Morvane Eldrith sat before the arched window of the solar, the late evening light spilling across the stone floor like diluted gold. Beyond the glass, the world was hushed—no wind, no birds, no voices. Only silence, thick and accusing.
A harp rested against his shoulder.
His fingers lay upon the strings, unmoving.
Morvane's icy blue eyes reflected nothing of the fading sky. There was no warmth in them now. Whatever gentleness they once carried had died the moment he was killed. The moment blood stained loyalty beyond redemption.
The harp string trembled softly beneath his touch.
A sound like a memory breaking.
Morvane closed his eyes.
And time obeyed.
Years ago.
So many years ago, when Morvane Eldrith had not yet been Eldrith at all.
Before the name was given.
Before safety had a shape.
Before he learned that kindness could wound deeper than cruelty.
He was not the true brother of Theo Albrecht von Eldrith. Not by blood. Not by birthright. That truth had followed him like a shadow—silent, faithful, inescapable.
Yet Theo had chosen him.
Morvane remembered everything.
The day had been loud with summer noise—vendors shouting, iron wheels scraping stone, the smell of bread and dust thick in the air. He had been running then. Always running.
Barefoot.
Hungry.
Clutching a small loaf of stolen bread to his chest as if it were treasure.
"Stop, you little thief!"
The shopkeeper's voice cracked with rage.
Morvane did not look back until it was too late.
The carriage stood in the street like a black monument. Polished. Imposing. Royal crests carved into its side. It did not belong among the filth of the market.
The door opened.
A boy stepped out.
Young—too young to command such presence, yet he did. His movements were deliberate, measured, as if the world had already taught him how to stand above it. He held a small cane in his gloved hand, more ornament than need.
Theo Albrecht.
Behind him hovered a butler and several caretakers, tense and watchful.
But Theo waved them off.
"I can walk," he said calmly.
And then—
Morvane collided with him.
The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.
The loaf fell.
The world froze.
Theo gasped softly, more startled than hurt. Morvane stumbled backward, eyes wide with terror. The shopkeeper skidded to a halt, his fury evaporating into pure fear as recognition dawned.
Royalty.
Treason waited inches away.
The man took a step back. Then another. Already searching for an escape.
The butler moved instantly.
"Your Highness!"
He grabbed Theo's arm, inspecting him with frantic hands, then shoved Morvane aside as if he were refuse.
"Watch where you're going, wretched thing! Look what you've done—to Master Theo's clothes!"
Morvane fell hard onto the stone.
The bread rolled away.
He did not cry out.
He did not protest.
He simply waited.
This was how it always went.
A slap would come next. Or a kick. Or worse. Silence was safer than begging.
Theo looked at him.
Really looked.
Not at the dirt. Not at the torn clothes.
At him.
"Stop."
The word was quiet.
The butler froze.
Theo turned to him, green eyes sharp as cut glass. "Who gave you permission to touch him?"
The butler hesitated. "M–Master, he ran into you—"
"And?" Theo interrupted. "Does that give you the right to treat him like an animal?"
The shopkeeper paled further and slipped away into the crowd.
Theo faced Morvane again.
"Leave him alone," he said.
The butler's jaw tightened, but he obeyed.
Released, Morvane collapsed fully to the ground, hands scraping stone.
He stayed there, shoulders drawn inward, bracing for pain that never came.
Theo stepped closer.
He knelt.
Morvane felt it before he saw it—the invasion of space, gentle but unfamiliar. He flinched.
"Can you get up?" Theo asked. His voice was careful, as if approaching something fragile. "Are you hurt?"
No one had ever asked him that.
Morvane lifted his gaze.
Green eyes met blue.
Theo's eyes were like a forest after rain—deep, alive, unafraid. They held curiosity, not judgment. Concern, not disgust.
Morvane's hands trembled.
Slowly—so slowly—it was almost painful, he raised one hand.
Theo smiled.
It was not a royal smile. Not rehearsed. Not distant.
It was real.
He took Morvane's hand and pulled him gently to his feet.
"Are you sure you're okay," Theo said.
Morvane swallowed. He lowered his head.
His voice sounded strange to his own ears.
Theo glanced at the torn clothes, the dirt-streaked skin, the hunger carved too deeply into a child's face. His expression darkened—not with anger, but resolve.
Morvane was shaking.
Not from fear alone—but hunger, sharp and gnawing, clawed through his small body. His legs burned from running. His elbow throbbed where he had struck stone earlier, skin torn raw beneath grime.
He clutched his arm and looked down.
The bread lay near his feet.
Crushed. Dirty. Ruined by the fall.
Still, he reached for it.
Slowly. Desperately.
Before his fingers could close around it, a hand stopped him.
"Wait."
The word was gentle—but firm enough to freeze the air.
The servants stiffened.
Morvane blinked up, startled.
Theo knelt in front of him, eyes intent. "Don't eat that," he said quietly. "It's not edible anymore. You'll get sick."
Morvane's lips parted.
Barely a sound escaped. "…Hungry."
The whisper was almost nothing.
Theo's hand closed around Morvane's wrist—not harsh, but sudden.
Morvane flinched.
His body recoiled on instinct, shoulders folding inward, breath catching as if pain were inevitable.
Theo noticed.
His grip loosened immediately.
"Hey," Theo said softly. "Don't be afraid."
Morvane didn't look up.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Theo continued. "I'm taking you with me. To my palace."
The word palace meant nothing comforting.
Morvane's heart pounded faster.
He didn't move.
Theo studied him for a moment, then asked, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Morvane shook his head—slow, cautious.
Theo smiled.
It wasn't bright. It wasn't loud.
It was patient.
"Trust me," he said again. "I won't hurt you."
Morvane hesitated.
Then—his knees buckled.
Theo reacted instantly, gripping his arm and guiding him forward before he could fall.
The movement startled the servants.
Leo, the butler, stepped forward sharply. "Master, this is inappropriate. You cannot take this—this filth—"
Theo stopped.
He turned his head just enough.
The glare that followed was cold, absolute.
Leo stiffened, then lowered his gaze at once.
Theo's expression softened as he looked back at Morvane.
"Come," he said.
And gently, without force, he guided the boy toward the carriage.
Inside, the space felt too small.
Too quiet.
Morvane sat rigid on the velvet seat, hands clenched in his lap, eyes darting to every shadow. The carriage door shut with a heavy click that made his breath hitch.
Theo noticed.
"Why are you afraid?" he asked.
Morvane lifted his face.
Pale. Drawn. Eyes dulled by too many bad answers in life.
He shook his head and looked away.
Theo reached into his coat.
He pulled out a small wrapped parcel—royal biscuits, delicately sugared, untouched.
Morvane's head snapped up.
His blue eyes locked onto them.
Theo held them out openly. "I'm sorry about the bread," he said. "You can eat this."
Morvane stared.
Didn't move.
Theo added, gently, "When we reach the palace, there will be more."
Hope—small and dangerous—flickered.
Morvane reached— but then.
The carriage jolted.
Both of them gasped as Morvane lost balance and fell forward, landing against Theo's chest.
Time stilled.
Morvane lifted his head slowly.
Theo was close.
Too close.
Green eyes wide with surprise. Breath warm. Heartbeat steady beneath silk.
Morvane jerked back at once, mortified.
Theo straightened as well, composure returning quickly.
"Are you alright?" Theo asked.
Morvane nodded—hard.
His face burned red, but he did not dare look up again.
Theo exhaled softly.
He leaned closer—not invading, not rushing—and placed the biscuit back into Morvane's trembling hands.
"You're hungry," Theo said. "Your stomach's been growling since you sat down."
Morvane froze.
Theo smiled faintly. "Eat. It's alright."
He paused, then added, "It's not much. But there will be plenty soon."
Morvane hesitated—then slowly, trustingly, took the biscuit.
He ate carefully.
Slow bites.
As if afraid it would disappear too fast.
Theo watched quietly.
So hungry, he thought.
Poor little thing.
Then the carriage rolled on.