ESPERSIA, YEAR 1889
Five Days Earlier
In the late hours of the night, deep in the library, only a few embered candles flickered around us—our sharpened expressions the last things visible in the dark.
"What do you mean, 'Who said anything about trusting him?' Are you saying you've got some kind of plan to draw out his position?"
Of course Raamiz would ask. I had, after all, implied something absurd—enough to trigger alarm bells even in someone as daring and inquisitive as him.
"I suppose I don't have something specifically set in mind…more akin to a general notion…a concept of a trick."
Raamiz's expression sharpened into a frown, seemingly unimpressed. He didn't waste a second.
"There are plenty of people you can go around tricking in this castle. And beyond that, the Indran nobility is practically a playground for deception. Hell, even foreign dignitaries are susceptible if you know what you're doing."
He leaned forward slightly, voice steady.
"The real question is always this: Should it be done? Is the risk worth the reward? Is the target unstable enough, emotional enough, arrogant enough to fall for it? Are you prepared for what happens if it backfires?"
I stayed quiet. He wasn't wrong.
"I don't see how anything involving Alba meets those markers. Alba… as much as I dislike the smug, self-serious bastard…" Raamiz let the words hang, lingering longer than necessary before continuing. "I have to admit… he's formidable."
"Yes, I know Alba is sharp. Extremely perceptive and equally difficult to read. But I don't see how—"
"You don't get it!" Raamiz cut in, voice rising. "I like being the trickster. The rogue. The schemer. I don't shy away from a challenge without reason. But I've been burned by Alba before…Zeliot, just leave it alone."
He turned his head, bowing it slightly into the shadows, away from the candlelight. Despite how often Raamiz would poke fun at Alba—annoy him, prod him, act as if he had the upper hand—this was how he truly felt. Something in the past made it this way…
He feared him. And it was in moments like this I was reminded—we were still just children.
With a heavy sigh, I looked at Raamiz intently.
"Raamiz, I understand how you feel. And for the most part, you're right. The conditions required to trick Alba are an extreme obstacle—specifically because he's already likely to suspect something. He's seen us involved in more than a few suspicious activities."
Raamiz looked back up at me, still slightly sulking.
"So you agree with me."
Before responding, I tapped my fingers lightly against the desk.
In the past, I had been faced with a similar scenario, but with ironically more dire stakes: there was a man who was extremely dangerous, with a presence that manifested in extreme power and control. Someone James believed couldn't be deceived. And that remained the case, until a friend came along with a plan that proved otherwise.
And it's because of that, I knew Raamiz was missing something.
"No, I don't." I said.
Raamiz half stood, eyes flickering with a rare flash of anger.
"What?! Why?" he quickly responded.
Raamiz had a guttural reaction—like he'd suddenly caught fire—forgetting entirely that we were sitting in what should've been a quiet library. I calmly put a finger to my lips, reminding him to keep it down. He caught on immediately and calmed himself, sitting back down on his chair.
It was best I continued talking while limiting interruptions.
"It's because there's something you haven't accounted for. For people like Alba, the best tricks aren't the ones that target them directly—but the ones that deceive someone else, someone with direct implications to them."
Raamiz raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
I leaned back slightly. "How does a shepherd lead a flock?"
He scratched the side of his head, clearly trying to follow. "I don't know—by baiting the sheep with food? Or waving a stick around?"
I gave him a look. "Hmm. In a way… but you're wrong."
Raamiz narrowed his eyes, annoyed but listening.
"The shepherd doesn't lead the sheep directly," I said. "He leads the dog. And if he trains the dog well—guides its instincts just right—the dog will chase and herd the sheep as if it were acting on its own. But really, it's following the will of the shepherd. That's how control works. The shepherd leads the flock by controlling the one who moves them."
There was a pause. Raamiz's face shifted—confusion softening, brows relaxing, eyes narrowing with realization.
"So if Alba is the sheep in this analogy, and us the shepherd, all we have to do is find our dog correct?"
Raamiz caught on quickly. A wry smile starts to form on my lips.
"Yes, that's exactly what we have to do."
Raamiz slumps back in his chair, almost as if in defeat to my sound reasoning. Still, there was a shred of doubt that lingered in his eyes.
"So where are we going to find this dog? I find it hard to believe that Alba would be led so easily."
My eyes brightened with excitement. Raamiz, for as sharp as he was, was still clearly a step behind. It was my chance to pounce.
"Hmm. You really think so? I actually think the answer is quite obvious. In fact, if you thought for just a moment, you'd realize there's only one possible answer. You just have to allow yourself to think it."
Raamiz's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in confusion. Then, as if a spark had caught dry tinder, his dark amber eyes lit up, just like mine
"Father," he murmured. "That has to be it. Our father has to be the dog."
My grin must've nearly reached my ears. There was something electric about that moment—like we'd both just uncovered a secret hidden in plain sight. I nodded, unable to contain the thrill that surged between us as the realization took hold.
The truth was, all of us—the Duke's children—were beholden to his whims and restraints. That reality often worked to my detriment. But now, it presented an opportunity. If we could get Father to move a certain way—just enough for Alba to feel the consequences, to leave him exposed…
This could work.
Raamiz had stood up, a dumbfounded expression frozen on his face.
"When did you figure this out?" he asked, like the words were dragging their feet behind his shock.
"Just a couple of minutes ago, when we first started this conversation."
He blinked, then sank back into his chair with a dramatic slump, arms dangling like he'd just lost a duel.
"Gods... you're scary, you know that, Zeliot?"
I let out a genuine laugh. Really, it was nothing special—I just had the advantage of experience, which meant I could see the right pathways a little earlier. Still, the statement from Raamiz stuck with me. From anyone else, it might've sounded like an accusation. But coming from Raamiz…
"I'll take that as a compliment. Though honestly, I'd be far scarier if I actually figured out how to train the dog to sit in the right position."
I was, of course, talking about Father. I still hadn't figured out the logistics—how exactly to get him to trick Alba. The concept was sound. The execution? Still a massive question mark.
Even with that acknowledged, Raamiz groaned, rubbing his temples.
"Maybe. But stars above, remind me never to get on your bad side."
That felt a little ironic, coming from him—especially given the connections he seemed to have. But I decided to keep that observation to myself.
Though my pensive look must've given me away—I must've raised an eyebrow unconsciously.
Raamiz muttered, "Look, I might know some people, and know even more information. And I think I'm at least decently bright."
That felt like an understatement to me, but I didn't interject.
"Still," he continued, "my tricks up my sleeve are common knowledge—in the sense that people know I have them. You, however… you can even surprise me. I have no idea what you could pull next."
There was a suspicious hint in his last line that caused me to narrow my eyes.
"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," he added quickly. "It's just the truth."
"Well, right now, my sleeves are inside out," I said. "I have no more cards to play. So from here, I was hoping you could display yours."
Raamiz's face showed he understood what I was getting at. He started tapping his fingers against the table, closing his eyes as if diving into an intense think.
In order to trick our Father—or at least put him in a position to trick Alba—we would need connections. Desperately. The kind Raamiz always hinted he had.
"Hmmm."
But connections didn't mean much without a plan on how to use them. And as Raamiz continued to think, intensely and in silence, I began my own.
What would make our Father certain to react? Could the upcoming summit play a part? What's something that both he and Alba share? What does he value most?
As a whirlwind of questions swirled through my mind, a sudden and distinct moment of clarity struck me.
What does he value most?
"Raamiz."
His eyes snapped open as he turned to me.
"What is it? Did you figure something out?"
"I think I might have... but I'm certainly going to need your help."
He leaned in slightly.
"I'm listening."
I held his gaze.
"Raamiz, what do you think Father values most?"
Without even blinking, Raamiz spoke.
"Trust."
"Yes, but he values trust in order to accomplish what?"
A smirk started to form as I saw the realization set in across Raamiz's face.
"It's stability, isn't it?"
Our Father approaches his rule—and life in general—as a continued legacy. He views his actions beyond the span of his own life, as part of a chain of continuity that stretches into the future. Essentially, he values the legacy of his name—or rather, the continued legacy of the Valorian name. That's why he cares for his children. And that's why, more than anything else, he cares for one thing…
Stability.
"So all we need to do is create a scenario where that sense of stability comes under threat."
"And it would be best if the threat seems to be coming from Alba, correct?"
"Yeah, you're right."
A moment of collective thinking came and went—just a few seconds of silence—before Raamiz's both endearing and infuriating smirk began to creep across his face.
"I got an idea."
"What is it?"
Before responding, Raamiz gave a quick glance over his shoulder, scanning the area. We were tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, and for the most part, things had remained silent. No one should have been around—but in hindsight, we'd probably been a little too careless.
"I think it's best if we continue this conversation elsewhere," Raamiz said.
I leaned in close, suddenly more aware of how exposed we might be.
"Do you think someone's in the library?" I whispered.
"No, I don't," he replied. "But I think we should be cautious and head back to my room."
"No disagreements from me."
We took a couple minutes to gather the items we'd brought, carefully blew out the remaining candles, and began our quiet escapade back to Raamiz's room.
It must've been close to midnight. The castle was sharply dark, save for the occasional flicker of torches lining the halls and the silver glow of the crescent moon slicing through the high windows. The rest of the family was almost certainly asleep, but guards still stood at their posts, manning entrances and patrolling in quiet, measured intervals.
We walked past them without even a nod—they knew not to bother us. It wasn't rare for me and Raamiz to be out late at night.
"This would be a bad time to run into family," Raamiz murmured, his voice somewhere between a sigh and a groan as we approached the stairwell.
"Especially Alba. And your mother," I added quickly.
Raamiz only gave a silent nod in response. Nothing else needed to be said.
We made our way to the corridor that housed Raamiz's room without interruption. As we turned the final corner, the flicker of a lone torch illuminated the space beside his door—along with the expected figure of his personal guard, Calen.
His head was tilted slightly downward, but every so often, it would jerk upright, like he was trying to fight off sleep. As we took a few steps closer, he straightened and turned toward us. Upon realizing it was just me and Raamiz, he visibly relaxed.
"Hello, my lords. How has the night treated you?"
"It's been just great, Calen—though it's easy to tell it hasn't treated you so kindly. Sorry we were out so late. Our conversation dragged a bit longer than expected."
"I don't understand what you could mean, my lord," Calen said, sheepishly.
As a matter of protocol, the personal guard of each family member couldn't leave the stewardship of the section they'd been assigned. Until Raamiz returned to his chambers, Calen had to remain stationed here—no ability to switch shifts, and no break to rest.
I had warned Luca earlier that I might be staying out extraordinarily late—he likely made arrangements. But it seemed Raamiz hadn't made the same considerations.
Not out of cruelty, of course. Just plain ol forgetfulness.
Raamiz wore a rare solemn look as he spoke.
"I'll make it up to you, Calen. Don't worry."
"I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but it's sincerely no problem."
Raamiz rolled his eyes and moved toward the door. I followed behind.
"If it's truly no problem, then just think of what I give you in the future as a token of my general appreciation. You wouldn't be so rude as to not accept that."
"N–n–no, my lord. I would accept your gift graciously."
"Then it's settled. Good night, Calen," Raamiz said as he opened the door. I stepped in after him.
"Good night, my lords," Calen said with a final bow.
And with that, Raamiz closed the door behind us.