It was two days until the first day of school, and Yvain had quite the to-do list. First off, he immersed himself in the political intricacies of Inkia and its two dominant fas.

  “Let me enlighten you about the ‘first prince’s’ party,” Finn began. “Prince Lo Inkor is the King’s first legitimate son who defied the odds—he actually survived past toddlerhood. With a favored queen mother held in high esteem, he’s even touted as the prince by some, but that’s hardly a hard-earitle.”

  Finn leaned in, his voice spiratorial. “The real puppet master behind this party is her than Queen Celia, his mother. Cold, ruthless, and an expert in manipution, she’s revered not merely for her lineage or alleged beauty, but for her rather impressive ma skills of the royal household. Nothing escape her trol, not even a single mouse.”

  Yvain could feel the impending pressure of a headache.

  “So, let me get this straight: Prince Lo doesn’t actually have any sway over his own party?” the boy queried.

  “Exactly,” Finn replied. “And trust me, he couldn’t care less. Despite his undeniable political a, Lo prefers the role of the relut observer. He knows every move his mother makes and possesses almost the same information as her, yet he’s jaded enough to dodge anything that resembles actual responsibility. It is, ironically, why he’s able to avoid danger.”

  Yvain nodded.

  “Okay, now, you tell me where His and Her Majesties have wandered off to? I’m afraid we ’t proceed with our pns without them,” Finn said, rolling his eyes.

  “And the Prime Minister’s fa?” Yvain asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Finn blihen cleared his throat. “Well, the Prime Minister is quite the royal pain, actually. His fa has always opposed the royal family’s influence, and, astonishingly, that hasn’t ged in decades. But the two fas are the same in their principles—like the same actors wearing different es.”

  He tinued, expining that the Prime Minister was the test installment of a long line of past kingmakers. His father’s failure to a king was a sdal that still echoed through the halls of power, all thanks to Rafaye Inkor—the shrewd yet resilient current king.

  So, although both the royal and political fas paraded around with the same goveryle and philosophies, they were like two sides of a tainted —different surfaces, same rot.

  That was in the past, but now, Rafaye had remarkably grasped a sembnce of bance. After marrying Queen Celia—his rather astute partner in this dance of power—and allowio bear their son, Lo, he mao use them to fight against the Prime Minister.

  He graciously permitted her to establish the first prince’s fa. “What a generous monarch he is, allowio py politics while he avoids the Prime Minister entirely.”

  Pity the poor Prime Minister; he was left shadowboxing with the queen and her relut prince while Rafaye enjoyed a royal tea party, blissfully ign the disagreements brewing beyond the castle walls.

  The fa?ade of governance tinued, with everyone pying their part, while Rafaye sipped his tea, chug softly at the spectacle.

  “Is Rafaye pnning on ing Lo, then?” Yvain asked.

  “You ’t say for sure. Rafaye always had cards up his sleeves—though now a few of them are marked. Remember, he was supposed to detain my family and shove me into war if Soulnaught had gohrough with the attack,” Finn replied, the gravity of the situation not lost on him.

  Yvain hummed thoughtfully, though it sounded more like a chuckle. Not only that, Rafaye might just be the architect behind using the mythical unity as pawns against Burn and stirring Wintersin to unleash its power on Soulnaught too.

  “It’s safe to assume that Rafaye raised Queen Celia and Lo mainly to keep tabs on the Prime Minister,” Finn said, shaking his head as if menting the absurdity of it all. “As for who he’ll choose as his successor…”

  “Well, whoever wins the royal lottery, I assume?” Yvain quipped, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

  Finn nodded. “Now, please tell me when Emperor Burn and his wife will return. Please, Your Majesty.”

  “Then, who was the Prime Minister’s brilliant choice as Lo’s tender?” Yvain inquired.

  “It’s a tad premature for them to make any decisive calls,” Finn stated, shaking his head. “Lo happens to be the oldest legitimate prince, but there are two itimate priill too young to even grasp the weight of a . And don't get me started on the tless illegitimate princes lurking in the shadows.”

  “Ah, but one illegitimate prishihe others. The illustrious Prince Lankor. Talented, yes, but choosing to live like a ghost. His personal life is a mystery ed in an enigma, and frankly, it’s all the rage,” Finn recalled.

  “Do you have any information about him?” Yvain asked.

  Finn hummed, “Well, one day, out of the blue, he presents his wife at the royal ball. And just like that, poof—Miss Evere appears. It’s a bit weird, this woman. No one knew where she came from or her identity. She also never spoke with anyone except him.”

  “Does the king favor him?” Yvain inquired, eyebrows arched in curiosity.

  “It’s quite peculiar, really,” Finn replied. “The king seems to have ignored him pletely… Well, sidering he's invisible and apparently prefers it that erhaps it’s absurd for the king to be wary. Or maybe they’re involved in some dealings while the rest of us twiddle our thumbs in the light.”

  “Why do you think that?” Yvain mused. “Do you suspeething?”

  “Oh, just a hunch,” Finn chuckled. “Unlike your run-of-the-mill illegitimate princes, our dear Prince Lance was aowledged well into his adulthood. A tad te for a family reunion, if you ask me.”

  “Now, don’t ge the subject again. We must begin our pn soon, so please tact Emperor Burn—”

  Yvain shook his head, a flicker of mischief in his eyes. “He won’t be needed.”

  A profound silenveloped them as they locked eyes.

  “I’ll be in charge, not Papa—I mean, His Majesty or Master,” Yvain decred, an unnervingly cheerful smile on his face.

  Silence.

  More silence…

  “You will… take charge?” Finn asked, disbelief g his tone, barely above a whisper.

  Yvain nodded vigorously, as if he’d just announced he was going to hunt giales on a summer afternoon. “Yep! Please take care of me. I’ll be the oo quer Inkia for them.”

  This twelve-year-old boy, champion of chaos...

  …

  …

  “THIS IS NOT WHAT WE AGREED UPON!” Finn excimed.