SYMDF 17
by samChapter 17
The assault was sudden, but not unfamiliar. Vernian’s attendants and palace guards did not so much as flinch—the Crown Prince’s violence was nothing new.
Camillus, too, accepted it with weary familiarity. The fist rattled his head and sent him stumbling, only for Vernian’s boot to ram into his chest, knocking him down against the cold stone.
Thud.
Struck, Camillus slumped to the ground. Kicks followed—merciless, unrelenting. And yet he made no protest, no sound of resistance.
“You—filthy dog, fucking monster—daring to strut around as if you belong!”
Vernian, face red with fury, drove another kick into Camillus’s abdomen. The blow stole his breath, yet he gave no cry. That only inflamed the prince further. Snarling, Vernian braced for yet another strike—
“Enough.”
A sonorous voice cut across the courtyard.
Vernian froze where he stood. His head whipped around toward the voice.
From the shadows emerged a middle-aged man, trailed by guards and attendants. Gowned lightly for evening walk, yet cloaked in innate majesty, his bright gaze sharp as ever.
The Emperor of the O’Brien Empire. This realm’s sovereign—his father.
The instant Vernian’s eyes met his, the boy dropped to his knee in hasty obeisance.
Camillus, however, straightened slowly, lips faintly curved, and bowed with composure.
“I greet the sun of the Empire.”
The greeting caught Vernian off guard. He stammered, following belatedly:
“I—I greet the sun of the Empire.”
“I was walking to clear my mind, but the noise disturbed the night,” the Emperor said. His tone unmistakably rebuked Vernian.
The prince dropped his gaze, jaw tight, hands trembling—whether from anger or fear was unclear.
Noting it, Camillus interceded, lowering his head.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. It was I who provoked the Crown Prince.”
Not a lie, not entirely—his very existence provoked Vernian.
With Camillus taking blame, the Emperor did not press further. He looked instead to his firstborn.
“Vernian. It is late. Return and rest.”
“…As you command.”
Though forced, the prince obeyed. Yet as he passed, he shot Camillus one last hateful glare before stalking off.
When his retreating steps faded, Camillus rose. Silent, the Emperor resumed his walk through the palace gardens. Camillus followed one step behind, biding his words in patience.
Not until a cold breeze drifted between them, after a full turn of the circuit, did the Emperor speak.
“What business brings you here?”
Camillus’s answer came steady, as if long prepared.
“I came to deliver my answer to the question Your Majesty last posed.”
“And your conclusion?”
Camillus bowed his head slightly, then raised it with quiet decision.
“…I will not go north. I wish to remain in the capital.”
Some weeks prior, the Emperor had advised him to withdraw north—live hidden, shunned by no one, forgotten and safe. For a time, Camillus had believed it the only way. Survival as a ghost, erased from all affairs.
“Yes. You remain here, you sow discord,” the Emperor reminded him coldly.
Camillus inclined his head. “Even without my will.”
“Indeed. Even without your will.”
Yet Camillus’s determination now diverged.
“But is it not true, sire, that it is not I who am wrong? Not I who do wrong?”
His sharp denial made the Emperor’s brow contract. Camillus knew he had stung him—still he pressed on.
“For why is it always me who must be the one imprisoned? It is not I who err, but those who would use me—that in ways I do not desire.”
“My child, your power is too great. One day it will master you, as well as others. Do you want that?”
Camillus’s eyes fixed on his father’s back. The words could well apply to the Emperor himself. None had feared and bound him more than his father.
How easy it might be to resent him. Yet Camillus had never spoken thus before.
“…I do not desire power. I never asked for such strength.”
The Emperor’s shout cracked the courtyard:
“That is what makes you dangerous!”
Camillus flinched at the force. His father spun on him, jabbing a finger to his chest.
“You do not grasp the meaning of such power. A sword in a child’s hands is the most frightening of all—swinging wildly, no knowing where it will fall!”
Jaw taut, Camillus glared back—words unsaid for years spilled free.
“Is that why you kept me locked away? Even you, afraid you might use me?”
“…Camillus.”
“But that was never just cause to steal my life.”
The Emperor’s face twisted in disdain. That his illegitimate son dared rebuke him at all was insufferable.
And yet restraining himself, he softened his voice, using the intimate address.
“My child.”
Camillus shook his head, voice low. “Do not call me that.”
Still towering over him, the Emperor cradled Camillus’s cheeks in his hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“You were simply born this way.”
He had heard it hundreds of times. Yet tonight the words pierced deeper.
The same blue eyes as his own glared down, burning with scorn. Camillus refused to yield.
“…Is that my crime?”
“It is your fate. Your burden to bear.”
The Emperor’s immutable conviction struck like stone. Camillus pressed his lips, silent. Taking it as acceptance, his father drew his hands away.
“Then you will go north.”
“…I will not.”
The Emperor scoffed, throwing Camillus a sidelong glance.
“This is about Ion Craiger, isn’t it? They say the boy is gravely ill.”
Camillus stilled. He did not like Ion’s name on this man’s lips—but there was no sense denying.
“…Yes.”
A ghost of a smirk curved the Emperor’s mouth. Camillus noted it—but did not take the bait. Instead he pushed further, wielding his last defiance.
“On that subject—Ion, the heir of House Craiger—he bears a curse that none can lift. Do you know of it, Your Majesty?”
The Emperor’s expression darkened, but Camillus was relentless.
“…Was it YOU who cast it?”