If there was one thing Yoongi hated the most, it was fear. The kind that gleamed in the eyes of everyone who saw him. The kind that made simple tasks impossible. The kind that made his servant grapple for the last button on his silk vest with increasingly trembling hands after each failure.

He stared at his emotionless expression in the mirror and repressed the impulse to fasten the button himself. It was just a button. All she had—Gods, she missed it. And—there she went again. What was the point? He had expected this from another new servant.

After her fifteenth attempt to clasp the button, Yoongi gently grabbed her wrists. She flinched as if he had burned her, as if he whispered diabolically in her ear that he had slaughtered her entire family.

"I will do it," he said.

Tears glimmered in her reddening eyes, and as much as he wanted to pity her, he saw the same scene and plenty worse to feel nothing of it. All she had to do was fasten one button, but like everyone else, she had that look paralyzed on her face, that look that trembled beneath his gaze. Sighing, he released her wrists and fastened the button. One second. And he was done. Just like that.

The servant's heartbeat raced—he could feel it, hear it—and there were heavy breaths from her companions waiting next to the door. They stood there the entire time as their friend made a fool of herself, shuffling on their feet as their eyes longed to escape. Typical for a Bellan. Soulless, selfish, hypocrites.

But there was one commonality between Yoongi and them: the desire to escape. He desired to—but today, needed to—escape from the confines of his room to attend the Tryda, the day of tribute. Thousands of people in Bellum sent tributes to Rubridus to wish the king good fortune and thank him for the protection he delivered.

But it was all a deception, a ruse to keep the masses subservient. The king promised the Tryda would lift Furicun's curse on the Cursed Void and Cursed Wasteland, but after four years, nothing had changed. And knowing the king, it was a ploy—an immoral one at that—to amass wealth from the poverty-stricken Bellans after the Great Southern Wars.

So for Yoongi, the tradition was pointless. But tradition was tradition, and the only one punished for arriving late was him.

Passing the servants next to the door, he shot them all a glare, but one, instead of averting her gaze, glared back at him. Her eyes held a challenge that sent shivers down his spine. They were familiar. Although it was impossible they were the same, those eyes froze Yoongi's blood and made everything around him halt as if time had ceased. He stared at her eyes, the animosity, the stark resemblance. Before he could question her insolence, a shout sounded from behind him.

A body tumbled into him, and before he could catch himself, his foot twisted and his head smacked against the corner of his wooden dresser. He gasped, clutching his head as chaos erupted in the room. Every servant was scrambling on the floor except the one who dressed him. She was on her knees, her head bowed low.

As he turned towards her, scorching sunlight beamed in his eyes and glistened on the golden chains on his uniform. A ringing in his ears drowned everything out, and the light blinded him from the chaos of servants. However, he could see one person looming above him: the servant who challenged him with her gaze. Her entire front was engulfed in shadow, and sunlight rimmed her contours. And her eyes. Those eyes. They exuded the same gleam, the same malice as—

A memory blurred Yoongi's vision, and a fire in his chest was rekindled. His mind was muddled with red, with blood, and he could almost hear the cries reverberating in his ears as if it had happened yesterday. A flaring inferno rushed through his veins, replacing the throbbing pain in his head with a warmth seeping from his heart to the tips of his twitching fingers. The room began to heat dangerously, and a part of Yoongi told himself that it was an illusion. But the fire in his heart—the hostility in those eyes—drew his magic forward until there was a loud crack.

The mirror shattered into shards that scattered all over the floor, bouncing over smooth marble and evoking a flinch from the servants. There was so much fear, but when he searched for those eyes, they were gone. The servant. The eyes. The fear. Gone. Just like that.

Quiet sobs filled the room as he staggered to his feet, leaning against the dresser for support. Pills accompanied the glass shards littering the floor, and all the servants were on their knees, clenching handfuls of pills.

What the hell was that? he thought. Breath heavy, he searched for those eyes in vain, clenching and unclenching his quivering hands. It was an illusion. All of it was. He opened his mouth to speak when a loud cry drew his attention to the servant pleading for forgiveness.

"I have committed a treacherous crime!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking. "Please, Your Highness, have mercy!"

As he studied her trembling form, a reflection of a small boy manifested beside her. There were bruises and scars, collars and chains, blood and tears, and dreadful cries begging for mercy. He stared—watched—as the strain of leather resonated in his ears. Following it was a crack, a whip, a cry, and that was all he could take before he turned away from the boy he longed to forget and faced the servant.

"There is no need to apologize, so raise your head. It was a mistake."

The servant lifted herself off the floor, revealing the tears staining her cheeks. "Y-Your Highness, your. . ." She trailed off, her eyes shifting to the pills.

He should have taken one for safety, but nothing ever happened whether he did. And today was the Tryda, the most boring day of the year. There was no need to add more pain to this already horrendous morning. "Forget it. I expect this mess to be cleaned before I return."

The servants bowed, and Yoongi left, listening to their rapid heartbeats and repressed whimpers ringing in his ears. As he walked past the dull castle walls with two guards in tow, he pondered the incident, closing his eyes to envision every detail—every emotion. A shudder quaked down his spine. He was going mad.

The guards' footfalls and the crackles of torches filled the desolate corridors as Yoongi padded through them. When he reached the golden doors of the throne room, he stared at his distorted reflection tinged with yellow. In the corner of his eye, an enlarging dark smudge contorted into the shape of a human face. He heard a throaty chuckle behind him before a familiar voice echoing down the hall sent a wave of fire through his blood.

"Your Highness! This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't expect you to arrive this early to the Tryda."

Yoongi turned and saw Orion Rallas strutting down the hall with a guard in tow. A devious smirk twisted on his lips as he stood before Yoongi, torchlight glinting in his golden eyes. He wore a white tunic decorated with the sigil of a boar, and a leather belt supported a sword sheathed in a dark brown scabbard hanging loosely at his side. The curls of his brown hair cascaded over his forehead as he bowed. "I assumed you would arrive late like the previous years, but I am glad you are obeying His Majesty's commands like the good mongrel you are."

If it was anyone else, Yoongi would've shown a hint of rage, but in Orion's eyes, that was admitting defeat. "It is good to see you, too, Orion. I was worried you wouldn't attend the Tryda because of your father, but you never fail to amaze me. We may not be on great terms, but I send my condolences."

Orion didn't even flinch. "His Majesty's wish is mine as it should've been my father's. But he was a fool and acted against them."

"I guess we agree. A mongrel that bites without his master's command should be punished, but a mutt that bites its own master. . ."

A twitch. "You're still as contemptible as ever, but what is the difference between a mongrel and a mutt because all I see are two of the same breed."

The whites of Orion's eyes were red, but his expression was unchanged. Yoongi clasped his hands behind him. "Is it not obvious? One learns its place while the other does not."

"And you think you've learned your place?"

Yoongi let himself smile. Never. Not in this hell. "Anger and pain are powerful drives. I thought you learned that at the execution."

Orion's nose twitched. "Unfortunately, I could not attend."

"That is quite a shame. I heard the king did the deed himself. Your father was blessed to receive such a great honor before his death."

Licking his lips, Orion scoffed and turned his head to the side. "While my father was being blessed, I thought a lot about him, the king, and you." His mouth curled into a smirk. "And I realized fear is the strongest power that can shackle anyone in chains."

Screams resounded in Yoongi's head as he recalled that night, the helplessness, the fear. "And why do you say that?"

"I thought you learned that after watching the king bless your brother and that whore of a queen with the honor of burning them to death himself."

Darkness flashed before Yoongi's eyes. Gulping, he clenched his trembling hands. "Watch your tongue before you lose it."

Orion sneered, tilting his head. "It is a surprise how cruel you are. Children are born to love their mother, but there are sick bastards like you who take joy in watching them burn. And the worst part is you don't even know what you did wrong."

Yoongi's nails dug into his palms and nearly drew blood as he bit his tongue. Heat radiated off of his skin, and Orion probably felt it, too, because he sketched a curt bow. "Enjoy the Tryda, Your Highness. And please, expect an exquisite tribute from the House of Rallas as always."

As Orion brushed past Yoongi, a chill ran through his fingers. It spread from his arm to his heart as if cold water had rushed through his blood. He glared at Orion and—

The incident with the servants flashed in his mind. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath. Wrath pulsed through his veins, he didn't take his pill, and this morning, he was hallucinating. So for all he knew, he was hallucinating again.

"Announce my arrival," he commanded.

The guards dashed to the ginormous doors, announcing the Prince of Bellum had arrived, before pushing them open. Firelight poured from the widening crevice of the opening doors as an unsettling doubt grew within Yoongi. That look in Orion's eyes. That look of pure wrath. There was something beneath it, something he could sense, but that was forgotten when the doors fully opened and he saw the king standing beside the throne on the dais. And even from where he stood, he could see those eyes. The servant's eyes. The king's eyes.