Chapter 64 Brothers in the dark
ZEUS
I move down the corridor, my mind reeling, calculating. Even though I refused Father’s plan to kill Iris, I know the threat still looms. He wouldn’t let it go. They would find someone else to do the job and I won’t be needed anymore.
I need to do something, something bold, to stay in Father’s favor but make sure I stop their plan to kill Iris at the same time. I veer off toward Darian’s chambers instead of mine.
The door’s cracked, light spilling out. I push it open and find him there: seated on the king-sized bed, one knee drawn up, a glass of whiskey in hand, staring at nothing. His silhouette is sharp in the window’s moonlight; shadows trace his face. He doesn’t turn when I enter. The room is a chaos, papers everywhere, maps flipped, chairs knocked over. A lamp leaning precariously. Ink stains on carpet.
I clear my throat. “Living room or war room?” I tease, stepping in. My boots crunch against broken wood from something shattered on the floor.
He stays silent, doesn’t look at me. I fold my arms, scan the mess. “You redecorated chaos,” I say. “Very avant-garde.”
His jaw tightens. I wait.
He drains whiskey, sets the glass aside. Still no glance.
“Nice of you to raid your archive,” I say, voice soft but sharp. “You sure this isn’t your new aesthetic? ‘Prince of Wild Papers’?”
He doesn’t reply. Still staring into nothing.
“Why are you here?” he finally asks, voice low, but he’s still not looking at me.
“Because someone has to pick up the pieces now that everyone wants you replaced,” I say. I want to press advantage. Maybe salvage power, maybe save him. Maybe both.
He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t refute. Just stares at a cracked map on the floor.
I move closer, stepping over torn maps. “You know, I left some of my responsibilities on your desk, if you ever care to look.”
Silence. He raises the glass to his lips, tilts his head, doesn’t quite catch the whiskey with his teeth. The glass glints.
I pick up paper from a pile, shake off dust. “This is something about northern patrols. You ignored them, right? Because you’re too busy staring at shadows.”
His hand flicks slightly, half towards me, half away. He sets the glass down. I half expect him to glare, but instead his voice is quiet.
“Shadows have teeth, Zeus.”
I chuckle lightly. “Always dramatic, brother.” I pull a chair, sit on its edge. “What really has you this tangled? The prophecy chatter? Father’s mood? Adira’s theatrics?”
He shifts. Finally looks up, eyes red under rim of darkness. “All of it.”
I lean forward. “Adira gave a speech in the throne hall. Something about dignity, about being unmated if you continue this… disobedience.”
He scoffs. “As if I care what she thinks.”
“But you do,” I press. “Because she’s standing here looking like her crown depends on your behavior.”
He shuts his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I don’t want the crown,” he says, voice thick.
I tilt my head, surprised. The confession hits narrow. “That’s a dangerous thought for a prince.”
He opens his eyes. “Maybe being dangerous is better than doing nothing.”
I smile, bitter. “You always cared about doing things the hard way.”
He snorts. “We have different definitions of ‘hard’.”
The whiskey glass sits between us. I reach for it, abd pause, then set it back. “You’re drinking alone again?”
He glances at the room mess. “Better company than idle speeches in the throne room.”
I stand and walk around, inspecting damage. A scroll cracked, maps torn. I pick up a small statuette knocked off the shelf. “The room looks like a storm passed through.”
He replies dryly, “Maybe a storm did.”
I set the statuette back, balanced. “You could clean it. Or let it mark the moment you decided not to be silent.”
He watches me, curious. “And what would you have me say?”
“That you’re still, you know, the prince. That title means something.” I lean against his desk. “That you won’t let prophecy define you.”
He pauses. “Easier said than done.”
I step forward. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve played my part. I’ve stood in council, made patrols, followed Father’s commands when needed. Butthis ambiguity, this waiting, it’s more dangerous than any open threat.”
His lips twitch, something like an admit. “You make it sound like betrayal.”
“Maybe it is. But perhaps it’s a necessary betrayal.” I meet his stare. “Better to betray a prophecy than betray what’s real.”
He squeezes his glass. The liquid inside trembling. “What if they already see me as traitor?”
I shake my head. “They only see what you allow them to see. Strength with her, loyalty with your blood. You move carefully.”
Silence. The candle flickers. Moonlight spills across broken papers. His face softened, haunted.
I sit beside him on the edge of the bed. “You know I don’t want the crown more than you. But I will protect you and her, from what you fear, if you let me.”
He closes his eyes, breath shallow. “Iris… She deserves better than this.”
“I know,” I say. “And she will have it.”
He opens his eyes. Looks at me like I have walls around me no one ever breached. “Why do you suddenly care?”
“Because you’re my brother. Because no one else will do what’s needed without losing themselves.”
He laughs, weak, but something real. “So that makes you my shield?”
“Something like that.”
He sets the glass down. “I’m not buying your bullshit, Zeus.”
“Alright, you got me there.” I raise my hands in mock surrender. “I was already getting sick from all the pretending to be the ideal and lovely brother.”
He looks at me, then sips from his glass again.
“So tell me why you’re here. Genuinely, this time.”
“As you know, I do want your throne.” I start, and our faces lock. The tension in the room heightens as he waits for me to keep talking.
“But father has decided to do something that threatens my chances at the crown so he can put you back up there in your position. And fortunately , for me and not you, you wouldn’t like what father is planning.” I finish, watching his eyes grow with curiosity.
“What is father planning?” He asks.
“To get Iris killed”