4. Zai
Zai
My family already waited in the palace courtyard when I strode through the archway.
Father commanded the center of the gathered line, his pale face like stone—severe, weathered, immovable.
Val stood to his right, his deep bronze robes failing to hide his stocky stature. His dark hair had been combed back in precise lines. Nothing like my own tangled mess.
His wife, Shiori, clung to his arm in a yellow dress, her expression tight with the same forced politeness she’d worn since her wedding day a year ago. Despite wearing flat sandals, she stood slightly taller than my brother.
Iz occupied Father’s left, draped in rose-colored silk laced with golden threads. Her pinned-up hair burned with the same flaming red as mine—and as Mother’s once had.
She looked like something precious. Fragile. Breakable. Every inch our father’s perfect daughter.
Her dark eyes found mine as I approached, and she offered an almost imperceptible nod.
My chest tightened. Curt nods were all she ever gave me. No warmth. No forgiveness.
After Mother died, she’d disappeared into her rooms for entire days, refusing to come out even for meals. Now she locked herself behind practiced smiles instead. She spoke only when required, revealing nothing of the thoughts swirling in her head.
But I knew she blamed me. All of them did. And rightly so.
Val’s sharp voice cut through the courtyard as he glanced over his shoulder at me. “Late as usual.”
My jaw clenched, but I kept my mouth shut. Nothing I said would make a difference.
Father’s gaze swept over me, cold and assessing. “Straighten your collar. You look like you ran here.”
My fingers moved to my collar, smoothing fabric that already lay perfectly flat. His disapproval pressed down like a physical weight on my shoulders.
I slid into line beside Iz, my designated place. Despite being two years older than her, I ranked below my sister in Father’s eyes.
The gates groaned open, and nobles dressed in their finest poured into the courtyard, chattering, pointing, laughing.
Iz’s hand found mine for just a beat, fingers pressing against my palm before slipping away. The touch vanished so quickly I almost questioned whether it had happened at all.
Then she transformed. Her shoulders drew back and a practiced smile bloomed across her face. She greeted each noble with quiet grace, murmuring pleasantries that sounded genuine despite their hollowness.
Each forced greeting tasted like ash in my mouth as nobles streamed through, their excitement grating against my nerves. They chattered about the ball, the festivities, how wonderful it all was.
A memory flashed through my mind—Mother standing beside us in this very spot, radiating warmth as she welcomed each guest. The courtyard always transformed into something lighter beneath her presence.
I’d stolen that light when I sent my glowing spear searing through her chest eight years ago.
Pain carved through me. I shoved it down, buried it deep where it belonged.
Every year, this week-long celebration filled the palace grounds, ending with a grand ball. Part of me clung to the belief she’d be glad her celebration continued. But the rest of me drowned in how much I missed her, how every moment scraped against wounds that never quite healed.
A cluster of giggling noblewomen drifted closer, their gazes lingering on me. They curtsied low, and one leaned in, whispering innocent words dripping with seductive suggestion.
Val’s jaw worked, irritation radiating from him. He’d nursed that jealousy since forever, fury over how women gravitated toward me and never to him, despite him being Crown Prince.
Shiori’s entire demeanor shifted when her birth family appeared in the procession.
She practically vibrated with joy as she released Val’s arm and rushed forward.
Her laughter rang out as she embraced her mother and sisters.
For a moment, she looked like someone who remembered what happiness felt like.
Val tracked her retreat, his lip curled. Then his gaze swung toward me and found me watching him. His eyes slitted with threat. I jerked my attention back to the procession. Getting under his skin right now would only make the week more unbearable.
My brother’s hatred burned hotter than any flame I could conjure. At least he had every right to loathe me, whereas I had no right to resent this week after what I’d done.
Throughout my childhood, Father had drilled into me how weak I was, how poorly I controlled my powers. Since I was a reflection of the crown, my weakness was a stain on his rule.
Mother had taken it upon herself to train that weakness out of me.
She poured her free time into helping me overcome my underdeveloped abilities.
Father’s words rolled off her tongue in every session: A sun prince had to be strong, fast, and ruthless.
As the second son to the King, my duty was to uphold the image of an untouchable royal family.
Val had pestered me constantly, jealous of the attention I received from her. When no one was watching, he’d offered lessons of his own—at the end of his fists.
After one of his particularly brutal sessions, I’d stepped into my daily training with Mother and completely misjudged the trajectory of my spear.
Self-loathing crashed over me like molten metal, searing through every carefully constructed wall.
I was weak. I lacked control. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never be worthy.
Gritting my teeth, I forced a strained smile at the next group of guests.
Seven days of this. Then I could retreat to my regular existence, away from the constant reminders that stoked the burning ache in my chest. An existence where I could almost forget the pain of my greatest failure.
Almost.