Jacob had wondered, as they danced, how long it would take for Leah to finally broach the topic. He had assumed she might approach it with a degree of subtlety, perhaps guiding the conversation with gentle turns, asking harmless questions, drawing him in before leading toward her true intent. But she had dispensed with all of that, choosing instead to ask him directly where his allegiance lay.

He found he didn't mind.

"To be honest," he said, his gaze steady, "I expected you to be a little more delicate with your wording."

"Subtlety wastes precious time," Leah replied without hesitation, her voice calm and assured. "And you strike me as someone who values his."

He smiled faintly at that, a trace of amusement showing in his eyes if not in his chest. "So then what would you do if I said I'd already pledged my support to one of your brothers? You do know of my connection to Castor, don't you?"

"I'm aware," she said. "And in that case, I'd thank you for your honesty and walk away. It's far too early to begin sowing conflict among siblings, especially when no advantage is guaranteed."

She let the music guide her steps for a moment, neither rushing nor pausing, her tone still composed as she added, "That you didn't simply answer, however, suggests you haven't offered your support to any of them. Not yet, at least."

Jacob gave a small, confirming hum, neither an agreement nor denial, but something in between. "Mind if I ask you something in return? You might not be able to answer."

"Ask," she said, her smile returning, though less vibrant than before.

He leaned forward slightly, not conspiratorially, but enough that the words carried only to her ears. "Is King Theodore going to die soon?"

Leah's smile vanished almost instantly, the warmth in her eyes cooling into something sharp and guarded. A flicker of alarm crossed her face, but Jacob didn't give her time to speak.

"Is something happening within the royal family?" he continued, his voice quiet but firm. "Is the king sick or perhaps cursed? Or is he preparing for a battle he doesn't expect to survive?"

"That's enough," she cut in, her voice dropping low and warning. "Do you want to be hanged?"

He didn't flinch. He knew full well that his words were dangerous, treasonous, even. There was a very real chance that the king himself, or one of his agents, would hear of this exchange. But he also knew something else now, something deeper and more revealing: he no longer cared. Or perhaps, more precisely, he was beginning to understand just how much apathy his current state of mind allowed him.

"Recently, your brother Samuel has shown a rather intense interest in securing my support," Jacob continued, as though her interruption hadn't happened. "And now you're here, too. I've seen other members of the royal family speaking with heirs and prominent figures throughout this banquet. The only exceptions seem to be Castor who's spent most of his time with Elly and me and Samuel, who hasn't appeared at all."

As the music shifted into a more elaborate passage, Jacob gently twirled Leah before pulling her back into position, maintaining their rhythm without missing a step.

"So," he went on, his tone still calm, "it looks very much like a succession struggle has begun, and yet, by all accounts, the timing makes no sense. Many of you are still young. The king is alive, and the kingdom is stable. There's no external war, no crisis. Which leaves me wondering: why now? Why would the race for the throne begin at this moment unless something has happened to your father?"

Leah didn't answer right away. She exhaled, a sound caught halfway between frustration and reluctant admission, and for a brief second her posture softened.

"No," she said at last, her voice losing some of its polish, "my father is not dying. There's no illness, no curse, no looming battle, at least, not one involving him."

She hesitated, her eyes scanning the crowd as if looking for someone or something to anchor her next words.

"The truth is... Samuel pushed this. He's accelerated everything. It wasn't supposed to begin yet this contest, this quiet manoeuvring. It was meant to be years from now. But somehow, don't ask me how, he's applied pressure. Enough that none of us can afford to wait."

"Samuel, huh." Jacob tilted his head slightly as if considering the name afresh, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not supporting anyone nor am I planning to. As far as I know, only Alex has aligned himself with a prince, which means everyone else in my family is still fair game, assuming you're interested in that sort of thing."

"But what if I want your support, Jacob?" Leah asked, her voice level but laced with a faint, deliberate challenge. "Not your siblings'. Yours."

He paused for a moment, caught off guard not by the words themselves, but by the persistence behind them. "Why me?" he asked plainly, no warmth in his voice, only the barest trace of confusion. "I don't understand it. I'm not someone who holds influence. I'm not a threat. And yet people keep approaching me like I matter."

"You're much different than I expected," Leah said quietly.

Jacob met her eyes, his expression unreadable.

"Jacob Skydrid," she continued, "was supposed to be a broken boy, burdened by guilt, shackled by grief, and blinded by hatred. A child eaten alive by his own history. I heard stories about how you couldn't even look at Samuel without shaking. And yet, here you are. Calm. Focused. Confident. Controlled."

"Don't put too much trust in what you've heard," Jacob replied, his voice mild, almost dismissive. He considered, briefly, whether he should tell her the truth, that he was currently emotionless, that everything she saw was carefully constructed because he felt nothing at all. But then he let the thought die. There was no need. She wouldn't understand, and more importantly, it wouldn't help.

"I usually trust my sources," she said, and something in her smile made it clear she still believed she was right. "But let's shift focus for a moment. Since you ask why I'm looking to you, let's talk about your siblings."

She paused to gather her thoughts, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as they danced in time to the steady rhythm of the music, her voice low enough that no one else could hear.

"I'll start with Isa," she said. "Her weakness is obvious. She's completely loyal to Isaac. The two of them operate as a pair. She has no individual agency. If I want Isa's support, I'd have to win Isaac's first."

Jacob nodded slightly. "That's true. But viewed another way if you can gain Isaac's trust, you gain Isa's automatically. That seems like a more efficient path."

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"You'd think so," Leah said with a faint smirk, "but it's not that simple. Isaac doesn't want to involve himself with the royal family. He's loyal to the Skydrids nothing more, nothing less. He has no interest in court politics, no patience for nobility, and no subtlety. He's blunt, impulsive, and not easily controlled. He may mean well, but he's a powder keg. Aligning with him would cause as many problems as it solves."

Jacob exhaled slowly. That did sound like the brother he knew. Whatever else could be said about Isaac, subtlety had never been part of his nature.

"There's no need to even bring up Alex," Leah went on. "He's already pledged his support to Peter. That path's closed."

Once again, Jacob had no reason to argue. He only offered a small nod of acknowledgment, then said, "That still leaves Henry and Jessica. You haven't said anything about them yet."

She gave him a look, flat, unimpressed. "Don't pretend they're viable options."

Jacob gave a small chuckle. "Can't blame me for asking."

"Fine. Let's talk about Henry first," she said, her voice cooling. "He's a mystery even to those who live under the same roof. He hides everything, his intentions, his thoughts, even his loyalties. His words are polished, his tone convincing, and his timing impeccable. Every move he makes ripples in ways you don't see until it's too late. I'd be a fool to trust someone like that."

Jacob didn't protest. That was Henry, through and through. Every lesson Jacob had learned about masking emotions and crafting a persona had come from watching his brother navigate the world with quiet manipulation. He was brilliant but also dangerous. And utterly unpredictable.

"And Jessica?" Leah continued. "She's kind. That's the first thing people notice. She's soft-spoken, gentle, full of warmth. And in most cases, that would be useful. But her sense of morality doesn't bend. Not even a little. She's rigid in her beliefs, idealistic, almost childishly so. The kind of person who still believes justice and compassion are enough to guide a nation."

"She'd never go along with the things I'd have to do. Not the bribes, not the threats, not the alliances made in back rooms. She'd reject it all on principle. Which makes her... inconvenient."

Jacob was silent for a few seconds, letting the words settle. Then he said, "So you've gone through all of them. Dismissed them one by one. And now you're here."

Leah didn't deny it. "I'm here," she said. "Because you're the only one left. And more importantly, because you're different."

"How do you know all this?" Jacob asked, his voice low, though the shock behind the question lingered in his eyes. The level of detail in her observations bordered on unsettling, she hadn't just gathered names or surface-level traits, but a layered understanding of each sibling's temperament, loyalties, and vulnerabilities. To reach that level of insight, she must have been watching for a long time, quietly compiling piece after piece until a complete portrait emerged.

"I'm afraid I can't reveal my sources," Leah replied with a pleasant smile, as though she were commenting on the weather rather than the intricate dissection of his entire family. "Unless, of course, you decide we should work together."

Jacob didn't smile. "You still haven't answered my question. Why me?"

Leah didn't hesitate. "Because you're the easiest to use. And the easiest to control."

He froze not just in body, but in thought. Had she really just said that? Out loud, with that same unshakable calm? It was so unexpected, so jarringly blunt, that he actually missed a step in their dance, his heel dragging across the floor with a faint skid. Leah, to her credit, caught his weight and steadied him, never breaking rhythm.

"What's so shocking?" she said smoothly, as if she hadn't just laid her cards on the table with disturbing honesty. "It's the truth. Or at least, it was. You seemed simple to manipulate. I thought I'd just have to promise you access to knowledge, enough to keep you interested and stir your hatred of Samuel now and then to push you forward. You're not particularly brave, or confrontational, so I assumed it would be easy to coerce you when necessary."

Jacob said nothing, allowing her to continue leading for a moment, until he had his footing again and reasserted control over the steps.

"But," Leah went on with a sigh, "I can admit when I've made a mistake. That assessment no longer holds. From this conversation alone, I've realized my understanding of you was incomplete. Misguided. You aren't so simple after all."

She leaned in then, slowly enough to seem casual, until her lips were just beside his ear. Her breath was warm, but her words were cold.

"Or perhaps you aren't Jacob at all. The change in personality is too sudden, too complete. Could you be a fake? Or maybe something has altered you, some spell, some manipulation. Was it Samuel?"

Jacob matched her movement without pause, bringing his mouth to her ear with equal softness. He saw her tense slightly as he spoke.

"I'm Jacob," he whispered, his tone flat, controlled. "And if you ever thought I was some spineless fool, then you were wrong. I might not show it, but I'm not. On an off note, if you want Samuel gone, if you want to see him erased I'm more than willing to help."

He didn't speak with passion, or intensity, or hatred. It was a statement of pure clarity, spoken without emotion, but not without conviction. Even if he couldn't feel much of anything right now, that one fact remained undiminished: Samuel needed to die, and Jacob had to be the one to do it.

"You blame him for Lucas' death," Leah said after a moment, pulling back just slightly, her gaze sharp. "But how can you be certain it was him?"

Jacob didn't reply. There was no point. The letter Samuel had sent, cruel, mocking, unprovoked, had been burned long ago. He had no proof. But he didn't need it.

Leah exhaled, as if accepting his silence as confirmation. "No one can hear us right now," she said quietly, "not even my father. So tell me plainly do you truly wish to kill him?"

"I do," Jacob said, his words slow and precise, each one deliberate. "It's one of the few things I still desire. To see his corpse at my feet. To know that I will never again have to see that deranged smile or hear his voice."

Leah studied him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "Well, now you know my reason for approaching you. With the raw talent you possess, and the resources I can offer, you could grow faster than you think possible. You just need to make the right decision. Think carefully, Jacob."

With that, Leah pulled away from him, and the music seemed to swell as she stepped back into the larger crowd. Jacob gave a short, silent bow in acknowledgment.

"You really are an exceptional dancer, Jacob," Leah said, her voice light, almost teasing, though there was still a faint edge of calculation beneath it. "I hope we'll have the pleasure of dancing together again someday."

Jacob straightened his posture and offered a polite nod, his voice even. "Perhaps next time, our conversation will be a little less demanding."

Leah smiled faintly at that, then turned away, her dress catching the light as she began to walk off into the crowd. But after only a few steps, she paused. Without fully turning, she tilted her head just enough to look back at him from over her shoulder.

"I wasn't sure if I should mention this," she began, her tone shifting to something more measured, quieter, as if she wasn't entirely sure whether she was offering a gift or twisting a knife. "But I've decided to tell you anyway. Samuel killed Lucas. More directly, more thoroughly, and in more ways than you've probably imagined."

Jacob remained still. He didn't blink, didn't frown, didn't flinch. There was no need to react, he had known this already, and had said as much. Hearing her say it made no difference.

"But even if it hadn't been Samuel," Leah went on, her gaze steady, "someone else in the royal family would have done it. My father. One of my other brothers. Maybe even me." Her expression didn't change, but her words hung in the air like a veil being pulled away. "Lucas was never supposed to exist in the Skydrid household. If he had been born into the royal family, he might have lived. But he wasn't."

Jacob spoke, his voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "Why?"

It wasn't anger that made him ask. It wasn't grief. He was past both. But even in this muted state, this version of himself devoid of feeling, he still wanted to understand. Some part of him, detached as it was, still needed to know why Lucas had to die.

Leah turned again, fully this time, but only for a moment. "Maybe if you were willing to work with me, I'd be inclined to explain. But I get the sense you're not interested in the competition for succession." She offered a small shrug, the kind that implied indifference, but her eyes remained sharp. "So I'll make that part of the deal, join me, and I'll tell you exactly why your brother died."

And with that, she disappeared into the sea of nobles, her blue dress vanishing among the silks and music, leaving only the weight of her words behind.

Jacob remained where he stood, silent, unmoving, as if waiting for something to catch up with him. Then, without a word or glance in any direction, he turned and walked back to his table.

Castor and Elly had yet to return. He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. The distant sound of music, laughter, and clinking glasses faded into a low hum.

Whatever thoughts had begun to surface, questions, doubts, the flickers of something heavier, he dismissed them with ease, brushing them aside like dust from his sleeve.

This, he told himself, was a problem for emotional Jacob. And that Jacob wasn't here right now.

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