Nepenthe

~12 Years ago~

The screams of my mother were the only thing I could hear as I was being sent out to war. A war I knew was pointless, yet here I was being sent to fight in it all to “honor” a family name that tasted like ash in my mouth. But what else could I expect? For I was merely Silas, the second prince. The one who couldn’t be an emperor, the one who wouldn’t amount to much respect or honor. The son of a mere concubine and Emperor Heres, who took her to bed as a drunken mistake. That’s what my life has been since the beginning, a mere mistake.

The only good thing life has given me is my elder brother, Rhys. He was everything I wasn’t. He was born to be an emperor, to be an elite, and I always knew deep down that I could never amount to anything like him.

Jealousy was a constant companion. How could it not be when Rhys was the epitome of a prince? He had princesses lined up wishing to be his wife one day. He always carried himself with grace that made my own movements feel clumsy. He had always been kind to me, despite my bastard status. Never had I been fit to be an emperor, not even a prince.

My mother was never allowed to attend any grand royal events. She couldn’t teach me any courtly graces. Instead, she urged me to study Rhys, a futile exercise in imitation. My mother did the same in her own way as she studied the Empress, my father’s actual wife. She would copy her mannerisms, the way she spoke, the way she acted. But my mother looked like a fool trying to emulate a woman like Empress Ines.

Empress Ines saw through my mother’s charade, dismissing her with cruel laughter to her noble friends. “A concubine playing at elegance is a meager sight”, she’d sneer. Their mutual dislike was a toxic undercurrent in the palace, fueled by my mother’s attempts to avoid banishment. She acted out of pure desperation at times to not be sent away, but alas, she had always wanted what was best for me.

The Dozator Empire’s reputation was built on treaties, yet these agreements often led to pointless wars, a consequence of my father’s eagerness to aid any kingdom in exchange for gold. He was indifferent to the outcomes of these conflicts and showed no concern for the soldiers he deployed, abandoning them the moment they left our castle. Each departure was marked by a lavish and grand party, a spectacle designed to garner praise for his supposed compassion, while his true excitement lay in the incoming wealth.

I never imagined I would be sent to fight in one of these futile wars. I knew I wasn’t his favorite; he could barely tolerate me at best. He always said I looked too much like the harlot of my mother. But he had taught me archery and never forgot my birthday. Empress Ines couldn’t stand me much either, but she had always been civil towards me. She would often tell me how much she would’ve loved me if I were her son.

But the reality was that I wasn’t, and when my father was short on soldiers, she was the first one to recommend me to my father. I had thought someone would’ve protested; I had waited with anxiety bubbling in my chest, but no one said a thing. My brother, for the first time, couldn’t look me in the eyes; he didn’t agree with his mother, but didn’t speak up to defend me either. My father merely looked at me with such indifference that it left me spiraling as to whether he had ever truly cared for me.

I was only allowed to pack a small bag that night. My mother, completely distraught, was inconsolably crying and begging me not to leave her and die. She made me promise her to come back, but I couldn’t speak at all that night for fear that if I did, I would unleash the tears I thought a prince should never shed.

My father threw another one of his parties, this one eclipsed all others, a spectacle where he proclaimed his dear son would bring unparalleled honor and victory to the Dozator Empire. I had been silent and without appetite throughout the whole party. It was a bittersweet moment. While it felt nice that for the first time something was being done in my honor and name, as quickly as that satisfying feeling came, the deep reality sank in that this was most likely the first and last time.

To everyone else, the sight of a thirteen-year-old bastard prince marching off to war was a source of amusement, earning me hollow praise for my ‘bravery’. My brother didn’t speak to me, no matter how much I had tried to talk to him. I needed his words that always brought me comfort, perhaps even a hug; anything would’ve sufficed. By the time the soldiers began getting their horses ready in the stables, Rhys finally pulled me aside for a chat. Feeling his warmth made me feel safe, and I had thought I was going to be comforted, but oh, how wrong and foolish I had been.

“Silas,” Rhys began, his voice a chilling, unfamiliar timbre, “you will not win or survive this war. It’s far more treacherous than they are letting on. You’re being sent away as a mere ploy by both my parents to eliminate you as a threat to the throne. In your absence, they’ll seek to forge a ‘cleaner’ heir, untainted by your...origins.” Rhys said as he seemed to physically recoil, avoiding my gaze as he spoke.

“But brother, I-” I started, desperation clawing at my throat, but before I could finish, Rhys interrupted me, his eyes flashing with something akin to revulsion.

”Don’t," he spat, the word laced with venom. “Don’t call me that... not anymore. I am not your brother from here on out. I am the heir of the Dozator empire, your future emperor, and you should address me as Prince Rhys from here on out. In your absence, I shall take ‘care’ of your mother. I’ll ensure to give her an easy and somewhat comfortable life. I will make sure she stays out of trouble and will make her retire from her concubine position. That woman stirs up enough chaos already as it is.” Rhys hissed in a hushed tone.

Rhys ended up letting out a long sigh, almost as if controlling his pent-up emotions, he pulled out a dagger from his pocket. It was made out of shiny iron with the handle made out of hard yellow gold encrusted with rubies. I recognized that dagger; it was the one he had gotten from our father last year on his sixteenth birthday.

“Take this with you,” Rhys said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Use it wisely, as this will be the last gift I shall ever give you,” Rhys said coldly as he pressed the dagger into my chest, not waiting for me to take it properly, the cold metal a stark contrast to the burning confusion in my heart. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

I had stood there, stunned, my heart pounding so hard it echoed in my ears. tears welled up, blurring my vision as I gripped Rhy’s dagger, the metal digging into my palm. I bolted, blindly sprinting to the dim corner of the horse stables where I wretched, my stomach emptying itself onto the straw-covered floor.

I didn’t want to die, not now anyway. I had so much left to experience. I dreamed of becoming Rhy’s personal knight, standing proudly as he ascended the throne. I pictured myself in the front row at his coronation ceremony, cheering louder than anyone, knowing he would be a just and honorable emperor who would go down in history as the most loved. I wanted to see him find his empress, to be an uncle to his children. I yearned for a simple life, moving out of the castle with my mother, perhaps finding love. marrying and starting a family of my own, like everyone else did. But instead, I was stuck in my reality. I was being sent to war, a simple pawn to be sacrificed, erased simply for existing as the second prince.

That night, everything felt surreal. My mind was a whirlwind, mirroring the frantic beat of my heart as I rode alongside my horse and the other soldiers. The cheers and chants of the crowd seemed distant, like a soundtrack to a nightmare. I saw my father’s hollow, prideful smile, the empress delicately waving goodbye, and my brother’s detached demeanor as he spoke to a pretty-looking girl. But the image that cut through the noise was my mother, who had been pleading and begging; she was a screaming mess as some knights took her away by her long black hair while laughing.

As we marched, a storm of emotions raged within me: despair, anguish, dread, anxiety, betrayal, but beneath it all, something else stirred an emotion I never thought I was capable of: a burning, all-consuming RAGE.