August had already been furious. After crossing paths with Egor, that fury sharpened into something colder—meaner, more dangerous.
He was going to see a brother he hadn't seen in years.
There would be no happy reunion.
August loved his brother.
He neglected him. Barely paid him any attention. But in his own way, he cared—like you care about family simply because they're yours.
He had respected his father.
Once.
He missed his mother—her warmth, her overwhelming, suffocating love for her children.
He felt a distant, almost indifferent fondness for his older sisters, now busy with their own lives.
But love?
There had only ever been one person August truly loved.
Klaus.
From the moment he first saw him at that banquet—five years old, greeting guests with stiff, practiced composure as the heir to the throne.
Before that, Abel had only attended the celebration of the prince's birth. August had been ten. They saw the baby, offered their congratulations, and left.
But at that banquet, August really saw him.
The pale child in the oversized chair. Too serious. Too careful. Distrustful eyes watching everything.
August hadn't been able to walk past.
From that moment on, the little bastard lodged himself in his head and never left.
At first, August saw Klaus as a younger brother—a real one. Someone to protect. To teach. To spoil.
They met again years later. By then, Klaus was living under Fazli's strict control. August was seventeen, full of stupid, reckless idealism. He had volunteered for border service, eager to defend the kingdom from "barbarians."
Klaus had grown quieter. Colder.
But he recognized August immediately.
And after only a few minutes of conversation, that rare smile appeared again.
That smile that punched straight through August's chest.
After that, they stayed in touch through letters.
Klaus waited for them—hungry for news. August waited just as much—for anything about him. About Fazli. About that suffocating life.
At twelve, Klaus returned to court.
August saw him for only a few hours before leaving on a long campaign.
The parting hurt.
For both of them.
By then, August was twenty-two. The haze of youth had burned away. He saw the rot in his country clearly. Even then, he was looking for a way forward.
Even then, he placed his hopes in Klaus.
And how the hell was he supposed to confess any of that?
To the one who smiled at him like that.
Who trusted him.
Who looked up to him.
How could he let something so filthy crawl into that?
So he didn't.
He locked it down.
Buried it.
Waited.
Until Klaus grew up.
Then—
He would take what he wanted.
August stopped in front of the dungeon door.
His fist clenched.
He had waited years for Klaus to come back.
And this worthless piece of shit had almost taken him away.
He drew in a slow breath, forcing the rage down.
Now wasn't the time.
He opened the door.
Abel sat in the corner, knees pulled to his chest. His hands were free, but an iron collar circled his neck, fused with an anti-magic rope.
Crude.
Effective.
"Well," August said, voice cold and flat, "look at that. My dear brother."
"Why the hell are you still breathing?" Abel snapped.
August's lips twitched.
"What a touching welcome. Good to know your brotherly love isn't reserved just for Klaus, you pathetic little fuck."
"And you're still drooling over him?" Abel sneered. "So tell me—how does it feel? Being shoved aside? Replaced?"
Dust exploded off the stone floor and slammed straight into Abel's eyes.
He screamed.
"Shut your mouth," August said quietly. "One more word and I'll make you beg to die."
It hit too close.
That first meeting after four years apart flashed in his mind.
Klaus—no longer a child. Taller. Beautiful. Long black hair. Those eyes.
And then—
That smile.
That fucking smile.
That was the moment August understood.
He was done.
Completely.
There was no coming back from that.
This wasn't brotherly.
Not even remotely.
"I'm your brother!" Abel gasped, panic cracking through his voice. "You wouldn't dare!"
"Wouldn't I?" August tilted his head. "After what you pulled? What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"
Abel trembled.
He had always known August's feelings weren't normal.
Anyone could see it.
Anyone except Klaus.
"Why are you here?" Abel asked quickly, scrambling.
"To hear your version of what happened."
"Haven't they already told you?"
"I want to hear it from you."
Silence.
Dust lifted again, swirling lazily in the air around Abel.
"I can shove it down your throat," August said calmly. "Or your nose. Your ears. Your choice. You're completely helpless, so don't test me."
"What do you want to hear?" Abel snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. "That I wanted to hurt your precious Klaus?"
"I want to know who told you to do it."
"It was my decision."
"Don't give me that shit. You've always been a jealous little rat watching from the sidelines. You never had the guts for something like this. So I'll ask again—who?"
"I did it!" Abel choked as dust crept into his nose. "Wait—wait! I did, but Uncle gave me full freedom. He said he wanted his eldest son back. Alive or dead. And hinted that dead would be… more useful."
"And my father?" August's voice dropped. "How the hell did he allow this?"
"He didn't know!"
"You're lying."
"He didn't!" Abel snapped. "I made sure he was busy."
"The slave uprising," August said slowly.
Abel grinned.
"And you thought I was useless?"
"What ability?" August asked coldly.
"I can control people. Regular people. No magic needed."
Silence.
"You controlled the slaves."
"A couple hundred," Abel shrugged. "For about an hour. Even activating their marks didn't stop them. Father had to step in himself."
A chill slid down August's spine.
This worthless bastard—
Had that kind of power.
"How many died?" he asked quietly.
Abel just smirked.
"You're a sick bastard," August said.
He could kill him.
Right now.
Snap his neck.
End it.
But that would be too easy.
"You'll sit here for a week," August said. "Then Klaus will decide what to do with you."
"A week? Are you insane? I need a healer! A bath! Food! I'm your brother!"
"You're still breathing. Be grateful."
"If the king finds out—"
"As you can see," August said, tapping the scar at his temple, "I already cut family ties out of myself."
He turned toward the door.
"What will Klaus think if I tell him you tortured me?" Abel shouted after him.
August stopped.
"If I had started," he said without turning, voice low and dangerous, "I wouldn't have stopped. Don't try to play me. You might survive—but you won't like what's left of you."
"You wouldn't dare!"
August stepped out and slammed the door.
Abel's screaming echoed down the corridor.
August allowed himself a small, grim smile.
He hadn't killed him.
He had held back.
Klaus would approve.
He headed toward the dining hall.
He needed Brod's brew.
And food.
Then he would go back to the one he wasn't letting go of again.
Not now.
Not ever.