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Allan had been enjoying something dangerously close to peace.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows of his study, painting the polished floor in warm gold. Steam curled lazily from his teacup. His documents were stacked in obedient piles. No magical explosions rattled the tower. No urgent summons arrived bearing news of fire, betrayal, or minor catastrophes caused by princes with too much energy.
For once, the world appeared stable.
He took a careful sip of tea.
The door burst open without ceremony.
Then his disciple stormed in like a dark prophecy wrapped in silk.
“Master,” the third prince declared, dropping into the chair opposite him without invitation, “I have come to report a national crisis.”
Allan did not look up. “If this involves property damage, I would like to finish my tea first.”
“It is about Beurisen,” came the immediate reply. “And about my brother attempting to abandon civilization.”
That made the archmage glance up.
Calian’s expression was composed, almost pleasant. His eyes, however, were burning with a quiet intensity that suggested either deep concern or a very creative crime in progress.
“Explain.”
“He intends to move there.”
Silence.
Allan blinked once. “Move?”
“Yes. He claims that once I take the throne, he will reside in Beurisen and raise cats.”
The white haired mage folded his hands together, studying his disciple carefully. “That sounds peaceful.”
Calian stared at him as if betrayed. “Peaceful? That nest of serpents? That territory bred on ambition and bloodline politics? Those relatives of his are still crawling around there like parasites. I have been methodically pruning that family tree for a long time, and now he wishes to stay here. Permanently.”
“He will take over Beurisen,” Allan reminded calmly. “You encouraged it.”
“Yes,” Calian snapped, then forced himself to slow down. “Take over. Not relocate like a retired hermit who collects kittens. He can do whatever he wants from here. With me.”
He leaned forward, hands on the table, looking very much like a boy complaining about a friend moving houses if not for the dark expression on his face.
“Do you know how close Beurisen is to the palace? We rode there in less than an hour. That is precisely the problem. It is close enough to be inconveniently reachable, yet far enough that he could shut the gates and pretend I do not exist.”
Allan sighed faintly. “I doubt he would pretend you do not exist.”
“He absolutely would,” came the quick reply. “He is very good at it.”
A soft knock interrupted them. Ian entered quietly with a tray of fresh tea and neatly arranged snacks. Butter cookies dusted with sugar, slices of honeyed apple tart, sesame crisps, almond pastries glazed in syrup, and small cubes of milk fudge wrapped in paper.
He moved quietly, placing the tray down with care. He had survived many strange conversations in this room. He sensed this would be another.
Calian reached for a cookie without breaking eye contact with his mentor.
“I cannot allow this. Therefore, I have devised several solutions,” he said pleasantly, taking a bite.
Allan closed his eyes briefly. “Of course you have.”
“First,” the red-clad male began, ticking a finger in the air, “we convince him that Beurisen’s climate is unsuitable for cats.”
“All cats?” Allan asked carefully.
“Tragically sensitive creatures,” Calian nodded, explaining thoughtfully. “Prone to dramatic coughing fits in certain winds.”
The older male decided not to respond to that.
“Second, we ensure the Beurisen estate develops structural issues.”
Ian’s hand trembled slightly as he poured tea.
“Structural issues,” Allan repeated.
“Yes. Small at first. Cracks in the foundation. Unfortunate roof collapses. Perhaps a fire.”
The archmage stared.
Crimson eyes gleamed faintly.
“Sir Hertz has experience in controlled destruction,” he continued thoughtfully. “He handled Hesia Place quite efficiently. Valcanum training accident, remember? Very convincing. We could replicate the strategy.”
Ian’s brain stalled.
He slowly placed the teapot down with mechanical precision, staring at the apple tart as if it might offer guidance.
“Your Highness,” Allan said, voice firm, “destroying Beurisen estate is not a reasonable response to your brother’s desire to live there.”
“Not destroy,” Calian corrected with a charming smile. “Temporarily render it uninhabitable.”
“That is still destruction.”
“Or we could hire mercenaries,” the dark-haired youth mused, ignoring him. “Anonymous ones. They fail to seize it, of course. But in the chaos, the estate suffers damage. Very tragic.”
Ian blinked.
He felt as though he had walked into the villain’s strategic planning session by mistake and was now an unpaid extra in a conspiracy.
Allan pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are discussing crimes.”
“I am discussing preventative measures.”
Calian leaned back in his chair now, one leg crossing over the other, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“Alternatively,” he went on, lowering his voice in thoughtful calculation, “we prevent him from leaving at all.”
Allan looked up slowly. “Define prevent.”
“Sedation is an option.”
The teacup in Ian’s hand clinked against the saucer.
“For how long?” Allan asked carefully.
“A few days at first,” came the short response. “If necessary, extended. You are capable of maintaining unconsciousness safely, are you not?”
“I am not participating in this,” the older mage said flatly.
“Then we keep him in a warded room. Comfortable. Secure. With windows. And cats.”
“That is imprisonment.”
“Protective confinement,” Calian corrected slowly as if speaking with a child.
Ian felt his soul attempting to exit his body.
“He would be furious,” Allan said.
“That is why we do not tell him.”
Calian's eyes shone in a way that would have made lesser men reconsider their life choices.
Allan tried another approach. “Have you considered that he wants independence?”
“He can have independence within a reasonable radius.”
“You cannot tether him to you forever.”
The prince smiled slowly.
“Watch me.”
Allan inhaled deeply.
“Listen to yourself. You are suggesting arson, kidnapping, and architectural sabotage.”
Calian blinked, all wide-eyed sincerity. “I am listening. All those options sound reasonable.”
“You sound like a tyrant in training.”
A wide smile, boyish and radiant. “I prefer devoted sibling.”
Ian poured more tea, wishing he could pour himself into the teapot and vanish.
“What if,” Allan pressed, “he truly wishes to live there?”
“Then I will expand the palace grounds,” Calian replied instantly. “Annex Beurisen. Absorb it. Build a direct corridor.”
“That is territorial conquest.”
“Efficient urban planning.”
Ian felt the need to excuse himself before he became legally complicit.
But he remained frozen as the third prince continued, growing increasingly animated.
“We could also flood the surrounding roads,” he added thoughtfully. “Minor geological inconvenience. Nothing dramatic.”
Allan stared at him. “You cannot alter geography because you dislike the idea of distance.”
“Why not? We have mages.”
“Because it is irrational.”
The younger tilted his head.
“If I dismantle Beurisen brick by brick and relocate it beside my quarters, would that satisfy both of us?”
Allan did not respond immediately.
“I will pretend you did not say that.”
Ian finally found his voice. “Your Highness,” he said weakly, “shall I… bring more snacks?”
Neither looked at him.
Calian was now murmuring to himself.
“If he insists on raising cats, I could simply declare that palace policy requires all cats to reside under royal supervision. Which is me. Therefore, he must remain here. Logical.”
Allan let his head fall back against the chair, exhaling softly as he tried to wrap his head around the supposed reasoning. “This is not logic. This is obsession.”
Calian’s smile did not waver. His eyes, however, held a strange brightness now. Sharp. Focused.
“Would it truly be so terrible?” he asked lightly. “If Pea stayed where I can see him?”
Ian decided this was his cue.
“I shall… attend to other duties,” he said quickly, already retreating.
As he slipped out, he heard Calian continue in a disturbingly calm tone.
“Master, hypothetically, how long can someone be kept asleep without permanent harm?”
Allan’s exhausted sigh echoed through the chamber.
Ian did not look back.
He was not particularly fond of Plants. He found him distant, inconveniently perceptive.
But as he hurried down the corridor, one thought lingered with quiet horror.
He could not imagine what Beurisen would look like if Calian truly decided it was a rival for his brother’s attention.