Clouds concealed much of the moonlight, leaving the grounds cloaked in shadows. A cool breeze rustled through the trees as the small group moved silently across the landscape. Torben led them confidently, relying on knowledge no outsider possessed. He knew the old side passage hidden behind the eastern wall and the concealed servants’ door that had once allowed him to sneak out of the castle during his youth for midnight adventures.

Now he returned not as a prince, but as an intruder.

The irony never occurred to him.

The group moved carefully to avoid the patrolling guards. Torben guided them through the narrow passage and concealed entrance without making a sound. The familiar halls stretched before him, illuminated only by scattered sconces that bathed the path ahead with light.

Once inside, he split the group.

Three loyalists moved off to keep watch and alert the others if anything went wrong. Torben took the remaining two men with him and went in search of the nursery.

The mission was even more dangerous because the nursery was not far from the chambers where Circe most likely slept.

Tension squeezed his lungs with every step he took but his resolve never wavered.

A guard stood watch near the nursery door but the odds were still slightly in Torben’s favor. The guard might have been a vampire, but it was still three against one.

They struck swiftly.

The guard barely had time to react before the attack began. Steel flashed in the darkness. The vampire fought back fiercely, but surprise worked against him. Within moments he collapsed, mortally wounded before he could raise an alarm loud enough to alert the rest of the castle.

This mission was already a tremendous risk, and everything had to proceed perfectly if they hoped to succeed.

Torben left his companions outside the nursery door to watch for trouble and stepped inside alone.

The room was quiet. Decorative carvings adorned the walls, and embroidered curtains stirred faintly in the breeze coming through a partially opened window.

The baby slept peacefully in his cradle. His tiny chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths.

For a moment, everything was still. Then Torben approached the cradle and drew his knife.

His hand trembled slightly, but not from hesitation. In his mind, this act was righteous.

The child was the living symbol of everything that had gone wrong. He represented Circe’s betrayal, Lamora’s influence, and the destruction of the future Torben believed should have belonged to him. Killing him would mean setting everything back to rights.

He did not see himself as a murderer. He saw himself as the only man willing to do what was necessary.

The baby stirred faintly but did not wake.

Then shouts suddenly echoed from elsewhere in the castle. The distant clash of steel followed seconds later.

Torben immediately knew what had happened. His other men had been discovered.

The six of them were no match for Ragnar’s forces.

The plan was falling apart.

Moments later, guards burst into the nursery and chaos erupted.

Outside the room, Torben’s two loyalists engaged the first wave of guards in a fierce skirmish. Steel rang through the corridor as the men fought desperately to hold their ground.

Inside the nursery, Torben refused to flee.

Blinded by obsession, he lunged toward the cradle with the knife raised high, fully intending to drive the blade into the baby’s chest.

Two guards rushed at him but Torben fought like a man possessed. His knife slashed wildly through the air. One guard cried out as the blade slashed a long gash along his throat. The man collapsed, gurgling as blood sprayed. Torben wounded another badly before more guards flooded into the room and overwhelmed him through sheer numbers.

A sword thrust forward and the blade drove straight through his chest.

Torben staggered violently as the sword was pulled free. Blood poured from the wound and he collapsed heavily to his knees beside the cradle.

His vision began to blur.

The baby, awakened by the violence, cried loudly from within the cradle.

Torben stared at him. His final expression was a mixture of hatred, disbelief, and unyielding entitlement.

Even now, faced with death, he could not accept that he had failed.

The knife slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor. Moments later, he toppled sideways into a growing pool of blood and died without a word, without any sign of remorse.

Frantic alarms rang throughout the castle.

Shouts and running footsteps filled the halls as word of the attack spread while commanders barked orders throughout the fortress.

The baby’s cries cut through the noise, adding to the pandemonium.

In her nearby chambers, Circe had been resting when the first shouts reached her ears.

Terror seized her instantly as her heart lurched.

She threw aside the blankets and rushed toward the door, her pulse hammering as a thousand terrible possibilities raced through her mind.

She assumed it was some random attacker who had somehow infiltrated the castle.

The thought that it could be Torben never even crossed her mind.

Ragnar had been alerted almost simultaneously.

He joined her within moments, and together they hurried through the halls.

The nursery door slammed open against the wall as they burst inside and the scene stopped them cold.

The baby wailed loudly from the cradle.

A dead guard lay sprawled across the floor.

Blood stained the floor and droplets of it were splattered across the walls. And there, beside the cradle, lay Torben’s body in a wide pool of blood.

Circe froze. For several long seconds, her mind refused to process what she was seeing. Confusion gave way to a horrific realization.

It was her brother.

Her own brother had come here to attack her son.

Ragnar was the first to snap into action.

Crossing the room in quick strides, he immediately checked the baby, confirming he was unharmed before lifting him into his arms. He gently rocked Khamsin in an effort to soothe his cries, then turned his attention toward the guards present.

"Secure every entrance," he ordered sharply. "Search the grounds in case there are more of them. No one gets in or out tonight."

The guards immediately obeyed.

Circe remained motionless. Her gaze never left Torben’s lifeless body.

A crushing feeling settled over her heart. This was the brother she had grown up beside. The boy who had shared her childhood. The man who should have protected her and stood beside her.

Instead, he had died trying to murder her child.

Hours later, after the initial shock had faded and the castle had finally begun to quiet, Circe sat alone in her chambers.

Her son slept peacefully against her chest, completely unaware of how close death had come.

She listened to his breathing, allowing it to slowly quell the restlessness within her.

She tried to summon grief for Torben. She waited for her eyes to glisten with unshed tears. She waited for the familiar ache of loss.

None came.

There was only emptiness. A hollow ache in her chest.

How could she mourn a man who had tried to kill her son, a baby who had done nothing wrong?

Even though Torben had been her older brother, she could not rationalize what he had become.

She understood that Westeria’s defeat had devastated him. She understood his anger.

But she could not forgive this.

Torben knew Ragnar was already withdrawing Lamorian troops and preparing to restore Westeria’s sovereignty. If he had possessed patience instead of hatred, he could have waited. He could have reclaimed the throne once Lamorian influence had fully withdrawn.

Instead, he had allowed resentment to consume him. He turned against his own sister.

He had tried to murder her child. There was no justification for that.

He had been her brother once. There had been a time when she might have crossed kingdoms to save him. But that time had died long before Torben had. Years of emotional absence, resentment, and betrayal had carved too wide a gulf between them. And when he had raised a hand against her son, whatever remained had been buried for good.

The short visit to Westeria, meant to bring healing and peace of mind, had ended in bloodshed and tragedy. Torben’s obsession, entitlement, and hatred had ultimately become his undoing.