Doubt was a sneaky creature. There was no need for declaration or force. Blood and swords were not necessary. It just had to be planted. A seed was dropped into the right ear and into the right hands. After that, it would fester over time. It would take root.

Sora had always thought herself to be a better leader than me. She kept thinking of being everything she thought I wasn't — calculated, cold and cunning. But in reality, my own half-sister just did not know me.

My half-sister thought that if she spoke loud enough, forced laws into existence, then the world would accept her. The court would then choose her over me.

But they did not want a queen.

And I made sure to remind of them of that. It was reckless to outright state that I wanted her place, but the truth was — I already had it. I just needed the court to be on my side. So I listened and watched, letting the court's whispers find me just so I could gain something from it.

At the council chamber, when Sora spoke of the new laws—granting inheritance rights to daughters, ensuring noble women could hold positions without a male head—I remained silent. And then, when the first hesitations arose, I spoke just enough to guide them.

A queen rewriting laws was not easy. A queen who did not yield was not easy. A queen who thought she could shape the empire as she pleased? That was dangerous.

And dangerous things were never allowed to last.

But an emperor? That was power.

Another time, as we discussed military affairs, I leaned back in my chair, fingers tapping against the polished wood. "A ruler must be prepared for war, mustn't they? We have relied on strength for centuries. Laws do not win battles."

General Shou, a man with years of blood on his hands, frowned at that. I saw the doubt slip into his gaze, just for a second.

I never had to tell them that Sora was weak. That would have been a lie. I only had to remind them of what they expected from a leader—and let them wonder if she truly fit the role.

To the nobles, I planted a different seed. I knew the court better than she did. Sora could command a room with her words, but I knew how to make men doubt their convictions. And that was far more powerful.

I sat beside Lord Kanzo at a banquet, swirling my wine as I spoke in an idle, musing tone. "The throne has always passed from father to son. That is how it has been for generations. Change is... unsettling, isn't it?"

He exhaled through his nose, shifting uncomfortably. "Some changes are necessary."

"Perhaps." I took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of my cup. "But if one thing changes, what else follows? If the line of succession can be rewritten, then what of noble houses? What of land rights? If tradition no longer holds weight, then what does?"

Lord Kanzo did not reply to me, he never had to. Because when Sora tried to talk to him, he did not listen to her anymore.

And then, there was the emperor's closest adviser, Minister Hoshin. He was not a man easily swayed, but even he had his limits.

I approached him with a different strategy.

"I have no quarrel with Sora," I said, watching him pour his tea. "But I worry that she is... consumed by this vision of hers. She sees herself as the future, and anyone who resists her as the past."

Minister Hoshin did not look up. "The Kingdom needs change."

I corrected him. "The empire does. But at what cost? The court is already divided. There are whispers of unrest. If this continues, how long before it spills into something worse?" I set my cup down carefully. "A ruler should unite, not divide."

His fingers twitched. A flicker of doubt, so I pressed forward.

"You have always been a loyal servant to my father," I continued. "And to the empire. I ask you, Minister Hoshin, not as a prince but as a son of this empire—do you believe she is leading us toward stability?"

He said nothing for a long time.

And then, softly, "I do not know."

Sora thought she was shaping the empire in her image. She did not realise the empire was already shifting—just not in her favour.

Marlon had not been my first choice for an ally.

He was a pirate, a man with no true loyalty, no noble blood, no stake in the empire beyond what he could take from it. I was supposed to kill him as that was my duty as the prince, but I didn't. He was unruly, careless, and a veozian enemy.

And yet, he was useful.

We met in the dimly lit corner of a gambling house at the shore, a place that reeked of salt, sweat, and everything disgusting-

It was not a place for a prince, but I had long since learned that power was not only found in throne rooms. Sometimes, it was carved in the shadows, and with the enemies.

I had not sought him out personally. Marlon came to me.

"Prince Jacryll." His voice was smooth, amused, as if he found the very idea of addressing me entertaining. He sat across from me, draping one arm over the back of his chair. "I hear you have a problem."

I raised a brow. "Do you make a habit of solving the problems of royals?"

"Only when they interest me." His grin was sharp, all teeth and arrogance. "And I find yours particularly fascinating."

He was a man who saw through pretence. There was no need for the usual courtesies, no need to dance around secrets. Marlon already knew why I was here. Where pirates pretended to be veozian, just to kill.

The first time we spoke, I did not trust him. The second time, I still did not trust him. But trust was not what I needed. I needed information. I needed leverage. And Marlon? He had both.

He spoke of things no one else dared to in the presence of a prince. He knew of smugglers who had dealings with high-ranking officials, of generals who had debts in places they should not, of noblemen who were not as loyal to my sister as they pretended to be.

"You assume I need you," I said one night, after he had fed me another string of names and secrets.

Marlon only laughed. "Everyone needs someone. Even you, Your Highness."

I used him carefully, at first. He had a way of turning words into something dangerous, a way of making you question what you thought you knew. I tested him, fed him false information to see what he would do with it.

When it never made its way back to the wrong ears, I knew—I could trust a pirate once in my life. He had chosen a side.

"The pirates will get rid of her when she becomes a queen," Marlon stared in my eyes, "In this world, there is no place for a woman on throne."

"Funny," I hissed, "Caibecia's crown before your king belonged to a woman."

Marlon only chuckled, taking another sip of his drink.

But it was not until he spoke of Vraniscar that I truly started to listen.

It was late. The room was filled with the scent of burning incense, thick and heavy. I was seated across from him, my wine untouched, when he leaned forward, his voice low as his eyes lingered on my lips for a second too long.

"I've heard a tale," he said, his fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "One that might interest you."

I exhaled, unimpressed. "I have no patience for pirate myths, Marlon."

"Ah, but this is no myth." He smirked. "This is history."

And then, he told me of the serpent.

Wc: 1289
Total wc: 5113