Prince Marcus sat in the garden, relishing the rare moment of solitude. His mother was busy elsewhere for once, and her absence was a relief. It meant she wasn't hovering over him, drilling instructions into his mind, criticising his posture, his words, his very existence.
"You have to be the Emperor," she always said. "You have to be perfect."
But no matter how hard Marcus tried, no matter how much effort he poured into his lessons, his swordsmanship, his studies of court politics, he was never enough. Not in her eyes. Not when his half-brother Cassian existed.
Marcus squeezed his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His mother rarely mentioned Cassian by name, but the comparisons were always there.
Cassian was stronger. Cassian was smarter. Cassian was the perfect prince—except, he lacked one thing... The title, but with his achievements on the battlefield, it was only a matter of time.
Cassian was the threat.
