Archive of Our Own

Kastor's little brother, Prince Damianos of Akielos, the kid who was going to, the kid who already did take everything away from him, was crying since he was born. He cried during his mother's funeral, he cried during his own anointment, he cried during the day, he cried during the night. It was unbearable.

Theomedes himself couldn't stay in the same room as his new-born for more than half an hour, before leaving the baby with his nurses, only attempting to contact the kid days later.

It seemed Kastor couldn't escape it either. No matter how far he wandered through the castle, how lost he got in the arboretum of Ios, how far he swam out in the sea under the white columns of Ios, he heard it. It echoed through corridors, inner gardens, dancing off walls and roofs. The sound could be heard all around the capital.

Royal physicians, dozens of nannies, the steady flow of relatives, everyone tried to somehow make the crying go away with herbs, cooing, sweet gifts, just to ease the baby's pain with anything that came to their minds. No use, the baby was screaming.

Kastor never hated anyone so much before. The part of the castle that used to be his place, where generations of royal rulers were brought up, that, so far was his and only his territory, was now filled with rushing nurses, murmuring wise-men and the wails of the new-born.

Worst, Kastor had to be happy about it. Because now, if the baby lived, his kingdom would have a real heir, something clearly everyone desired. People were congratulating him too. What a joy to have a little brother, isn't it? they said.

The baby's scream only stopped, when someone, somehow, made him fall asleep and it never lasted for long. He slept some hours in the late afternoon and near dawn, yet when real people were trying to sleep, he was screaming from the top of his lungs, rendering even Kastor sleepless, as had to share the children's wing of the palace with the baby.

Theomedes could change bedchambers to get even further away, Kastor couldn't. No one even offered, so he lacked a full night's sleep for three weeks now. He could only imagine what the baby’s nannies were going through, who were with baby since he was born a few moons ago.

Kastor spent his night lying awake in his bed, his own skull echoing with the high-pitched crying. He frequently thought about standing on his balcony and just screaming as the baby did, until his lungs burned, and his throat would be bloody. On most occasions, Kastor was too tired for even that. For some nights now, he got out of his bed, almost lunging towards the door to do something, itching to make use of himself. To make some other noise – break vases or throw his things to the wall –, or to run away as far as he could, run from the palace, from the city, from the kingdom.

He could only take it for three weeks. After that, when on a particularly crying field night he decided that something must be done. When he got out of his bed, climbing out the fortress of pillows he built to dampen the noises, his hands were trembling, – his eyes stinging, his muscles heavy as marble – , he was without clear intentions. He wanted to make the crying stop, but wasn't certain, where his legs were taking him. He just went to the door, then outside, turned towards the baby's room and marched along the unfortunate guards stationed in that cursed corridor, to do something, anything, he didn't think it through.

The guards were unmoveable, stoic expression intact, no wailing or older prince could unsettle them. Kastor envied them, their patience. Also, there must've been regular changes of guards, so they didn't go mad from the noise.

The corridor was deserted, save for guards, and with the flickering oranges of the torches it seemed peaceful for one magnificently long moment, just as Kastor arrived in front of the baby's chamber. For a moment the baby stopped wailing, silence hanging above them all, softly, shielding them. Kastor took a deep breath and it felt fresher than what winds carried from the sea, but in the next moment everything resumed as it was just a seconds ago.

Kastor gritted his teeth. He reached for the door handle, threw the door open and stalk through the entrance, feigning confidence as he wasn't certain that he was allowed to enter or not. In that moment's fury, he could imagine slashing his tiny dagger into the guards' body, if they tried to touch him. Since the baby was born, he carried his own dagger everywhere he went. He was considered less important now, he couldn't rely on other's protecting him.

But the guards let him through without a word. Walking inside, the screaming amplified. Kastor let the door close behind him, shutting the light out.

The room was gigantic, truly worthy of a kind, a large bed, several dressers, an enormous, heavy table cluttered with baby stuff, blankets, small toys, tiny vials, everything. The windows were open, a cooling breeze coming through, making the curtains dance lightly.

The bassinet in the middle of the room looked somewhat silly. It looked out of place. The room reminded Kastor's of his father's that he only saw once or twice, but that was lived in by a king, not by a small baby and his nannies.

There was only one nanny in the room, an older woman asleep in an armchair, visibly uncomfortable, exhaustion prominent on her soft features. Kastor remembered her. She was the one charged with taking care of Kastor too, when he was younger. Back then she worked alone, there was no need or want for a whole household to tend to every whim of a new-born. She didn't wake as Kastor came, wasn't even disturbed by the door opening and closing. She must've been truly drained, to sleep next to the screaming baby. If someone had a worse week than Kastor, it was her.

Kastor slowly approached the crib, stood on his tip toes and looked into it. The baby inside was chubby, wrapped in a white linen blanket that had golden ornament on its hem. It was messy from the baby's drool and constant clutching. When Kastor leaned over the baby it stopped making that awful noise, then his eyes refocused on Kastor and started sobbing again. It was an awful, pitiful sound. Kastor knew babies cried, no matter their blood, but it was unbefitting of Akielon royalty.

The bassinet had a few soft looking, tiny pillows, pushed to the side as the baby was moving around. For one fleeting moment, Kastor thought about pushing one of the pillows into the baby's stupid little face and shutting him up.

Kastor reach inside, tentatively flicking the little one's nose with his fingers. It just made the wailing worse, but satisfaction filled Kastor. Now, the baby had something to cry about. It was encouraging. Kastor pushed his fingers into the soft belly of the baby next, only a little, feeling how much fat he had, and the baby hiccupped. Kastor smirked.

The baby reacted to every poke, pinch and scratch, Kastor rained small cruelties down on his tiny body. The baby didn't stop crying, he just made even less and less dignified noises. Yet, no one came to rescue him, he was always screaming either way. It made Kastor feel better. Not even his nanny stirred, she was used to sleeping with a crying baby in her arms.

"No one cares, cry baby," Kastor hissed, the first human sound made in the room. He reached into the bassinet, grabbed the baby under his armpits and raised him up. The baby weighted more than Kastor expected. He never held a baby before, he just wanted to know what it was like, unsure why. He just needed to feel its stiff but breakable little body.

The baby was still safe, if Kastor just dropped him, he would fall back to the soft plains of his crib. Kastor took a step back, raising the kid higher in his arms like some trophy to be inspected. The sheets that were wrapped around the baby's small, fat body, fell with a soft sound, pooling around Kastor's feet.

Kastor pulled the baby closer to his face, taking a good look at him. The baby had a round little head, curly tuffs of hair on the top of it. His cheeks were puffy, his nose was running. He looked pathetic. He was pathetic.

The baby was constantly struggling in Kastor's grip, his uncontrolled hands seizing out, grasping at anything he could, namely the upper part of Kastor's chiton, pulling on it without real force. The baby was so weak. It couldn't even make a mess out of Kastor's attire. It was just a weakling, a little feeble thing. Kastor made a face at the baby, lifting him further, out of his own face.

Kastor must have seen mothers or father playing with their kids. Brothers or sisters toying with their little siblings. He must have, because when he hoisted the baby higher up in the air, then for a fraction of a second let his grip loosen and let the baby go, to fall for just a moment, his heart thrummed violently, yet he caught the baby again.

For an unbelievable second there was silence in the room.

Kastor's hands were shaking for some reason, the hairs standing on the back of his necks, his cheeks running hot, yet he shivered. Why would it matter, if he didn't catch him?, he reasoned, his heart galloping feverishly. The baby would've hit himself. Then what? Kastor knew the baby at least once had climbed out of his crib, before starting to scream, making it known in the whole palace, how much of a dummy he was. So again, he would've been fine.

The baby started to really trash in Kastor's hold, trying to get a good grip on something, only reaching his brother's forearm. Kastor, just to make a point to himself, lifted the baby again, concentrating on the moment his small body was no longer secure in his grip and then caught him again.

It was eerie silent, now, only the nanny's soft breathing could be heard, and somehow Kastor didn't even notice. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of the baby.

When he did it again, he almost threw him upwards, softly, so carefully, he was never this careful with anything. The baby was no longer crying. And Kastor did it again and again and again.

Until, one moment, when Kastor caught the baby once more and let his arms go with momentum, let the baby fall lower while his hold was intact, really making him feel like falling. And the baby made a sound so shocking, Kastor almost dropped him on accident. The baby made a short low noise, half between a laugh and a snort, his dark little pebble-like eyes widening. The baby giggled.

"You like to fly, that's it?" Kastor asked voice hushed in the newfound silence. He turned around, so he was facing away from the open windows, to show it to the little one. "Do you want me to throw you out?" he asked, making his smile as vicious as he could. "It wouldn't be like falling out of your crib, you dumb," he mused.

The baby never even gazed towards the window, he clearly enjoyed the small spin it took them to turn. Now he was watching Kastor intently, still moving around in his grip, but calmly, not in a frenzy anymore.

When the baby opened his mouth, maybe to start crying again, Kastor hoisted him again and now let him fall a greater length. But he caught him. It was funny, looking at the almost betrayed look on the baby's face, like he was expecting Kastor to let him scream again. Now, he just started giggling again, with volume this time, the volume he used in his crying fits. Kastor was not going to let him cry.

"Oh, so this is what you want?" Kastor mocked the baby. "Do you want everyone to only pay attention to you? Maybe, if you stopped crying for half a second, someone would've played with you, Damianos," he said his name, for the first time in his life.

Kastor was continuously swinging the baby, so he didn't even think about crying. He put him in the air again and again, the little one kept giggling, hiccupping and occasionally whining, when Kastor dared to relax his straining arms for even a second.

"Damianos," Kastor tasted the word again. "You have a stupid name, you know that?" he asked the baby, swirling around again. "Damianos is an old man's name, not a little baby's." He regarded the baby, wondering how he would look with grey hair and wrinkles. "You are named after a great uncle of yours, did you know that? No, you didn't, because you are stupid," he fumed to himself.

The baby just squealed once, excited and uncaring.

"I was also named after a great uncle of— ours I guess," he said not without distaste. "He was a hero, you know? Died in a battle, his sacrifices earning the Akielons victory." He was extremely proud of that. "The one you got your name after, did not die in battle." He didn't know what happened exactly, but neither did the baby. "He was still better than you." Kastor screwed up his nose. "No real Akielon would cry as much as you do."

It didn't impress the baby, he was now squealing and laughing no stop, as Kastor started swinging him in the air, tilting his little body in every direction, eyes intently fixed on his little brother, like their conversation wasn't one sided.

"You shouldn't be called Damianos. It's too long either way," and it wasn't easy to pronounce. "And you," he raised the baby high, over his own head, "don't even look like a Damianos." He stopped for a moment to think, the baby used that to start wiggling again, because, oh no, Kastor stopped paying attention to him.

As an answer Kastor threw him extremely high and for a long-long second, while the baby was up in the air, his little face got twisted, like he was afraid Kastor was not going to catch him.

Which was stupid. For minutes, he just did that. Even if he was messing with the baby's little head once or twice, he always caught him in the end.

The baby hiccupped a half cry, but he just went with pouting as Kastor lifted him again, this time more gently. The giggles resumed after some moments, and Kastor could dance around the dark room with him again.

"I'm going to call you Damen," Kastor declared. "You look like a Damen. And it's a little kid's name, and as you are one, it fits you." Their father was going to hate it, he thought absent-mindedly, a new feeling creeping up into his chest. Good, Theomedes should hate it.

"Damen, the crying baby, Damen, the crying baby," he sang as he continued their little play and Damen started to laugh in earnest.

It took a few minutes of this for Kastor to notice the shift of calmness around them. On a particularly clever twirl he came face to face with the nanny, Damen's nanny, his old nanny and he froze on the spot.

He felt like he was caught doing something wrong, even though everyone told him all the time that he should visit his little brother once in a while. No one was pushing it since they realized Damen was just crying and crying and sleeping and then only crying some more.

The nanny was an old woman, older than Kastor's mum, maybe older than his father. She was looking at them, at least it seemed like she was, judging from the way she was facing and how she held herself. It was hard to tell in the dark, yet in the shine of the moon and the starts Kastor somehow knew, he felt it, that her dark eyes were soft and kind.

Kastor swallowed, slowly let his arms down in front of his chest with the baby in his hands. The moment was never-ending, and no one said anything. Until.

"Prince Kastor," the woman greeted him quietly, unfazed by what she was seeing, but with an emotion Kastor wasn't sure he understood. It sounded like defeat and happiness moulded together. He didn't know why his eyes started to sting all of the sudden.

The nanny wasn't saying anything else, and Kastor wanted to prevent it, he didn't want to hear anymore, took two steps towards her, thrusted the baby violently to her chest and left as soon as she was holding the kid securely.

Kastor left quickly so she couldn't follow him. When he was sure the guards were not paying him any mind, he started to run, back to his own room, into his bed and hid under the covers. He wasn't sure what he was hiding from. Maybe the silence. Damen, the crying baby, was not crying now, no matter how hard Kastor tried to strain his ears to hear it. He wanted to hear it for some reason. But he couldn't.

Kastor knew he angered Theomedes enough these days for the king to just wait for one last straw that could explain why the prince needed to be sent away to learn some manners. It still surprised him that something like this would make the king decide.

Kastor was satisfied with his own manners in all honesty, when he wanted to anger someone, he did it deliberately. It was getting rarer that is temper got the best of him, in his humble opinion, but who was he to question the king?

Not that he abandoned his post to save the goddamn golden child of the country, Theomedes's little ray of sunshine, the son he was the proudest of. No matter that Kastor was an excellent sword fighter and could hold a conversation with foreign lords, Damen learned how to pronounce the name of all the regions of Akielos, what a genius he was.

Kastor was so mad. Theomedes didn't even hear him out, just dismissed him without further ado, after he sentenced Kastor to peacekeeping, the one that was fought with sword.

It was so unfair. It was not his fault, he never did, never would intentionally ruin any ceremony or library treasure for that matter. It was certainly not his fault that Damen was too dumb to take care of himself, but smart enough to escape his caretakers. He was a toddler someone should've been with him.

But forgive Kastor, he thought that maybe not letting the future king of the nation struck down by a heavy book that the little dummy was trying to get from the shelf, at the delicate age of six was the humane thing to do. Apparently no, Kastor was mistaken, and as he left his position during the parade – behind the crowd where no one actually saw him –, punishment was due.

He was to go to the edge of the kingdom, fight in the battle of small villages with the Patrans that would go nowhere. It was infuriating for so many reasons. Kastor wanted to be useful, he knew there was a lot of work that could be done on the always shifting borders, but he was not sent there as a honour, not because he showed skills in strategy, he didn't earn it, he deserved it, in the worst sense of the word.

Gods, he hated Damen so much, sometimes. He could've at least said Kastor was protecting him, he wasn't that dense, he shouldn’t have been. Yet he not only did not aid his brother, he vehemently stated Kastor also ruined his play. And had the audacity to cry like Kastor telling him that if he continued like this, he was going to cause his own death was a cruel thing to say someone. Like it was petty to just go out of his way to annoy his little brother. In conclusion, Damen was just a little evil shit, who hated Kastor.

Kastor was fuming in his room, for hours now, packing a sack with the most essentials, like his fighting gear, his armour, a book of poetry he found amusing, the simple golden bangle he got from his mother. He wouldn't need anything more in the mud of Aegina.

Because the soft drizzle of rain started to turn more and more rumbling as the day came close to its end, he could already see what a hell of a pain riding the roads would be tomorrow. He really felt like hitting something.

When someone started banging on his door, in the fashion someone not very tall or strong but very persistent would knock on one's door, he gritted his teeth. He was in no mood to deal with the little demon, he had to be ready in the morning and he wanted to catch a great amount of sleep, in order to have an ideal departure.

The knocking intensified and loud whining joined it, Damen shrieking Kastor's name, making the whole palace know, or rather, the whole palace think Kastor was being mean to him again. Because apparently people saw them like that.

"What?" he threw the door open and to no one's surprise found his little brother in the door, looking almost sheepish, like he knew exactly how he fucked up at least one year of Kastor's life.

"The clouds are very loud," he said, clutching his sleeping blanket in his hands, looking like innocence itself. Kastor had no patience for Damen, especially not in that moment.

He looked up, searching for Damen's afternoon nanny, who always walked the kid to Kastor's room when there was a thunder, because it was her job to satisfy every need of the little dummy. This time however, she looked nervous and couldn't meet his eyes. It was probably her fault that Damen wandered in the palace alone that afternoon. It was surprising that Theomedes didn't fire her on the spot. Maybe ruining Kastor's life lightened his mood.

"Yeah, thunders work like that, genius," Kastor mocked. Damen started to wrap his blanket around his own head, which made him look like a weird child monk of some sort. "The gods are angry, so they are shutting the windows to their kingdom, by pulling the grey clouds over us. And that makes the noise," he educated Damen, pleased that the kid was paying attention. "Maybe they are angry at you," he fake-contemplated for good measure.

Saying that, simultaneously got him where he wanted, while making him annoyed at the same time as Damen's lips started to quiver, his face crumpling. The boy sniffed once.

"Why are they mad at me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe you are the reason I have to go to Aegina," he started, vehemently, "to spend the rest of the season in the woods, eating raw meat and fighting Patrans, and as the gods favour me, now they are mad at you." The nanny flinched behind Damen.

"You are leaving?" Damen asked, doe eyes widening, almost threatening to eat up his whole face. Kastor frowned and left the kid in the door, to go back to his bed and flop down on it, dramatically. He didn't want to let him in, but had no energy to say no, so he wanted to just wait it out.

Kastor heard the murmurs of the nanny, and for a moment he entertained the thought that Damen left. But then he heard the doors closing, then the soft steps of naked feet on the marble. It took some time for Damen to waddle in, Kastor closed his eyes bracing against the havoc Damen would unleash on him this time.

"Help me," Damen whined, when he reached the bed and his struggles of fighting himself into the high bed were unsuccessful, he was just tugging on the sheet under Kastor.

Kastor made a face to the ceiling. He contemplated just letting Damen suffer, he did let him do his things for some time, not hiding his laughter as the little demon groaned in pain, when fell to his ass the umpteenth time. This time when Damen raised his hands to be lifted, Kastor turned towards him and, quickly grabbing him, threw him to the other side of the bed. Damen screamed, excited, balled his blanket up and threw it at his brother. Kastor hated him, really.

"You are annoying," Kastor said, keeping a strong hold on the blanket when Damen tried to pull it back.

"Give it back," he screeched and Kastor tugged on it, pulling Damen closer. The second tug made Damen trip over, falling headfirst into the sheets. Kastor started laughing again, some of his earlier anger vanishing. The betrayed look on Damen's face made it even better. He was just a dumb fucking kid, selfish and an asshole, but amusing.

Damen pouted, then crawled to him on the bed, climbing into his lap, making him comfortable there, like he was the king, Kastor his throne. He wrapped the blanket around himself, not bothering untangling it from Kastor's grip. He was tiny enough that it still covered most of his body, his head resting against Kastor's chest.

"You are heavy," Kastor complained, which was answered by Damen leaning into him more violently, just to make a point. "Get off. I have shit to do," he said, his earlier anger seeping back into his voice.

How couldn't Damen understand? Did he have to act like Kastor only existed to please him? He was not his caretaker, his was the older prince, he already had important things to do.

Kastor pushed Damen out of his lap, who squawked, offended, and Kastor stood up from the bed. He was mostly finished with packing and if Damen was to go to sleep it was late enough that he ran out of time to say personal goodbye to Pavlina in the city. Or anyone else for that matter, but there wasn't a lot of people Kastor wanted to say personal goodbye to. The soldiers he spent a lot of time with were going with him, either way. And Pavlina…

Well, Kastor didn't know what they had going on, he really like her and knew would miss her dearly. She was the only one who could cheer him up with her smiles and jokes. She understood what it was like to have a little sibling that was ruining everything. Maybe he should just write a letter to her. Which seemed so pretentious, on second thought.

They weren't courting, exactly. Like, Kastor tried to give her gifts, but it seemed she only accepted them out of courtesy and tradition. They were friends, who met sometimes and talked. Sometimes. Maybe a girl so smart and pretty would want nothing from the royal bastard. Unfortunately, she could do better. Probably not in rank or money, but in adventure, talent or experience, definitely. Probably not just could but would. In which case, fuck her too, really. Kastor was so fed up with everyone throwing him away.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" he lashed out on Damen. "For once, you could act like you have some brain material, you idiot," he emphasized. Damen always reacted to name-calling, it was easier to bait him into leaving like this. He threw tantrums left and right, and then threw them again, when he was called out on them.

"But I can't sleep," he whined.

"Tough luck," Kastor murmured. Because of course the goddamn thunder, and Damen being a literal baby. "How will you lead armies during time of terror, if you are afraid even of the sound of rain?" he asked. "Do you know what sound colliding swords make? If you like to play with your wooden sword so much, you should man up," he poured it on him, theatrically pointing at the kid sitting on the bed.

"You will fight with me." Damen's smile was radiating up at Kastor. "And then I won't have to be afraid. You can fight with your steel sword and I can use Dolphin," he said enthusiastically.

"You can't call your sword Dolphin," Kastor said sternly, for the hundredth time since his brother named that stupid toy.

"Why not?" Damen asked smile only growing, because he also learned that arguing made Kastor pull on his own hair, so of course he enjoyed spiting him.

"Because it's stupid," Kastor argued, hands flailing. "A sword should have a name that represent something very important, like power or loyalty or the sacrifices a soldier has to make." Damen was such a fool for not understand it, really. "Search for names in mythology, not in the sea."

"But it reper—," Damen struggled with the world. Kastor smirked, mean. The little demon learned a lot of words, but he had trouble pronouncing certain some, especially words with multiple syllables. "It's because I love dolphins," he solved the problem. "Because dolphins are really the best," he screamed, jumping up into the air.

"Then go to your dolphins," Kastor dismissed him, walking to his table.

"But they're in the sea and I don't want to go outside now." Kastor took a deep breath as he gathered paper and ink, mostly just to do something that was not related to Damen. "It's very loud." His voice was small, almost believably afraid.

"I don't envy you," he turned back, to say something cruel. "I mean, I would let you sleep with me, but now that you made it like this, I have to go tomorrow, so who will protect you, then, huh? You should get used to sleeping without me," he advised, watching Damen's face fall. He put on corner of his sleeping blanket in his mouth and started chewing on it.

"I didn't make you go," he said, linen between his lips. "Dad made you go."

There was silence for several long moments. Kastor marched up to the bed, then tugged the blanket out of Damen's mouth. The little demon shriek again.

"I need to do stuff, so if you want to stay, you need to be quiet." Damen nodded eagerly. "And don't use my pillows. No one wants to sleep in your snot," he used his strictest voice.

It was no use arguing with Damen, come tomorrow he would have to realize it himself what he caused. Kastor did nothing to him, Damen did this to himself and he was going to feel shitty about it, once the next storm came. Kastor wanted Damen to feel guilt, to understand it was his fault, even though no one explains it to him. He would have to put it together all by himself that he needed Kastor and now he ruined it for himself. Also, if Damen was asleep, he was much less irritating.

Damen smiled and climbed back in the bed, pulling gigantic sheets over himself, just hugging his own blanket like a stuffed toy and started chewing on it once again. Kastor sighed. He put the candles out that were near the bed, took the largest to the table, letting the shadows of the twilight and pouring rain cover the room in blue darkness.

Kastor went to sit at his table, fingers playing with the edge of the paper, contemplating what was he supposed to say to a girl without making a fool out of himself. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to say. That he would miss her. And would think about her. And that maybe he wanted to kiss her.

No. He couldn't say that. Not in a letter, that's for sure. He was a prince, he couldn't just go around declaring stupid shit like that, he should've behaved gracefully. He had to have a clear head, be responsible, say the dumbest shits when it was required. Without reward, even, if Theomedes was in one of his moods.

It was a stupid idea anyway. Pavlina wouldn't even think about him. She never seemed to long his arrival when they met, and she didn't see to saddened when the parted ways. She would just laugh at the letter. It was stupid.

Kastor sighed, resting his head in his hands. He was watching the buttery colour of the paper, wondering who would miss him enough, anyway, the sudden pain in his chest reminding him, who he missed. He straightened his back. He should write to his mother. He hasn't seen her in quite some time, she had been away, on her own land, visiting the capital and his son less and less regularly.

That decided, he was musing over what to write, about the border duty or maybe about Pavlina, or how everything was at Ios, asking when she would be back, even though Kastor would not, for some time. Someone turned in the bed, deliberately loudly, with the dramatic rusting of sheets, like someone kicked them up several times.

Kastor closed his eyes, willing Damen to behave for once in his goddamn life, but no. The little demon was not stopping and after a minute or two, he left the bed and came towards the table, covered in Kastor's bedsheets, judging from the sound of soft fabric being pulled on marble.

Kastor turned left to find Damen lost in white sheets, looking ridiculous, blinking up at him as he arrived next to Kastor's seat.

"What about sleeping?" Kastor deadpanned, looking down at the kid. Damen titled his head the way he always did, when he wanted candy from the pliable kitchen ladies. Kastor was unfazed. Damen dropped the act.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as he realized his stupid charming tactics were not going to work on Kastor.

"I'm writing a letter to my mother," he exaggerated. Not even a word was written down. Damen sat down on the floor, or rather let his body fall down, his bones protected by the unbelievable number of bedsheets he brought with himself.

"But mom is dead," the kid reasoned, brows furrowed.

"No, that's—," Kastor thought Damen understood that. "That's your mother. I have a different one." He felt awkward all of a sudden. Shouldn't have let Damen in, in the first place.

"Do I have another mother?" he asked curiously. Kastor swallowed, lump in his throat.

"No, people usually only have one."

"But I don't have one," he wailed, the way he did when he wanted one of his toys. Kastor grimaced.

"Of course, you have on. Your fa—," he wondered if that would confuse him, "Father always takes you to her statue, every turn of the moon." He supposed it could be hard for a toddler to comprehend, who had no connection with children his age. Yet, moments ago he was going on about their dead mother.

"But she is not here. Mothers are here. She is not," he explained it, like it was a generally accepted truth learned from bedtime stories or something.

Damen thought he didn't have a mother. Kastor huffed, a silent, bitter laugh. Suddenly, he felt sympathetic. He reached down to grab the little demon and put him in his lap, arranging the blankets so he could still see the table but would be able to breath too.

"It's not that easy. She didn't want to leave. No one wants to leave, like that." He had to believe in it. "She just couldn't stay. The gods couldn't let her," he turned Damen towards the table, so he didn't have to look into his eyes. Egeria was the first one to give everything to Damen. To give everything for Damen. The kid reached out to grasp the pen Kastor was holding, painting his own chubby ones in ink-blue.

"Then why is your mother not here?" Damen asked. "Did the gods make her leave too?" Kastor didn't answer for a long time, uncertain which scenario was better.

"No, she is just not in the palace," he answered, trying to sound light-hearted. "She is here in Akielos. She just had thing to do. That's why I'm writing a letter to her," he explained, "she is not that far away, but far enough for letter." It was an okay explanation, made sense.

"Can I write to her?" Damen's voice was delighted.

"You can't write."

"But you can," the kid said, the solution plain and simple. "I can tell you what to write." They didn't even know each other. "She could be my mother too." Kastor's fingers on the pen started to whiten.

"No. She is my mother, Damen." Kastor heard his own voice turn closed off and unwelcoming.

"But she could be mine too," the kid insisted.

"That's not how it works," he said, eyes fixed on the empty paper. "Your mother is dead." It was unfair. But some people had fathers, some had mothers. Some had none, for sure. Life was not fair.

"What are you writing to her?" asked Damen quietly.

"That you are annoying," Kastor said without missing a beat. "And probably about how the sea is already warm here," his voice softened. "I don't know yet, about everything." He leaned forward and started writing the greeting, mostly just to spite Damen. The little demon was now trapped in his laps, cornered by the table, not that the he couldn't escape easily, if he actually wanted to.

"I want to have a mother too," Damen said after some time. The long scratching noise Kastor's pen made on the paper he was ugly.

"You can't have everything you want. Especially not people." Kastor sounded factitious, like his— Like Theomedes was talking. "You don't get people's love by wanting it," he tried. "You need to earn people's care." Not that it worked, in his experience, but maybe only he was that unlucky.

Damen didn't say a word, just put his fingers on the untouched paper, leaving blue marks of ink in the shape of his hand. Kastor tugged on his ear, hard, Damen shrieked and Kastor started laughing.

"If you don't ruin my letter," he said after he had to lift the bottle of ink out of Damen's reach, "and let me work, I will let you draw flowers on the end," because Damen was obsessed with his precious flowers and drawing them. "Deal?"

Kastor awoke in the middle of the night, seeming without reason, until he realized there was a person standing next to his head, looming over him. His senses registered the soft mattress of his bed in Ios, the feeble embrace of the slave, who was sleeping behind him, but more importantly the cold grip of threat and the fear that came with it. He reached for his knife.

"It's me," his-could've-been-an-attacker said, his voice suspiciously resembling the young prince of Akielos. Of course, it was him, his voice deeper now, not of a little boy, yet also high pitched due to momentarily panic. Kastor closed his eyes and let go of the knife, after recognizing the unruly mess of locks that belonged to his brother.

"What the ever-loving fuck do you want?" It was the middle of the goddamn night. Kastor only arrived back to the capital half a day ago and he was already overwhelmed with diplomatic bullshit, events he had to manage, lords and ladies he had to please. Almost nothing was an unwelcomed distraction when he was to spend a longer period of time next to the king, however it was exhausting. He wanted to sleep, when it was his well-earned right to sleep.

"I need to do something brave." Kastor snorted.

"Well, waking me up in the middle of the goddamn night is nothing if not brave," he closed his eyes, trying to get comfortable on his pillow again. "You did it, you are a national hero." The conversation was over, he hoped. The sound of Damen's steps was nowhere to be heard.

"I-," Kastor open his eyes, trying to shoot daggers with them in the darkness. "I need your help," the younger prince said, half pleading, half reasoning. Kastor, knowing his brother rather well, pushed himself up. The slave, Ava, stirred behind him, and when Kastor sat up, she pushed herself deeper into the soft sheets, on hand blindly reaching out and caressing Kastor's back.

"You need my help in the middle of the night with something that requires bravery, and may I guess, several people, for example the king or your guards not knowing," he said, voice gritty from sleep and annoyance.

"You weren't exactly available during daytime," Damen remarked, head only just tilting towards the girl in Kastor's bed.

Kastor hoped he looked murderous. He wasn't the prince known for fucking slaves during work hours. He had a job to do, and unlike some people, he did it. What he chose to do behind closed quarters after he moved their goddamn kingdom forward was not up for discussion. Damen had no right to be mad, like Kastor doing his job was a mistake or that he him not being available to his little brother's game was his fault. It was not his obligation to serve Damen's every need.

Except, Damen was the crown prince, royal blood in his veins, real royal blood from his father and his mother, too. It was everybody's job to serve him.

"What do you want, then?" Kastor asked, suddenly feeling even more drained than he was moments ago. Knowing Damen, the sooner he helped, the sooner he could fall asleep again.

"I need to do something brave, and I don't know what I should do," Damen explained. Kastor made a face.

"Why? Did you make a bet or something?" Damen started fidgeting with his chiton.

"It's not a bet. I promised someone something."

"That was vague," Kastor said, louder than necessary, as Ava made a soft noise in her sleep.

"Just, please, can you help me?" Damen pleaded.

"I'm not sure what you require from me. Tell you what brave things I can think of? Or prove that you did in fact woke your scary brother up, which qualifies as a brave thing and not a fucking reckless one?"

"You aren't scary, Kas," Damen, that little shit, grinned. Kastor very deliberately lifted the sheets to lie down again. "Oh, come on, don't be like that," he whined quietly. "There is this girl," he said and Kastor closed his eyes, because of course, there was this girl, it was Damen they were talking about. The only time, there was not this girl, then there was this boy and it was really concerning how many young people was in the capital for Damen to try, a new one every week it seemed. Or at least when Kastor was present to observe the way and the speed at which his brother courted people.

"So?!"

"So, she made a contest and tomorrow every boy who entered have to prove he is the bravest and I can't even think about what to do. I mean, forget winning," he said, like Damen wasn't one who always wanted to be on top of everything, "but at least I have to come up with something, that won't make me a laughingstock."

"Your friends are awful," Kastor said. Damen pouted. Kastor grumbled something unintelligible but reached for his clothes and started to dress in the middle of the fucking night, because of course. He had to give it to this girl, at least she had style. Style out of an ancient legend, true, but a style, nonetheless.

"Thank you," Damen's face lit up. Kastor pulled the sheets up over Ava, so she wouldn't get cold in the night and then set out to deal with Damen and his needless dramatic theatrics he needed Kastor to take care of.

Kastor ignored his brother until they were out of the castle, like the idiots they were, only Kastor's sidearm protecting them if someone came at them. True, they were still at the perimeter of the palace, at the back, where there was nothing, except the sea and cliffs, but still. Danger sometimes gravitated towards Damen.

Night was still, the air crisp, the salty tang of the sea sitting on their tongues as they got closer to where rocks looked like giants from ancient legends, falling into the ocean, their last breath making the ocean ebb and flow. It looked deserted, if they didn't turn around where the palace was, it was like they were in an abandoned place. Uninhabited, therefore extraordinary.

Kastor loved it. Kastor loved the darkness of nothing but the stars, dry weed under their sandals, the rhythmical noise of the ocean only disturbed by night birds. It was peaceful. It was unique. It was perfect, in a sense.

"Where are we going?" Damen asked, as they clearly approached the cliffs.

"Take a wild guess," Kastor deadpanned. He led Damen to his favourite overhanging bit of bluffs, he didn't visit in the last ten years or so, but he could probably find it without looking. This was not the most adventurous place, but this had the nicest view. Kastor stood for a few seconds, trying to find where the ink black horizon met the deep blue sea, finding it, maybe only in his imagination. That line of touch seemed to have all the secrets to the universe and that was the only thing in Kastor's life he didn't want to invade. He was fine, not knowing what was behind the ever-moving line of horizon.

"Kas, what are we doing here?" Damen asked, and he almost sounded upset. Like Damen was doing a favour, like he was indulging Kastor with walking in the middle of the night to the sea of Ios.

"Take your sandals off," Kastor ordered. Damen was still looking at him suspiciously, but he did as he was told. Kastor started walking towards the edge of the cliff. It was a bit of an uphill, hanging well over edge of the water. This is particular cliff must've been five or six meters above the sea level. It was the right place to start. Or not. Kastor was really not in the mood to coddle his brother's little soul.

He heard Damen's unclad feet on the stone, as he walked up beside him, carefully peering down to the sea.

"Jump," Kastor said casually.

"What?!"

"Oh, come on, it's brave, but safe," Kastor argued.

"But it's…," Damen stammered, looking between Kastor and the sea. "Is it safe, though?" He looked concerned.

"No. You know what is safer? Letting me sleep in my goddamn bed."

"Okay, fine," Damen said, vehemently. But then he didn't move.

It was not a secret for the close associates of Damen, that the little fearless prince couldn't handle heights well. He was making progress, obviously, he was to be king and if as one's just fainted while giving a speech on the balcony of Ios's castle, well, that did things to one's reputation. Kastor wasn't sure, when the whole heights thing started, he remembered watching little Damen climb trees for hours and hours. Maybe he fell on his head too much or it was something else happened, since Kastor only spent half the years in Ios. He wasn't privy to every court gossip anymore. But he knew it wasn't that serious, something small Damen struggled with.

Kastor was waiting for the moment, the quite contemplation, the rhythmical clenching and unclenching of his brother's fist indicated that he would not jump but would turn towards Kastor to argue the case. When it happened, Kastor grabbed Damen, one hand at his shoulder, the other at his arm and pushed him. It was not hard to move his brother, Damen was to be a full-grown man in a year or too, at least in body, but Kastor was a soldier for more than a decade now, with the element of surprise on his side. It only took a little force and Damen was falling down, only a yelp leaving him mouth before he arrived in the water. Kastor watched it with a smirk, the way the distances between the cliff and the water disappear, only a bit satisfied with the split of frightened confusion on Damen's face.

When Damen resurface, he was breathing heavily and it was easy to see the hurt in his eyes, even from up where Kastor was standing, so he started laughing.

"Kas!" came the offended scream.

"What?" Kastor asked, smiling wild. "You wanted, no, asked, for my help!" he screamed down. "If you learn how to do this without looking like a goose running for his life and you gracefully land in the water and stay in it for a few moments it can look impressive. There is a reason your father didn't let you jump of off cliffs, not even on the beach," Kastor explained.

"Those were like a meter high," Damen argued, seemingly for the sake of arguing. Cliff jumping were a thing all over the town, obviously just from a few meters high, and not in the middle of the goddamn night, but Damen wasn't allowed do that back then when it was still possible to deny Damen things.

"You want your girl impressed or not?"

"I hate you!" Damen screamed up, like a small child, but he didn't sound that hurt.

"Oh really? Who will help you seduce little wild girls, who dare to challenge the prince, huh?" Kastor was amused now, sleep gone from his eyes. Damen didn't answer, started to swim to the bank under the cliff. With his chiton and curls clinging to him, he looked like a wet puppy, left out in the rain. "Come up here and do it again," Kastor called down to him. Kastor couldn't exactly see it, but he was sure Damen made a face, from the way he angled his body, so he started to chuckle again. When Damen did get back, murmuring things like he never even wanted to compete in the dare under his breath Kastor's side started to hurt from laughter.

"Pay attention, not to arrive headfirst," he said as an advice. Kastor was not expert at cliff jumping, he only had common sense, which he was not sure his brother possessed. Damen just hmmed, eyeing the water. Kastor, after some minute got bored and went to push Damen in again, but this time his brother noticed him approaching.

"Kas, no, I—, this does not help," he screamed, scrambling to get a good grip on Kastor's arm or shoulder, futile attempts really. He was slowly backed up to the edge and he had half the mind to look at the sea at the last moment instead of Kastor. This time, Damen seemed to spit words even before resurfacing.

"You are the worst! How can anyone stand you?! I am the idiot for even asking for your help…," he fumed, words echoing between the cliffs and Kastor was cackling by the time Damen got back to the top. Damen basically ran up, attacking Kastor before he had the chance to.

"I will drown you, you little shit" Kastor countered, grinning, easily manoeuvring Damen to the edge, once again. Damen did get a good grip on Kastor's forearm and for a moment, they swayed, likely to end up in the sea, both of them hitting the surface with their sides, but Kastor used the momentarily scared distraction of his brother to get him into the water. Again. Damen actually looked sad after that. When he got back up, though, his vicious determination was evident.

"I can't believe on girl was enough for you to beat this whole height thing of yours. She must be very pretty," Kastor commented.

"She is the daughter of the Karthan kyros."

"Good for her. Now, do it again," he ordered. Damen made a face.

"How did you know I was not going to die, by the way?" he asked, like Kastor was the idiot.

"Don't be a child, put on your big boy chiton and do, it, again," Kastor gestured towards the water, now determined to make his lack of sleep worth what it was worth. At least to make Damen jump like he had some resemblance of idea what he was doing. Damen pouted. "I used to do this and I'm still here, I'm not trying to kill you," he said, exasperated.

Kastor went on to share his still limited knowledge of landing, explaining as much as he could, and Damen was clearly paying attention now. When it came to jumping Damen took a long time, taking big gulps of breath, leaning forward or bending his legs as he gathered bravery for the jump, then backing up, again and again. Kastor let him hesitate this time, and it the end Damen jumped down by himself.

And then he climbed up the cliff and went to jump again, repeating it endlessly, fuelled by Kastor's half-encouraging, half mocking commentary. After the first half an hour, as Damen got the hang of it, he obviously started to find enjoyment in.

Damen did it until Kastor was satisfied it, then a little more because Kastor didn't exactly stop him, when he thought it was already good enough.

They were still out, when the stars started to fade and give place to the grey dawn. Kastor was sitting on the cooling stones and watched as Damen jumped again and again, never tiring, always reporting on his progress as he arrived back up, until he was too exhausted to climb back without stumbling over his own legs a few times.

"Sit down, you are going to hit your head like this, and I know you have a girl to impress today," Kastor gestured next to himself. Damen nodded, unfocused and staggered to sit down. Kastor watched as Damen's eyes closed, from time to time as he tried to star at the far away side of the land where the sun was to come up, to travel over them during the day and go back to sleep over Isthima.

"When did you do it?" Damen asked.

"Hm?"

"You said you used to do it," he repeated.

"I don't know," Kastor said, not paying that much attention. "When I was little. I would go up there, I think," he pointed at a cliff not far from them, somewhat higher.

"There are a lot of spiky rock at the bottom there," Damen commented, absent-mindedly. Kastor knew that. But this was the first time he ever told anyone about that, so no one knew what he did back then. He must've been elven or twelve maybe, old enough that Damen was born, because no one told him to take care. He was fascinated with the idea of dying in those years, imagine how his life could end the second he arrived in the water. He always wondered, what his death would bring. He believed that no one would've even know. The sea would wash him away, and he would've just stopped existing, without leaving even one simple mark.

"Yes, well, I'm not a coward," he turned to Damen with smirk. His brother, because he was a big boy, stuck his tongue out. As crown princes did.

In the darkness of the night it would've been easy to miss, but Kastor saw how Damen was fidgeting with his chiton, and scratching his own skin methodically, looking at nothing wondering about everything maybe. Kastor knew the scar Damen was irritating, he put it there in the first place.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, quietly. He didn't need to mention it, wasn't sure what possessed him to do so. They didn't talk about it much. Kastor cut his own brother. Everyone understood it was because he was an incompetent soldier. No one entertained the idea that he wanted to hurt his little brother. Sometimes even Kastor forgot he did it intentionally.

He always knew it was wrong to do it, he knew it even when he did it. On some nights he was disgusted with himself for ever thinking about it, on some nights that seemed the most rational thing he has ever done. It might've been a foolish decision he made, but it was his decision, nonetheless. And under Theomedes's rule he felt he was already robbed of the opportunity to make his own choices. And that mattered. Because when he cut Damen, he wasn't actually cutting Damen. He was hurting something that was precious to Theomedes. The only things that was precious to Theomedes.

"What?" Damen asked, then looked down where his hand was worrying his own skin. "Oh no, it never really does," he smiled, tight and awkward. Kastor made an agreeable sound. He wasn't sure why he brought it up, it was not guilt exactly, but the closes thing he would allow himself to feel about that thing. After all, he was forced to apologize in quite dramatic way back then. "I mean, at least it makes me look like a warrior," he smiled, wickedly.

"Like an amateur warrior," Kastor countered without thinking, but Damen just chuckled, not a real laughter but something akin to it. Kastor allowed himself to smile. "Aren't you cold?" he asked. Damen shook his head, affectively spraying water all over Kastor, from his mess looks. "I can't believe you go through all this trouble just for one blonde," he joked, trying to change the subject.

"You don't know that she is blonde," argued Damen, out of instinct, looking sleepy and still damp. He looked up, a tired but mischievous smile on his lips. "I would say her hair is like… light brown." Kastor made a noise. "But that is not the reason." Damen pulled one of his leg up, hugging it, as he put his head on it. "Dad told me some of the things you did for girls," he said, offhandedly.

Of course, Theomedes would do that, the only thing he used Kastor for in his family was to prove a point. And never a good one. Kastor suddenly felt exhausted again. He wanted to tell Damen what he thought about Theomedes, but it was useless. Damen worshiped his father. He would never see his flaws. And Kastor was deemed a fool for even mentioning them. It was a question of pride. Damen was compared to his father and he was proud of it. He was prideful. But Kastor was too, every time someone said he was nothing like his father. At first, in his youth, it hurt, more than anything, but it slowly morphed into the greatest compliment someone could offer him.

"Tell me about this girl," Kastor asked quietly, because he didn't dare to disturb the natural silence of the night but didn't want Damen to talk about his father. Damen smiled, privately, to himself.

"She is very special. Clever and pretty and always has something witty to say to everything." Of course, exactly like stupid, little Damen's type. Damen only got infatuated with girl and boys in the last few years, but it felt like a lifetime. And Kastor didn't even spend that much time with him at the capital. "I'm not even sure she likes me."

"She cares," Kastor said. Damen was important enough that everyone cared either way. "She must be special, if she treats you like an equal," he commented. "Keep people like that."

"What do you mean?"

"You are the Prince of Akielos, the heir to the throne, most people will be controlled by either their fear or greed around you. People who dare to criticise you, who dare to call you out, who treat you like any of their friends, are more likely to be honest, to be true friend of yours." He almost sounded wise. "You won't have a lot of friends like that."

"I have Nikandros," said Damen, automatically. "He's probably the only one who never lied to me." Kastor made a face to the dark, heart heavy.

"When did I lie to you?" he asked, almost snapping. It was not fair to ask this, he was untruthful to Damen a lot of time, never lying, but rarely telling the whole truth.

"Okay, but that's different. You are my brother. You are supposed to be honest with me," Damen explained, with an easy smile.

"I supposed to," he echoed.

"Yes," Damen said, confirming. "So, I already have you and Nikandros." Kastor wondered briefly what he wanted to say about that, but the lack of sleep made him decide against the potential fight.

"You certainly have him. He might not be the poorest example of a great friend," he said instead.

"You still don't like him?" Damen asked with a cheeky smile.

"No one in their right mind could like Nikandros."

"Shut up!" Damen exclaimed and Kastor started laughing once again.

The day did not start in a good fashion. Kastor and his troops were a few villages away from Ios, steadily working their way throughout the country from the border, expected to be home around noon, when they first heard the rumours about the whole debacle, with the assassins and whatnots. It made Kastor leave his soldiers behind in the steady hand of his commander and put his horse to a punishing pace to get to the palace as fast as he could.

He wasn't worried. He was annoyed.

It was just his luck that once he did something spectacular, namely leading his troops into battle that ended with not only a win, but then he secured a tentative truce with the Veretian borderlords, which was unheard of before, and what he had to come home to? Some sorry peasant or another tried to assassinate the goddamn heir to the throne. And almost succeeded.

The irony of someone else cutting Damen making Kastor angry did not escape his attention, he simply ignored it.

He didn't know what happened, only heard the happenings from an early rising merchant who happened to cross their way, but if he had to guess, given how the attacker had to outsmart the guards in any other scenario, it was just stupid Damen sticking his other sword where it was not supposed to go and took someone to bed who just wanted to slit his throat even before Damen turned his attention to somewhere – or on someone – else.

When he arrived, he strode through the palace, mood foul. He knew it was not the time to talk to Theomedes, it was likely he would not only not get rewards but not even an encouraging word for his work that was not from a king to one of his subjects, but from a father to a son. Not that Kastor had any real expectations about that. He was too old to be a fool like that.

In the palace, he was informed that the assassination attempt happened during the night, just before dawn, by no one of import really. As no one seemed to be able to tell him anything about how it went down, so he turned to the place of the happenstance, to Damen's bedchamber. His stupid little shit of a brother might have brought it upon him and in that case Theomedes's bullshit was not really something Damen needed that moment, Kastor mused. He was sure that if the assassin was not killed on site, he was already in a jail cell, or hanged if he had no valuable information, but it might've shaken Damen. The whole, someone tried to murder him. With true dedication, this time.

It shouldn't have mattered to Kastor. Damen being careless and impossibly dense brought trouble to his own head, because what the guards could tell him, he himself let the attacker in. So good. Perfect, even. There was a chance that at last Theomedes would notice how incredibly incautious and irresponsible Damen could be. People should notice. Kastor always told him to be fucking careful, not to trust anyone because they said they like him, or acted respectfully at first, but Damen was his own enemy sometimes.

There were guards outside of the bedchamber, new ones, which didn't indicate that the ones who just obeyed the crown prince were executed, because Kastor was not a frequent visitor in Ios he couldn't sworn on knowing who was stationed where. But likely they had been killed for being put in an impossible situation, namely deciding not letting a personal guest of the crown prince cross or not obeying the king.

The new ones were tense, eyes not moving even as Kastor approached. Kastor couldn't exactly blame them. No matter how Theomedes treated the situation, Kastor was intent on giving Damen a piece of his mind about responsibility and general self-consciousness – and goddamn survival skills – after checking in the room, where was sure to be found someone who could tell him in details what happened. It was not kind to ask Damen to tell him how his assassination happened, right after the whole commotion.

The door to Damen's bedchamber, was not open per se, but due to the fact that the higher hinges seemed destroyed, Kastor's entrance was somewhat delayed, he eyed the wreck of the door for a few seconds, before pushing it open with his boot and stepped inside.

The inside was a mess. He smelled the iron-y tang of blood before he saw it, and there was much to see. There was dark red spilled all over the floor, from the entrance towards the bed, and to the shattered pieces of a furniture that might have been a table once. Half of the bed sheets were coloured with blood, the other half just pooling on the floor, covered in mud in footprint patterns. The white marble of the floor also sported a broken pitcher and wine, a bowl of – now – slowly rotting fruits, papers and some gadgets Kastor recognized as things Damen used to keep on his desk. All of them broken, shattered, ruined.

The windows were open to let the wind carry the smell out, and three servant girls were cleaning up the floor, their uncomplicated but pure white dresses already tainted with the blood of either the attacker of their crown prince. There was so much blood. For a moment Kastor's heart made an interesting galloping, he didn't exactly know, in which state Damen was left in, after the accident. Surely, someone would've mentioned if he was wounded seriously.

Kastor tried to swallow, suddenly finding his throat closing, heat rising in his chest, even though it was just early spring. He stepped closer to the bed and tension seeped out of him, replaced by everything else, as he found Damen sitting on the floor, where his nightstand used to be, hidden by the tall bed.

"Well?" Kastor asked, frustrated with everything. Damen was just sitting in his bloodied chiton, looking shockingly young, curls making a halo over his face. His eyes were shiny, his face ashy. Kastor let anger won over any other emotion he might've felt.

Damen was watching the servants but was clearly not seeing. He winced at Kastor's harsh tone and looked at his brother, eyes going wild, like he was surprised to see him there. Like he was surprised the world still existed.

"Care to explain?" Kastor gestured to the whole state of the room. Someone, the servants probably, were murmuring greetings to him, he heard the world exalted, but he wasn't paying attention.

"I—," Damen looked very, well objectively speaking, bad. While he seemed to be frozen into stone a moment ago, now he just stood up and he was swaying in place and fiddling with his belt, not looking at Kastor's face.

There was no visible wound on Damen, he just looked pale, sweaty and unfocused. And he was still in his chiton he wore during the accident. "I met this man in the agora. He was…" Damen reached up to push his curls out of his forehead, dirtying his face. His hand was shaking. "He was pleading, he said he was in danger and he needed help, and that surely I could help, and he," Damen turned to face him, suddenly, to look at Kastor for support, like he needed Kastor’s forgiveness, like he was begging Kastor for mercy, "he just, he talked about how his village was attacked, but he wasn't sure if it was not Akielons, so he was afraid to go to the king and that, that," Damen's chest started heaving, "And that I could surely help. I just wanted to help," he said, voice small, lips trembling.

For a disturbing moment, Kastor feared his brother would start crying. Kastor lifted his hands, just barely, the instinct to pull him into an embrace rising. Then Damen sniffed, turned away and plopped down onto the bed.

So, Damen was not that kind of an idiot. He didn't almost end his own life, just because he wanted to fuck. He just fucked up, mayorly, because he was a naive, uncaring, little, stupid… kind kid.

"He said, I was going to be an awful king, just as I closed the door and then he pulled a knife on me." Shit. "So, I—," Damen buried his face in his hand, leaning down on his knees, body trembling.

There was a sour taste in Kastor's mouth. He couldn't even cling to his anger anymore.

"I cut his throat," Damen whispered, voice muffled by his hands.

That was probably and understatement. There was clearly a fight, Damen was turning out to be quite the extraordinary fighter, but attacked form behind, disoriented and most probably shocked, it obviously took him time to overthrow his opponent. And it must have been a violent fight, if he couldn't call his guards after unarming his enemy. He wondered why Damen was still in his room, doing nothing, no one taking care of him, no one actually paying attention to him.

Kastor thought about how he dealt with things like that. He was different. Everyone said his anger was his biggest flaw, but he always used it to push through hurt and pain, of guilt and sadness. It could be debated if his royal problems could be compared to other people's, but rage always helped him overcome obstacles. And if it did not, it at least fuelled him to not crumble. It kept him grounded and on the edge. And when even he couldn't take it, he just drank himself into oblivion.

But Damen was an idiot, who thought he could either believe a stranger or that if Theomedes or his warmonger friends were murdering peasants he could do something about it, and as such he was not fed by anger.

"I don't know what else I could've done," Damen looked up, desperation in his voice. Kastor must took too long to contemplate what to say, to calm him, or to reprimand him or anything really. He came up with nothing, but Damen looked… "I didn't know what to do, I was just…" Afraid. Damen looked at Kastor, like he could forgive him for taking a man's life.

Kastor undid his cloak an threw it on the untouched side of the bed as preparation. He was not a man of words. He couldn't tell Damen if it was going to be alright, or how to or who to pray to. He would not turn his guilt into anger, because Damen would be left even more broken after the heat left him. Kastor could only teach the actual methods of cleaning one's hand after a kill, as he learned it on the battlefield.

Taking someone's life was no easy feat and even though in the future Damen might've had to make decisions like that, it was no place for a sixteen-year-old to do. Kastor was younger when he did it first, but he was on the battlefield. And he was scared shitless. Some tribe or another attacking villages. So, he killed, and as it was a battle, his second, third and fourth kill came in very quick succession.

"Leave," Kastor turned to the servants. There was a long moment, where they stopped scrubbing and didn't dare to move either way. Then the oldest, and apparently bravest, looked up and opened her mouth to speak.

"Theomedes-Exalted ordered the room cleaned," she offered.

"Well, if he ordered it then it must be done," he took a step towards them with a dangerous smile on his lips. Theomedes-Exalted could've made sure his son was not on the verge of fainting, alone, after there was an attempt on his life. Theomedes-Exalted could've ordered his son to change clothes and go to bed. Theomedes-Exalted could've gave at least a fuck about his son, who was clearly not alright.

Still, saying it like this was petty, but it fuelled his anger. Of course, the king's orders needed to be executed, that's how monarchies worked, but sometimes this kind of childishness eased the constant sting of Theomedes's existence, so he did it. And it most definitely disarmed soldiers, so it had to work on servants too. "Give me that," he reached out for the pinkish cloth in the girl's hand, only pinkish from the blood it absorbed.

The girl looked at Kastor for a few seconds without moving. Kastor, privately wanted to smile. Sometimes servants were thousand times braver than soldiers, even though the beating a servant would have to suffer for not obeying was much harsher than the punishment soldiers had to endure.

"This is personal matter, it should not be dealt by you," he tried to reason with her. Her eyes flickered to the bed, towards Damen probably. Then she bowed her head and put the rag into Kastor's hand. "Give one to the crown prince too," he said to none of the girls in particular, but as they gathered themselves, one of them went to Damen, not even looking at him, let the cloth fall to his waiting hand. Although Damen looked just as perplexed, he was just following what he thought was Kastor's order.

For a moment Kastor wondered how Theomedes would react upon seeing Kastor in his very serious commander outfit that would be dirtied by what he was planning and, while it could be used to dismiss Kastor as unprofessional, it also gave an impression about Theomedes, so it cheered his mood, somewhat, given the circumstances.

Kastor went to the bucket of water, to stop the girls from taking it and waste more time. Fear was evident on them, even on the brave one. If someone came this way, no one would've cared to ask them why they are not doing their job.

"Wait in the corridor," he said, and they all flinched slightly, hearing his voice, but the brave one nodded. Kastor wanted to lash out that it was not him they had to fear, but it was untrue. After all, it was him, who made them run.

"What are you doing?" Damen asked, once they were alone. Some colour was returning to his cheeks, although it might've been the sun hitting his face for the first time that day. He looked lost, confused and so very afraid.

"There are consequences for killing someone," Kastor said, getting down on one knee, dipping the rag into the pool of blood he found there. "I wasn't here, therefore, I can't tell you, if you made the right decision or not, if there was even a decision to be made," he said, quieter, "but a lot of the times even good decisions require cleaning up, afterwards. So," he looked up, aiming to look cheery, "come help."

Damen didn't move for some moments, but after the first round of sweeping Kastor did, and then send his brother a look, Damen got up the kneel next to him, before tentatively reaching into the spilled blood. It was obviously not easy to do. It wasn't supposed to be.

Kastor remembered that after that first battle of his, where he was with a, now seemingly very young Makedon, they had to go through the dead, checking who they were exactly, what they wanted, and if they had something of import on them. It was filthy and disgusting, but the urge to vomit was not only because of touching the dead. But he was a soldier, he learned to stomach it as Damen had to learn it too. It wasn't a battle, not a real one, but it was a fight.

"Is it like this?" Damen asked after some time, hand stopped in motion, leaning down on the cloth so much, the spilled blood painted his fingers – again. "In war?"

Kastor looked up, wondering what words would be superficial enough so he didn't have to talk about it in detail. He wanted to be honest, Damen had a nose for catching him on lying, but he was not going to share the realness of war.

"No. It's…," he dipped the rag into the dirty water, rinsing it. He threw it into the pool of blood watching it soak with redness before moving to scoop up even more excess. "If it's a real battle, when you are already there, it's not like this." He started slowly, not looking up at his brother. "Before the battle, or after it, that can be messy, can be surprises, but when you are standing against your opponent, it's honest. You know why he is there; he knows why you are there. You, specifically, have nothing against each other, it just has to be done. Maybe you hate the reason, because it's selfish or superficial or the cause is worthless, yet. Everyone is there to kill," he supplied. "It just how that is."

It might not have been the answer Damen wanted, he was visibly contemplating, but he looked less ashen, his lips sealed tight, like he wanted to be a big boy and take Kastor's advice about cleaning up to heart. Not wondering about good or bad decisions, just dealing with what had to be dealt with. When Damen said nothing for a long time Kastor went back to cleaning.

The blood was cold, the marble even more, the warm water was cooling too, in the Akelion spring, so after some time Kastor's finger were starting to get numb, both from cold and the scrubbing. He methodically went over the big spot they were working on, then towards the bed. It was obvious the room needed a more thorough clean, in several goes, but it was getting somewhere.

Damen was not complaining. It was his stomach that started to rumble, but he just dipped his cloth into blood then water over and over again. When they finished, or Kastor deemed it done, an hour or so ago, it was still just a moderate success. But the water would've needed changing, the blood left was seeping in between marble tiles that would require those flower powders to get out and not water and hand of princes, who were trained in a lot of things, but cleaning definitely not. Also, Damen seemed to be scrubbing a crack in the marble for minutes now, which he must've thought was a speck of blood, which proved he was too tired to do this.

Kastor silently announced it done as he stood up, clapped his brother on the shoulder to get him to finish it too and threw the cloth to the side of the bucket.

"Come, they can take care of the rest." If Kastor knew people, and he did, the three frightened servant girls were still waiting outside the door, waiting to be useful again. What a dizzying thought, that was. "You should change and eat something, you look like about to faint," he tried to lighten the mood, head tilting towards the door.

Damen staggered to his feet, put his rag down and followed Kastor out of the room, like a puppy, the way he hasn't done in years. The servant girls went back without a word, led by the brave one, and Kastor turned towards the kitchen to get Damen something. The king could wait. He was probably occupied. Maybe with the assassin. That would explain why no one was taking care of Damen. As he was not hurt, the attacker might have been the priority, but it said a lot about Theomedes.

The late morning sunshine was a shining gold on the corridor's floor and walls, possibly making the whole palace swim in warm light. It gave an eerie atmosphere to everything; in such beautiful morning, there was hardly a place for murdering and scheming.

"Do you think he was right?" Damen asked, as they walked. After all the excitement and emotional turmoil, he just sounded tired.

"Who?"

"The— He said I'm going be an awful king." Damen sounded haunted. "Will I be?"

Kastor sighed. "The real trouble is, Damen, that no can tell you. I have no clue, your admirers have no clue, the poor idiot who attacked you had no idea," he said because he was not going to lie. Not to his brother, not to his future king. Not about this. "There is a lot that can be said about men in power, princes, lords, generals, whatnots, but being king gives you unmatched power. Power over everything but nature. And you can never know what that much will do to a person."

Damen was watching his feet, not noticing when Kastor glanced his way. Stupid, little kid, Kastor wanted to murmur.

"So," Kastor cleared his throat. "He had no place to judge. No one has. We can't decide who will make a good king in advance. Maybe he would've made a better king, unlikely, but we don't know. Because we can't judge them, until they are given the chance to prove themselves. Ideally, everyone should be given a chance to the throne, which is impossible to execute, with that much power. Therefore, we made the rules." Kastor felt rather silly and pretentious for saying things like that. "The rules that only a few certain people can try their hands at being a monarch. We like to believe the king's bloodline was chosen. That people from this family have what it takes to be a just ruler. People need to think, need to believe that the royal bloodline is more likely to produce great kings. And what can't be solved with heritage, we have tutors and training for that." Kastor wondered what that said about them. About Theomedes, about him, about his little brother. What their place in history truly was. "What I'm saying is that the kind of king you turn out to be is only depends on you."

Damen's stopped dead in his track, his head snapped up to stare at him, eyes wide, like what Kastor was saying was surprised him, like this was not a fundamental lesson he should've been taught.

"It's your choice and it's your privilege. Never forget that."

Kastor remembered that after one very memorable lovemaking, feeling feverish, he swore to Jokaste that he would kill any and every man who ever tried to take her away from him. Jokaste's harsh laughter was just as memorable. She told him in vivid detail how many men were promising the same to her. She told Kastor that if she ever wanted someone eliminated, she would have a whole army to dispose.

Kastor probably knew that it was true, but he just kissed the hurtful words out of her mouth, before Jokaste, so unlike her, asked softly if Kastor actually cared who she took to her bed. Kastor remembered, that so unlike him, voice vulnerable and honest in way that even he himself couldn't forget, he said that he didn't care as long as she would join him too, again and again.

What Kastor couldn't remember was, when it happened exactly. Definitely more than two and a half years ago. Most certainly before Jokaste started to ignore the getting back to Kastor part of their silent agreement. An agreement that certainly only existed in Kastor's mind. Certainly, before Jokaste became a frequent visitor in Damen's bedchamber. But Kastor still believed, hoped through everything that some of those things they said to each other were true.

Until Damen asked him what he thought of his engagement speech, not the official which he would have to offer in front of a crowd but the one he prepared for Jokaste only. Kastor was silent for a long time.

"So?" Damen asked, nervous happiness radiating from him, hands spread, like he was still a small boy waiting for Kastor's approval. Like that meant anything. Like his answer would change anything.

"You- You're going to ask for her hand?" he spluttered to buy himself time. He wasn't exactly paying attention to the details, when Damen explained how exactly he wanted to declare his undying love for Jokaste.

Kastor couldn't come up with something that would convey what he wanted and what he knew he needed to say at the same time.

"Isn't that a bit early?" he asked. Damen made a face.

"You sound like Nikandros."

"Well, no need to be that offensive," Kastor grimaced and Damen's eyes softened.

"I know it's a bit sudden. But she means so much to me and I know Father wants me to marry as soon as I find someone actually worthy of the title of a queen."

Kastor wondered if Damen knew that Theomedes wanted him to marry as soon as possible because Damen took almost everyone to his bed, and no one wanted another royal bastard. He wondered if Damen understood that Theomedes wanted Damen to not make that same mistake he did. The mistake that had a name and a job title but nothing more in the king's eyes.

He didn't say anything for a long time and Damen's face started to fall.

Jokaste might have taken a lot of men to her bed once, but she only kept the most powerful ones around herself. It never felt like it, but Kastor was the third to the crown. And if Theomedes's generation was put to the ground the second. If she couldn't get Damen, she would most likely turn to Kastor. Even if she truly loved Damen. She favoured Kastor over a lot of her other bed-guests.

Kastor remembered Damen telling him the first time he was in love, he remembered Damen speaking about Jokaste for the first time. He remembered that Damen didn't need to point out that it was different somehow. Something… more. Damen loved Jokaste. Maybe not like Kastor, because Kastor didn't love and he never learned to do it softly. He wasn't allowed. Maybe Damen knew how to do that. Maybe Damen could not only give power to Jokaste but something softer too. Although, Kastor knew he was the weakest – the softest – with Jokaste and only he didn't mind, then.

Kastor wanted to tell Damen on so many occasions. Every time Damen was hypocritical, an arrogant asshole, he wanted to tell him, to confirm the rumours, to say something personal, that only people who were that close to Jokaste could know, that he knew way before his brother how Jokaste was when she was content or angry, how Kastor knew those little things Jokaste allowed herself to share with him too.

Kastor wanted to sound elated, he wanted to feel superior, but he was just pitiful, pathetic. He could never have Jokaste like that, but he could ruin it. He could ruin it for Damen. Maybe not for Jokaste, she might have got to like Kastor, not just because of his power, but because of his malicious ways too. Jokaste saw him for who he was. Damen didn't. Damen would never see either of them like that. Yet hearing what they shared might come close to it.

It hurt. The fact that Damen and Jokaste… He didn't think something so trivial would hurt after everything. After everything he had to suffer through because of Damen, this should've felt like nothing. It was nothing. He desperately tried to look for words, the appropriate words.

"You are going to be king one day." It was cheap. He always told Damen that, spitefully, angrily, when he didn't want to deal with him. "If you think this is the corre—"

"I know, what I think is correct," Damen interrupted, buzzing with energy. "I want your opinion." He said like it mattered. Kastor felt like he was drowning. He needed to end this conversation. Kastor would be fine. Let them marry, it was for the best, clearly. He would assist it, he would be happy for them. But not this fucking day, not now.

"Jokaste is one of her kind." His voice was without venom, yet it was even scarier than any ugly, hidden emotions he harboured pouring out. "If you love her and you think she would make a good queen, ask her." Kastor took a ragged breath. "I think she would make an excellent one." That was never the question. Damen looked relieved.

"Then I'm going to ask her. Thank you, Kastor." Damen's voice was sincere. Kastor pushed himself back to reality. Of losing Jokaste. To be fair, it happened long before this conversation. Nothing that couldn't be remedied with some amount of griva and women who were not fairer than the average Akielon. He forced himself to smile at Damen.

"Don't thank me yet. She could reject you," he joked, and Damen laughed. They both knew she wouldn't. Kastor was surprised how sure he himself was. And Damen looked so out of this world happy. Kastor needed to leave the room, to get fresh air, to do some work or get unapologetically drunk. "Well, if that's all, I would like to return to my duties. Some of us have actual thing to do," he tried to break the weird, serious tension of the moment. Damen, predictably, made a face. It was back to normal.

The corridors were slightly swimming in front of his eyes as he left Damen's bedchamber, the smell of decorative flowers overwhelming him in a different way, his head feeling heavy as he tried to force his thoughts towards what he needed to do that day. Work a lot, drink a lot, sleep a lot, that was his plan to make this horrible day go away. It would turn his emotional investment into a check list. After all it was not important. He wasn't losing his fencing arm or his eyesight, things a soldier couldn't actually live without. He could live without Jokaste. He should. He was already, if he was honest with himself. It was obvious, they were not good for each other, two sides, but of the same coin, no good, messy and—

"Prince Kastor," came the voice, he really didn't want to hear right now. He needed to fix things, namely the loose threads of his and Jokaste's messy love life – maybe he needed to fix even himself – it was over long ago, but maybe ending it officially was the right thing to do. Or to never even speak to Jokaste again, until she was his queen. But even on better days, talking to Nikandros was not something he long to do. It never ended well.

"What can I do for you, kyros?" he turned on the deserted corridor, that was too sunny and bright for the conversation that was about to take place. Fortunately, no one were around. Their conversations, no matter how polite the kyros wanted to be, tended to turn ugly. Kastor appreciated loyalty as anyone with half a brain about how to run a country did, but he couldn't stand Nikandros and his blind devotion to Damen. It was infuriating.

"May I have a word with you, Exalted?" the kyros asked, his ever present distaste towards Kastor, only noticeable for someone how knew him well, and Kastor was unfortunate enough to know him at least that well.

"How could I deny you the pleasure." Nikandros took a small breath throughout his nose, the only indication that he wanted to cut Kastor with something sharp. That gave immense pleasure to Kastor.

"Are you supportive of Prince Damianos's engagement offer to Lady Jokaste?" Kastor wondered, briefly, what it was like to live with a long spear up someone's ass.

"Yes, I am." Again, a stretched moment of awkward non-words. Kastor raised an eyebrow, waiting for the kyros to say something at least remotely interesting.

"Kastor-Exalted with the utmost respect towards both you and Lady Jokaste," Kastor almost choked on a harsh laughter, "I think this is not the right thing to do." Kastor was rapidly losing his good humour. Nikandros was a fool, yet he didn't word the way he did it, on an accident.

"Then tell Damen that." Kastor suggested, tone dark.

"He doesn't listen to me," Nikandros said, frustration evident in his words. Kastor smirked. Damen didn't listen to anyone, yet Nikandros was never giving up on that lost cause. "He would listen to you," the kyros went on.

"Nikandros, you served the king and his family, even before you could make a decision on your own. I know you care for my brother. I also know you have no more respect towards me then any kyros would towards his Prince—"

"Exalted—," Nikandros sounded almost speechless with indignation that someone would accuse him of not being loyal to a fault, that Kastor would point out the truth.

"Let me finish," Kastor raised his voice, and Nikandros closed his mouth. "I don't mind that you don't fall to your knees like I'm a god. The feeling is mutual. I propose for the," Kastor took a deep breath, "for the sake of our hopefully fruitful future as important men and aid to this empire, we talk to each other honestly."

Nikandros seemed on the verge of seriously considering putting his blade between Kastor's shoulder blades, his fingers twitching. "He listens to you, Exalted," the kyros repeated.

"You are not that stupid, kyros. When he wants something as the good and pampered crown prince he is, he will have it, as long as it not goes against what the king wants." Nikandros seemed to consider if hitting a prince qualified as treason. Not that Damen would not protect his friend through thick and thin, in the case of punching the older prince, definitely. Nor that Kastor cared enough to make a scene about Nikandros putting his hand on him.

"I know of your relationship with Lady Jokaste." Kastor was expecting it. There were rumours after all. But having a different and more entertaining conversation, in which he could make Nikandros's blood boil could've been a nice distraction from the whole engagement deal. "I heard what was said in the palace, and I thought it was important to be looked into, only with the intention of clearing both your and the lady's name."

"Very thoughtful, Nikandros, you are a real treasure to the court."

"I was saddened to find," he went on, clearly taking Kastor up on his 'honest talk' idea, "the rumours to be true. I don't exactly know the nature of your relationship—"

"Does it matter, kyros?" Kastor interrupted. "Don't pretend you are as foolish as you actually look," he said. They kyros seemed to sway in place, his face colouring darker. Vituperation did wonderful things to Nikandros. Or maybe Kastor himself made him nauseous. "I had a very intimate relationship we the aforementioned lady. It does nothing to jeopardize her relationship with my brother. As I mentioned it was in the past. You have nothing to worry about," Kastor declared and for a good measure patted Nikandros on the shoulder, just to gloat him and make his own day somewhat better. "If you have any other revulsion towards Jokaste, I suggest you get over yourself before she is crown to be your queen in waiting."

"Your relationship was not over before hers began with Prince Damianos," said the kyros as Kastor started to turn. Nikandros looked mad with anger, which was only visible in his fisted hands and trembling shoulders. Real rage for someone else's love life. Kastor stepped closer to him.

"Yes, Nikandros, I was still fucking her, when Damen started to court her." Nikandros flinched. "For a remarkably long time." The kyros's polite stoic expression turned to a badly hidden scowl. "I do not anymore. For some other remarkably long period of time." Nikandros softly shook his head, like a condescending father. Kastor had no patience for those. "Damen loves her. Jokaste most probably loves him too. End of story."

"She was unfaithful to him," Nikandros said, hurt for someone else's sake. It was evident from his words and from who he was as a person, that he favoured loyalty above everything else. It was the highest value someone could offer to someone he loved. He loved Damen faithfully, therefore everyone else should've. Not just as a prince, but as a person too.

"Yes, kyros, she was. If you think, I'm the only one she took to her bed, besides my brother you are sourly mistaken. What is worth noticing is that she did not only end her relationship with me, but all of her relationships." Kastor knew that very well. He hoped Nikandros's nosiness went that far. The only thing stronger that his loyalty towards the crown was his puppy dog love towards Damen.

"How can you say, she loves him?" he asked, sounding honest in his concern, the most emotion he ever shown Kastor since they knew each other. "She toyed with him. Cruelly. She can't exactly say no to the crown prince, but she can certainly hurt him." Kastor was impressed. Nikandros had actually put thought into it.

"Lady Jokaste is the cleverest woman you or I will ever meet, kyros. She could win wars or solve the riddles of the gods. She can outsmart Veretians and make the Patran king leave all of his wives. She is extraordinary," Kastor tried to explain it to the kyros. Nikandros squinted. "You are correct, even she can outright refuse it, but she is exceptional in everything she does. If she didn't want to marry Damen, she would have made sure of refusal in closed quarters, so Damen wouldn't even try with this whole engagement thing. You have nothing to worry about. She can and will bend this world to her own tastes and we should thank her for that."

Nikandros wore an interesting expression, akin to someone who's core beliefs were shaken. Maybe he thought less of Jokaste, because she was a woman. The kyros wouldn't be the first to underestimate the lady because of that. Imagining Jokaste breaking Nikandros with her words did improve Kastor's mood significantly.

"I didn't think you— cared," Nikandros said, clearly surprised by his own words. His expression turned mortified as his sentence registered in his own brain.

"Excuse me?"

"I— I would like to apologize," he said, eyes for a second avoiding Kastor's. Then he looked at him again and he… He looked at Kastor like he deserved that pity in the kyros's eyes, like Nikandros was embarrassed for him. "I obviously, didn't realized how inappropriate it was to even bring up the er…"

Kastor tried to recall what he said, what betrayed him in any way, self-consciously looking for a vulnerability he revealed to the kyros.

"It is my mistake. Please forgive me," and now Nikandros was rambling, which was more terrifying then any threat he could've thrown his way, because Nikandros was always collected, never did he make a fool out of himself intentionally in front of Kastor. "I misunderstood the situation, and I didn't even think to—"

"What?" Kastor was utterly lost.

"I-," Nikandros swallowed, uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, exalted. I didn't know you are in love with Lady Jokaste."

Kastor snorted, taking in the honest to the gods apologetic look the kyros had on him, the pity hidden in his eyes. Even the thought of it was silly, Kastor wasn't in love with Jokaste. Kastor had very fiercely emotions when it came to Jokaste, but it was about respect and lust and admiration. They were never courting, just… Fucking. Talking sometimes. Because Jokaste was someone, who dared to call him cruel without fear, yet without the intention to hurt either. She just called him cruel, like it was something to be proud of and cherished, something to make use of, something than not everyone could achieve.

Kastor supposed it was. Jokaste was way crueller than he was. But it fitted her better too. She was elegant and a genius besides being cruel. Kastor was harsh and hot-headed besides being cruel. They were never going to… fit together. They were never going to… They were not.

"Don't be stupid," he said, voice steadier then what he expected. "Jokaste is probably the best partner Damen could ever get. She can give him support and help him with control. And she could gain the power she so clearly craved, something Kastor himself couldn't give her. Sometimes, Jokaste's vicious desire to be on top of the world was even foreign to Kastor, and he was known to be jealous of someone else's throne.

"It's not healthy," Nikandros argued.

"Grow up, kyros." Kastor stepped back, putting more space between them, signalling that he was finished with this discussion.

"What if she tells him?" Nikandros asked, eyes hard, once again. Kastor sighed. Damen had to know on some level. The rumours were out there. He either didn't believe them or thought they were only true in the nature that of being based on something real. Like based on a friendship. The whole truth would've destroyed him, still he had to have an inkling. Or maybe he couldn't believe in them, was so sure of himself and his beliefs. Maybe he just couldn't accept it, and without proof he didn't have to face the problem.

"They are going to deal with it, then. And if Damen wants and explanation, I'm going to deal with it. It's not your problem." Nikandros seemed unmovable in his ideals. "It's not perfect, but it's the best. Damen deserves someone strong to stand with him. The lady who is most competent to fill this spot has some flaws too. I don't see why you would need to disturb their happiness. I'm not going to. You shouldn't either."

Damen was as satisfied with the funeral as once could be with one's father's funeral. It was equal parts sentimental and elegant. However, it was still a political escapade, everything was, if you were part of the royal family. So, Damen, no matter how important he became as his father was no longer with them, decided to give himself a break, for the last time, and left the ballroom with the memorial at the celebration's fifth hour to escape. Escape the suffocating weight of grief and responsibility. He promised himself and his father that he was going to be a good, considerate, selfless king, he just needed one more day for himself, a day or just few hours to be able to move on.

He trailed around the gardens, gathering his thought on how to say his final, private goodbye to his father, what he would want him to know. But Theomedes didn't die quickly, Damen had several opportunities to tell him everything, promises that were made between tears, hands clutching hands. He made his future-king-like promises. He only needed to say things a son would say to his father.

He couldn't come up with a lot, thoughts whirling around his mind; hurt that was left behind, gratitude for everything, some sadness for not spending more time together. Not spending nearly enough time together. He just needed to tell his father that he would miss him and remember him 'til the day he died.

Theomedes's final resting place was robust marble coffin built in the garden, elevated on stone base. It made the king's body and presence feel bigger than it really was, the ornaments carved into the marble clear indication that this was the sepulchre of an extraordinary man.

The guards, who were stationed a to watch over the fresh tomb, were suspiciously far away from the grave than it was understandable. Damen wanted to reach for his sword before he noticed the familiar figure standing around the white marble chamber.

Damen took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation. He dismissed the soldiers entirely and walked up to Kastor. His brother reeked of wine, griva and resentment. He had a cup in his hand and he just turned it upside down over their father's tomb as Damen came to stand next to him.

Damen reached out instinctively, to stop Kastor's wine to colour the marble. He heard it was tradition in some eastern places, to put food and wine next to the grave for the final travel the deceased had to take, but this was not how that was done.

"What?" asked Kastor with an ugly smile on his face, triumphant that Damen only caught his wrist after the wine poured out of the cup. "I'm just toasting the late king," he barked out a laugh, no humour in his voice.

"Kas…," Damen said as a warning, but also pleading. He didn't feel like doing this now. "Let him rest." He let Kastor's wrist go.

"Why would I?" asked Kastor and the defeated melancholy in his posture was replaced by anger, in an instant. "Why would I wish him anything but suffering?" he asked, and it was harsh, even for Kastor. Damen knew, he understood the bad blood between his father and his brother. He knew it was getting worse for years now. It was never made better, not by remedy, certainly not by kindness. He didn't know how to resolve it back then, he certainly had no capacity to do so, right now.

"You can't mean that."

"Do you know what I wish him?" Kastor spit. "I want him to be lost in Aechis's Maze, for years, decades before he can retire in the god's palace, I want him to face every man, woman and child he killed, I want him to face every fucking mistake he had ever committed." Kastor stepped closer, voice dangerously low. "I want the mistakes to be thrown to his face, before he can find his final rest." Kastor's eyes were shiny and Damen wondered since when Kastor cared about the afterlife or what priest in robes preached. "So he will understand it."

"What?" Damen asked, breathlessly. Kastor's shoulders shagged, the fight leaving him as fast as it entered his frame. His eyes wandered back to the silent tomb.

"So, he will understand what it's like to be punished for his best intention, so he will understand that no matter how he tried to be a good king it will never be enough," Kastor said. "So he will understand, what it's like to be alone." Damen's heart started to sting. "What it's like to be left alone…"

"Please, don't do this," Damen begged, because he had no means of defeating Kastor's monsters. "I can't— I don't know what to say, but he did not leave you alone. Not," now. The realization dawned on him. It never mattered, the now. Kastor was not mad at Theomedes for dying. It was about dying without every making it up to his first-born. "He loved you," Damen tried, desperately, to grab Kastor's attention, who was not looking at him, just starring at the pure, white, almost glowing marble.

"He loved me?" Kastor asked, voice unsteady. "Don't be a fool, Damen. He never loved me. He never even loved you, he favoured you. Because he couldn't imagine something more poetic than a country that loved him so much that it accepted his best replica as the new king."

It hurt. Not the part about loving, Damen was sure that Theomedes loved them, in his own reserved way, but the part about Damen being like his father. In the beginning that's all he wanted to hear from his peers and his tutors, until… Something shifted. Until he started to see slaves trembling in front of his father's feet, when they should have offered trust not unprovoked guilt. Somewhere, when his father started dismissing peace offering with the flick of his wrist. Somewhere, when Makedon started to get more violent on the border, without having to fear repercussions. Somewhere, when Damen felt like Exalted was more fitting on his tongue than Father as he approached the throne. Somewhere, when Kastor was no longer acting as a misunderstood outcast being overly dramatic for the sake of it but was actually excluded, if it was family matters.

"I'm not like him, Kastor. Don't ever think that," he said, feelings rising in his throat. "I would never—," but he would. He would leave him, because all his life he was thought that Kastor, a bastard, was disposable. Except Damen learned. Learned from not only his own mistakes, but from his elders' too. He was going to learn from it. He reached out again, to grab Kastor's arm, to turn the man towards him. "I'm not leaving you alone. And if it helped, I would've prayed to the gods that you don't do it either.

The violence in Kastor's eyes screamed of the pain of unanswered questions and Damen wanted to talk, before his brother hit him in front of their father's grave, drunk, mindless with grief and pain.

"Because." His grip on Kastor's arm became even more powerful, he felt the bones resisting. He needed Kastor's alcohol filled brain to hear and see, nothing but him. "Because we are what's left of this family. I—," he forced a ragged breath out of himself, to collect his thoughts. "I know you have your mother, but I have no one else, Kas. You are what's left of my family." Kastor snorted. "You are my brother; you will always be. And right now, I need you more than anything." Kastor, predictably, ripped himself out of his hold.

"The fuck more could you need from me?" he asked, the resentment radiation from his voice hit Damen.

He knew, of course, he knew that Kastor wanted things Damen had, because for ten years it was Kastor's, he was promised things. Damen knew that simply the fact that he was born took everything from Kastor. He was not a second son, who never had the opportunity, he had something, was destined to be something and Damen took it from him.

And it hurt because he knew that Kastor in his sober mind would never talk to him like that, with his vulnerabilities, with his pain out in the open for his brother to see. Damen, when he was a little boy told Kastor everything, until he realized, self-consciously, that Kastor was sharing very little. Damen fear Kastor didn't care, so later he became defensive and then it spiralled out of control, with them talking less and less.

But Damen just never entertained the thought that even after all the hurt, Kastor could think of him as the enemy. That Kastor was trying to protect himself. Kastor couldn't afford the weaknesses Damen could. Even as the heir, even as a king he could. It was twisted and unnatural that Kastor feared that talking to his brother openly would be seen as a weakness. That Damen would turn his brother's honesty against him.

"You took basically everything," Kastor said, voice breaking, when Damen just stood silently.

"I can't—" He didn't know what to say to ease Kastor's pain. Damen rarely wanted revenge; couldn't name anyone he was so mad at that he wanted them to suffer even in the afterlife. But he understood what Kastor was doing. And it was painful, because he was doing it for Damen.

If Kastor wanted to be Damen's friend, even as Damen existence only served to remind him of his own failures, he needed to close himself off, he needed to hate someone else. Kastor could've let his resentment go, years ago, could've grown out of his rage. He didn't and that was Kastor's fault. But it wasn't like Damen ever tried to aid his brother's healing.

Damen looked at the father's grave, really looked at it, the soulless stones, that betrayed nothing of the complexity of the man they held, nothing of his actions, nothing of his mistakes, nothing of his ideas.

Damen was not mad he was to be crowned king. His main purpose in life was to be that, to serve the kingdom, to be a fitting ruler. He fought for respect and for knowledge and he deserved the throne. But his rule, came sooner or later, was never a question. When his father was disappointed, truly mad at him, he just looked at Damen, declared that if he kept acting like this, he would never be a good king. When Theomedes was mad at Kastor, and Damen couldn't believe he just noticed it now, he didn't say Kastor was going to be a useless diplomat or a lazy minister. He told him, he was nothing, if he kept it up, that he wouldn't even have a mention in history books, that he was replaceable, that he was worthless.

Damen realized that he was never this mad at their father. And that was a mistake. He should've been mad before, not right now.

He came to the gardens to grieve quietly, to let the man go as well as one could in one moment's notice, but now grief was overwhelmed by something so much more potent, something that cut deeper. Because yes, Damen might've done the same, give the kingdom to the righteous heir, not the bastard, and while it was probably a hard decision, that was the correct one. That was not a mistake.

The mistake was making Kastor believe that he had nothing else, that he was worth not more than his fleeting years of childhood importance. It was Theomedes who, unintentionally, taught Kastor to resent his own brother, because he was stripped of grace and respect. Not in front of a court, not in front of the nation, not as a prince or as a warrior. But as a human being, as a son. Because Kastor was his son too.

Damen thought about what being king meant to him. Thought about what he wanted to achieve as a king, in the next few weeks and in the coming decades. What he wanted was to be remembered, not just a mention in history books, but to be something greater, more prominent, something powerful. He didn't want to be remembered just for the sake of it. He didn't know how to do it and he knew he needed to fix that, a king who thought he understood everything was the biggest fool in his own court, but he knew that a king, first and foremost was supposed to correct the wrongs of his predecessors, fixing the past or letting it go forever, but to remedy it somehow, so the nation, his people could move towards the future. To not build on ruins, but the clean up the debris and start with a stable foundation to build on.

Damen turned back towards Kastor, who was sneering at the grave.

"I can't give you the throne," he said, because it needed to be said.

"Yeah, no shit," Kastor answered, venom lost from his voice. He raised his cup to his lips, before throwing it to the ground in distaste as he found it empty.

"But," Damen started again, "I can—"

"What do you want, Damen?" Kastor spread his arms, as he turned to him, sounding exhausted. "I'm going to pledge loyalty to you, I'm going to be your faithful servant," he spit, "I'm going to be everything I was destined for," he said, cruel laughter dancing between his word. "What more could you want?"

My brother, Damen thought.

"Do you know what I want?" he asked instead. Kastor raised an eyebrow, a sign that he was humouring Damen and actually listening. "I want to make Akielos flourish. I want to make these decades, if I'm fortunate, half a century, the best this country ever had, I want to make improvement, changes, on which people would look back and think this was when real progress was made, I want my rule to be cherished for centuries to come," he said honestly, so honestly, Damen didn't even realized he had it in himself. Kastor just snorted.

"Arrogance is befitting men of your—," he smirked. "Rank. You do understand that a quick sword does not make a good king? Nor intentions? It's about hard decisions and compromises and a fuck ton of boring diplomacy," he said.

Warmth bloomed in Damen's chest, like the first hot wind of summer arrived. Mad and drunk, Kastor, who wanted to unofficially name Damen as his enemy on the land of mortals, was giving him good advice. Even as he felt like his whole life was taken from him.

"Yes, I do know, Kastor," he said softly. "And I need you for that. I need to know," he started, breath rushing out, "I need to know, when I'm overstepping, I need to know, when my emotions are getting the best of me, I need to know when to let something go or when to keep fighting for it. I need someone, who's advice is not fuelled by fear or mindless loyalty, or greed," Kastor clenched his jaw, "someone who will call me out if it's needed but support me just for the fact that I am me." Damen felt cut open and vulnerable, Kastor could use his words against him now, however he wanted.

But it was the truth. Kastor deserved the truth.

"I need someone to be my friend. I need someone to understand the responsibility I have on my shoulders, I need someone to tell me how to raise my sons and daughters, when it comes to it. I need someone to be my brother." It was hard to say it, yet his chest became lighter after the words left his mouth and his heart. Like fresh air was rushing in. They never talked like this, not for a long time at least. Honestly, about their emotions. Whatever came to stand between them throughout the years was not put aside, they were not close again, like they were when they were children, but it was a start. Damen opened up. That was the least he could do. And maybe the most important, too.

There was something soft in Kastor's eyes as he smiled. It was defeated and sad, and honest. It reminded Damen of the young man, who he looked up to for so many years. The young man he wanted imitate, because he was sure that young man had a firm grip on life itself, not realizing the young man was desperately fighting for having his own place.

"That is what you need?"

"Yes," Damen said, with no place left for argument. "I'm not apologizing for that," Kastor, shook his head slightly. "But you should know that I'm offering the same in exchange." Kastor's gaze bore into Damen's, and Kastor suddenly seemed older, so much older than Damen, so much older than he actually was. "You can decide how much all that is worth to you," Damen said, and stepped aside to walk back to the palace, to give space and time to Kastor. To consider Damen's words, to grieve, to do what he needed to do. As he was walking back to the palace, the garden just started to fill with dim light, with the greyness of the first rays of sunshine, that were colourless, but forceful, fighting their ways between the mountains, warming the air, bringing the news of a powerful summer to come.