

Wilhelm's icy gaze fell on him. "Your Highness," he greeted flatly.

Holding his gaze, Tristan returned the cold courtesy. "Your Grace."

"Prince Lucien is currently resting. You may visit him in the morning."

Tristan studied the man in silence. 'He wasted no time in kicking me out, huh?'

Still, Wilhelm was right; Lucien needed to rest.

"How is Luce faring?" Even if he couldn't see his brother, Tristan at least wanted to know his condition.

"His Highness is well," Wilhelm answered curtly.

Tristan's jaw tightened. He was well aware of the family feud, but Wilhelm was being unnecessarily difficult, meeting him with a stone wall instead of the details he needed.

Exhaling sharply to curb his rising temper, Tristan whirled on his heel. "Good night."

"Good night," Wilhelm's voice followed, cool and unaffected.

"Stubborn old man," Tristan hissed under his breath as they moved down the hall.

"Your Highness," Gilbert whispered cautiously. "We are still within Prince Lucien's quarters."

Tristan rolled his eyes but relented. "Fine." He glanced at Gilbert, his voice dropping an octave. "Any news?"

Gilbert shook his head. "I'm afraid not yet."

Tristan clicked his tongue, his pace quickening. "We're running out of time."

After fifteen minutes of walking, they reached Tristan's chamber. Stepping inside, their attention was immediately drawn to the balcony, where a messenger eagle perched on the railing, its feathers silvered by the moonlight; its sharp eyes locked onto them.

"It's here," Gilbert remarked.

"Yes." Tristan nodded, gaze fixed on the bird.

While Gilbert retrieved the messenger, Tristan loosened his cravat and sank onto the couch. Gilbert returned a moment later, handing him a letter.

Breaking the magic seal, Tristan unfolded the parchment. His eyes swept over the text:

« Approximately eight hours after your convoy passed through, an unidentified group arrived and camped along tomorrow's route, just as you predicted. After confirming they spoke fluent Zerounix, we eliminated them and disposed of the bodies as per your orders. »

A small magic circle flared atop his palm, reducing the paper to silver-gray ashes. "It's been taken care of."

"I trust Your Highness's plan is complete?" Gilbert asked.

Tristan inclined his head. "Yes. But until Lucien reaches the capital safely, it's not over."

In the previous timeline, Lucien had been gravely injured during an ambush by Zerounix forces on his way back to the capital. At that time, Cyrus had been furious beyond measure and immediately waged war against the Zerounix kingdom in retaliation.

Truthfully, Tristan didn't care about the war; his sole priority was preventing Lucien from suffering the same fate. To that end, he devised two plans.

First, he baited Cyrus into allowing him to join the escort team, using the threat of a potential Vazquez ambush as justification. Unexpectedly, Cyrus ordered Wilhelm to participate as well, adding an extra layer of security—a welcome development that ensured a solid contingency.

Second, he deployed his most trusted mercenaries to scout the route and eliminate any Zerounix forces. With the threat neutralized, his preparations were complete.

Tristan tapped his fingers against the armrest in a slow, rhythmic cadence. Despite everything falling into place, he couldn't afford to let his guard down. Turning to his knight, he ordered, "Send word. Have the mercenaries continue their patrols until we cross the capital's threshold."

Gilbert dipped his head. "As you wish."

Tristan gazed out the window at the darkened sky, his indifferent reflection staring back at him. 'This time, it won't be the same.'

***

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the corridor as Tristan and Gilbert made their way toward the courtyard. Crisp air carried the cheerful songs of birds.

Earlier that morning, Sanchez informed him that the return to the capital would proceed as scheduled.

The news had caught Tristan off guard. Lucien collapsed from exhaustion only yesterday; by all rights, he should have been bedridden for days!

When he asked for an explanation, Sanchez said it was his brother's own decision, drawing Tristan's brow taut. Just—

What in the world was running through that little imp's mind?

Descending a flight of stairs, Tristan spotted Lucien standing beside Kyle, watching the servants load supplies into the carriages. As he approached, the two turned in unison and bowed.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Tristan arched a brow. "I believe I've told you to drop formalities around me."

Lucien straightened and met his gaze insouciantly. "I'm afraid people are watching."

Tristan rolled his eyes. "Who cares? Speak comfortably with me."

Lucien nodded, deadpanned. "I'll keep that in mind."

Staring into those cold cerulean eyes, Tristan's chest tightened. Before Lucien lost his memories, he would greet him with a bright smile, call him 'Brother,' and lean in to have his hair ruffled.

But now… all that warmth was gone, replaced by a mask of stone.

Shaking off the sentiment, Tristan forced a smug smirk. "That didn't sound like a convincing promise."

Yet, Lucien remained impassive, unfazed by his teasing. "Then I shall work on making it more so."

And just like that, the conversation ended. An awkward silence stretched between them as they stood facing one another.

Tristan cleared his throat. "How are you faring?"

"I am well," Lucien replied curtly.

Tristan tilted his head. "Are you really? I don't know why you're rushing back, but you could've postponed the trip and recovered properly. Father would understand."

Lucien shook his head. "No, I'm quite alright. I'll be sitting in the carriage all day anyway. It's no different from staying in my room."

Tristan exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "It is different. At least in your room, you're not being jostled around on uneven roads for hours."

Lucien's expression didn't waver. "I appreciate your concern, but my mother will worry if I delay."

Tristan studied him for a moment before sighing. "You always were considerate, huh?" His reasoning made sense; Roseanne would undoubtedly be anxious if he stayed behind.

Lucien inclined his head slightly. "Yes."

Silence stretched between them once more, and for the first time, Tristan found himself scrambling for something—anything—to say.

"…Your birthday is coming up," he blurted at last. "Is there something you want?"

"I'd be overjoyed with whatever you gift me," Lucien answered flatly.

The air went still again. Every exchange felt like walking on thin ice, distant and painfully dry. Frustration curled in Tristan's chest as he racked his brain for another topic, only to meet Lucien's unwavering, indifferent stare. It was infuriating.

Before he could try again, the cadence of approaching footsteps announced Wilhelm and his escort. Halting before them, the old man dipped his head. "Your Highnesses, preparations are complete."

Tristan glanced at Lucien, who gave a small nod of agreement. With that, they bid their farewells to Sanchez and the others.

As Lucien boarded the carriage, Tristan peeked over his shoulder and saw Wilhelm conversing with Sanchez. Seizing the chance, he quickly followed Lucien inside and settled across from him.

Lucien—retrieving a book from his magical ring—furrowed his brows. "…You're riding with me?"

Tristan tilted his head and grinned. "Why? Surprised?"

Lucien fixed him with a long, unreadable look before exhaling slowly. "A little." Without another word, he flipped open his book and began to read.

The atmosphere in the carriage grew heavy with his brother's palpable discontent; he was supposed to be in another carriage. Understandable. But opportunities like this would be rare once they returned to the capital, and Tristan saw this as the perfect chance to mend their strained relationship.

"Your Highness, what's the meaning of this?" A sharp voice thundered from the doorway. Wilhelm stood outside, his expression grim, irritation simmering in his eyes.

Unbothered, Tristan crossed his legs and folded his arms, flashing a smug smile. "This seat is mine now."

The old man's face darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm warning you, Your Highness. Return to your assigned carriage at once."

Tristan widened his eyes in mock astonishment, pressing a hand to his chest as if scandalized. "Lord Marshal, are you truly arguing with a younger man over something as trivial as a carriage seat?" His lips curled into a slow, taunting smirk. "Perhaps I'll reconsider—if you're truly that afraid of sitting alone."

Wilhelm's jaw tightened, a vein at his temple pulsing as he spoke in a low, dangerous tone. "If you try anything, you'll regret it."

Tristan chuckled, thoroughly amused. "Oh, I fully intend to do something. After all, I can't let my little brother get bored."

Wilhelm's fists trembled at his sides, his restraint visibly fraying. Before he could fire back, the coachman's voice cut through the tension. "Lord Marshal, we are awaiting your order."

Wilhelm glared at him with contempt. After a tense beat, he slammed the carriage door shut and stormed off. Tristan watched him go in satisfaction before turning his gaze to Lucien—only to find him staring. Lucien shook his head in disbelief and returned to his book.

Tristan leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm, amusement still dancing in his face. "I didn't know your grandfather was so emotional."

Lucien didn't look up. "He isn't."

Tristan chuckled, tapping his chin. "Could've fooled me. He looked ready to strangle me to death."

Yet, Lucien merely turned the page. "You provoked him."

"I wouldn't call it provoking, though." Tristan drawled. Lucien finally met his eyes, and Tristan smiled benignly. "I'd call it testing limits."

Lucien held his stare for a moment before sighing and returning to his book.

Tristan smirked. "You should count how many times you sigh."

Lucien didn't react this time, blatantly ignoring his bait. Clicking his tongue in mild annoyance, Tristan glanced out the window. No matter how hard he tried, Lucien remained distant, his walls firmly in place.

Was there absolutely no hope for their relationship? Had their bond truly slipped beyond repair?

Before long, the carriage rumbled forward. The silence between them was broken only by the rhythmic creak of the wheels and the soft rustle of Lucien's book. Hours passed, yet his brother never spoke. Though the carriage was spacious, the air felt heavy and suffocating.

Dragging his gaze away from the blur of trees outside, Tristan looked at Lucien, who remained engrossed in his reading. "Most people would at least attempt conversation."

"I'm reading," Lucien replied curtly.

Tristan exhaled through his nose. "Somehow, you never change—" Lucien finally spared him a glance. "—still a bookworm."

"Do I?" A flicker of curiosity appeared in his eyes.

Just as Tristan was about to speak, a blinding light engulfed the surroundings, forcing his eyes shut. The carriage jolted violently; horses neighed, and the shouts of knights filled the air.

When the carriage's protective barrier abruptly failed, Tristan snapped open his eyes, only to see an arrow pierce Lucien's head, warm blood splashing across his face and clothes.

Tristan's breath hitched; his body stilled. His eyes widened as Lucien's body slumped to his feet.

'What… just happened?'