Chapter 12: The First Heir and the Unwanted Son
Secrets No One Would Speak Of
The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, its golden glow casting long shadows over the grand estate of House Vaelthyr. Zion Lyka Vaelthyr stepped out of the council chamber, his expression unreadable, but an undeniable storm brewed beneath his carefully controlled demeanor.
He had always understood his place in the grand scheme of things. He was the firstborn, the heir, the future Duke of House Vaelthyr. Everything had been set in stone since the day of his birth—his path was one of greatness, one of absolute certainty. Yet, here he was, seeking out something that should have never even been a question.
That woman. That child.
A stain upon their house.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and venomous as she spoke of them. "That woman's son lingers like an unwanted stain upon our name. We shall remind everyone that he is nothing."
And yet, despite her assurance, despite the council's agreement, a part of him hesitated.
He needed to see for himself.
Zion's footsteps were slow but deliberate as he strode through the estate's corridors, his violet eyes glinting with a quiet, simmering intent.
"Do you know where Lady Sylvara resides?" he asked a passing servant, his voice smooth yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
The servant blinked, caught off guard, before hurriedly bowing. "I—I apologize, my lord, but I do not know."
Zion's gaze sharpened. "You do not know, or you are refusing to tell me?"
The servant visibly tensed. "I truly do not know, my lord. No one speaks of Lady Sylvara here."
Carrying on Zion stopped another passing servant, his voice carrying the authority expected of a noble son. "Where does Lady Sylvara live?"
The servant blinked, hesitating. "My lord?"
"Lady Sylvara," Zion repeated, impatience seeping into his tone. "Where is her estate?"
The servant shifted uncomfortably. "I… I do not know, my lord."
Zion frowned. It was an obvious lie.
He tried again with another servant. And another. Each time, the response was the same—unease, nervous glances, vague mutterings of ignorance.
It was ridiculous. How could no one know? Sylvara was once part of this house. His father's—his mother's—enemy. Yet, it was as if she had been erased, a ghost lingering at the edges of whispered conversations.
Zion's frustration grew. If they wouldn't tell him, then—
His gaze landed on someone familiar.
"Raulem," he called.
His personal servant—a man who had attended to him since childhood—turned, immediately bowing. "Yes, my lord?"
"You know where she is, don't you?" Zion asked, crossing his arms. "Sylvara. Where is she?"
Raulem hesitated. His face gave nothing away, but Zion knew him too well. Silence was an answer in itself.
Zion narrowed his eyes. "I command you to tell me."
Still, Raulem remained silent.
Anger flared in Zion's chest. "Do you think you can ignore me? I am the heir to House Vaelthyr!" His voice rose, an edge of frustration he couldn't hide. "By tomorrow, my awakening will prove my status beyond any doubt. And when I am Lord of this house, you will obey me without question. So you might as well start now."
Raulem exhaled, his expression unreadable, but after a long pause, he finally spoke. "My lord… It is forbidden to speak of Lady Sylvara within the estate."
Zion stilled.
"What?"
"The Duke has decreed it. Her name is not to be spoken. No one is allowed to associate with her. That is why… most of the servants do not know of her estate. It is not ignorance, but silence forced upon us."
Zion absorbed this, his mind working through the implications.
His father had ordered this?
Why?
Zion scoffed. "That woman isn't important enough for such a decree."
Raulem hesitated again.
Zion narrowed his eyes. "Where did she even come from? How did someone like her meet my father?"
Raulem's silence stretched.
Zion's frustration deepened. If even the council didn't know the full story, then what was his father hiding?
"Where is she?" he demanded again.
Raulem exhaled, finally relenting. "I will tell you, my lord. But you must understand… seeking her out will not be welcomed."
Zion only smirked. "I don't care."
With Raulem telling him the location of the estate he immediately left. He wanted to meet the woman and her son before the day ends.
Zion made his way toward the secluded estate, his stride long and powerful, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
He had heard the whispers before.
About the child who bore not the bloodline of Vaelthyr, but that of his mother. About the unrecognized heir, the one shrouded in mystery.
He had ignored them in the past. It had never mattered.
Until now.
Until he saw his mother, Duchess Selene Vaelthyr, crying.
That moment had burned into his mind.
His mother—proud, regal, untouchable—had shed tears because of them.
Because of her.
Because of him.
His father had never once shown such hesitation for anyone before. Never once had he wavered. And yet, for this woman and her son, he had.
It was infuriating.
It was wrong.
It should be him receiving that attention. Him, the rightful heir. Him, the one carrying the true bloodline of House Vaelthyr.
Not some bastard child.
Jealousy seethed within him, intertwining with his fury.
His father should have never acknowledged them. Never allowed them to exist within their world.
Zion stopped in front of the secluded estate. It was far smaller than the grand Vaelthyr manor, but it held an eerie quietness, untouched by the world beyond its walls.
His heart pounded in his chest.
For the first time, he felt something foreign creep into his thoughts.
What was he expecting to find here?
His father's secret? A hidden truth?
Or simply a confirmation that this woman and her son were as insignificant as he had always believed?
Either way, he would see for himself.
With a deep breath, Zion stepped forward.
He had questions.
And it was time for them to be answered.
He stepped forward.
And with a single, deliberate motion—he knocked.
~~~~~
Kitsaro Azrael Vaelthyr sighed, stretching his arms as he wandered around the small but elegant estate. He had nothing to do. His mother was busy reading, the servants were as quiet as ever, and the place felt far too peaceful for his liking.
He had half a mind to sneak out again, just to liven things up, when a sudden knocking at the front door made him pause.
Again?
Kitsaro groaned, rubbing his temples. What is wrong with people lately? Why do they keep coming to our door?
"I swear, people just can't help but find trouble for themselves," he muttered, shaking his head.
Curious, he quietly stepped toward the entrance, moving through the estate with the light steps of a fox—silent, unnoticed. He peeked around the corner and saw a boy, maybe ten years old, standing at the door.
Kitsaro tilted his head.
The boy was taller than him by a good bit, dressed in noble attire, and carried himself with the kind of arrogance only someone important—or someone who thought they were important—would have.
Without making a sound, Kitsaro stepped behind him and casually asked,
"Are you lost?"
The boy flinched, spinning around so fast that Kitsaro had to take a quick step back to avoid getting accidentally hit.
Zion's sharp violet eyes narrowed as he looked down at him. "Who are you?"
Kitsaro gave a lazy shrug. "Shouldn't I be asking that? You're the one knocking on our door."
Zion frowned, his expression flickering between irritation and suspicion. "I am Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, firstborn son of Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr, heir to House Vaelthyr." He straightened his posture, voice dripping with authority. "It does not matter why I am here. This estate, like all things bearing the name Vaelthyr, belongs to my father. And by extension, to me."
Kitsaro blinked, then tilted his head.
What the heck is the first heir doing here?
His mother had warned him never to reveal his lineage so easily. But looking at the arrogant child in front of him, Kitsaro couldn't help himself.
With a sly smirk, he replied, "Oh? Then I suppose I should introduce myself too."
Zion crossed his arms, waiting.
Kitsaro took a small step closer, keeping his face blank—until he dropped his next words like a boulder.
"I'm Kitsaro Azrael Vaelthyr… third son of Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr, Duke of House Vaelthyr."
Zion's entire face cracked.
Kitsaro barely held back his grin.
"The youngest," Kitsaro continued smoothly, watching Zion's expression, "and the most loved child of Zephiron."
Zion took a sharp step forward. "What did you just say?"
Kitsaro shrugged innocently. "Oh, did I stutter? I said I'm the most loved son of Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr. I suppose it makes sense you wouldn't know. After all, Father visits us every once in a while. He makes time for me, you see." Kitsaro smiled as if recalling a fond memory. "We spend a lot of time together. He's really kind, you know? Always making sure I'm doing well, talking about my future, things like that."
Zion's hands clenched into fists. His entire body was trembling—not from fear, but from sheer rage.
"Liar!" Zion spat, his voice rising. "Father even forbade anyone from speaking about this place. There's no way he—"
Kitsaro sighed dramatically. "Ah, that. Well, of course, he did." He leaned forward, lowering his voice like he was sharing a great secret. "Father didn't want anyone to know how much time he actually spends here. With us. Can you imagine? If people found out that the great Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr spends more time with his beloved Sylvara and his youngest son rather than his heir, it'd be scandalous."
Zion was livid.
Kitsaro could practically see the boy's thoughts swirling—a storm of jealousy and disbelief colliding within him.
"I bet you didn't even know," Kitsaro continued, twisting the knife deeper, "that Father taught me how to wield a blade himself. He said he wanted to make sure his favorite son grew up strong. He even promised to get me my own sword next time he visits!"
Zion exploded.
"Y-you—!"
Before he could lunge forward, The door behind him creaked open, revealing Sylvara standing in the entryway. Her hair gleamed under the fading sunlight, Golden eyes cold as they settled on the young heir. A ghost of amusement flickered across her face.
Zion straightened his posture, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
"To what do I owe the honor of the first heir visiting my humble estate?" Sylvara's voice was smooth, almost mocking.
"You—" Zion clenched his fists. "You and your son have no place here. You shouldn't even be attending my awakening ceremony tomorrow. You are nothing more than disgraced outcasts. House Vaelthyr does not acknowledge you."
Sylvara tilted her head slightly, as if considering his words. Then, she let out a quiet chuckle.
"A ten-year-old child speaking of 'acknowledgment' as if it holds any weight," she mused. "How amusing."
Zion's eyes burned with fury. "I am the heir to House Vaelthyr! My words—"
"Mean absolutely nothing."
Zion froze.
Sylvara stepped forward, the subtle shift in her presence making the air feel heavier. "You are merely a boy given a title," she said, her voice like ice. "A child playing at importance. Do you truly believe yourself powerful, little heir?"
Zion gritted his teeth. "My father—"
"Your father?" Sylvara laughed softly, shaking her head. "Do you think he holds power over me?" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Not even your father can do anything to me, much less your pathetic, weak mother."
Zion's body stiffened.
He had never heard anyone speak of his mother that way.
"You dare insult the Duchess—"
"Duchess?" Sylvara smirked. "A woman who weeps in secret because she fears a mere stain upon her perfect little family? A woman who spends more time trying to erase me than strengthening the son she calls her heir?" She scoffed. "That is not a Duchess. That is a desperate woman clinging to a fading illusion."
Zion's nails dug into his palms. "My mother is—"
"Weak," Sylvara cut in. "A true noble woman does not cry over things she cannot control."
Zion's breath caught. His mother's tear-streaked face flashed in his mind.
Sylvara smiled faintly. "You think your father's decree keeps me silent? That his orders hold any real power over me? You are mistaken."
Zion opened his mouth, but Sylvara wasn't finished.
"I exist," she said smoothly. "My son exists. No matter how much your mother loathes it, no matter how much you rage over it, we exist. And there is nothing you—or anyone in your precious house—can do to change that."
Zion shook with frustration. He had come here to prove something, to put an end to whatever hold this woman had over his family. But now…
He felt powerless.
Sylvara saw it too.
"You should run along, little heir," she said lightly, stepping back. "Your mother must be waiting to coddle you, after all."
Zion's rage flared. "I—"
"See you tomorrow, brother!"
Kitsaro's voice interrupted, filled with teasing amusement.
Zion snapped his glare toward him, but Sylvara had already turned, stepping back into the estate.
Without another word, she closed the door in his face.
Zion stood there, fists trembling at his sides.
For the first time in his life…
He had lost.