“I apologize, I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Sepehr was still composed as always.

“You never say what you don’t mean,” Ambrose spoke with an undiscernible smile. 

“It’s late. You should head to bed, Prince Ambrose—” Zen noticed Sepehr’s expression waver for the first time as he suddenly stopped talking. The smile on Ambrose’s face faded as well. The atmosphere changed so abruptly, that Zen had to play the scene in his mind multiple times to understand what happened.

「Did I miss something?」

“Repeat it.”

“You should head to bed, Your Highness.”

“That's not what I meant, Sepehr. Say it.”

“I’m just suggesting you rest. It's late.”

“Don't deflect.”

Sepehr remained silent, his composure unshaken. Ambrose stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking until their breaths mingled. Yet the eye contact didn't break.

"Say my name." Ambrose's voice dropped, steady yet insistent.

「Oh wait…」

Sepehr never called Ambrose by his name. No, he didn’t even utter the word once during the time Zen had been here. He read in a few books that this was a way of showing respect but wasn’t sure if it was relevant here. But anyhow Sepehr always addressed Ambrose by ‘Your Highness’ or ‘His Highness’. Now that he thought about it, Zen recalled multiple people using ‘His Highness Ambrose’ and such, but Sepehr didn’t do that. 

「Is it some kind of a taboo?」

Ambrose continued to stare at Sepehr with a hopeful, unwavering gaze. Sepehr was equally unwavering; not complying to the point that Zen began to pity the tyrant. 

「It’s just a name. Why can’t you just say it?」

[Why must you avoid it to this extent?]

「If it’s a taboo, you already broke it once. He doesn’t look like he’ll give up.」

[Have you hated calling my name from the beginning?]
[You avoid it as though it pains you. Do you despise me that much?]

“Your Highness…Ambrose, you’re too close.” Sepehr tilted his head slightly, his tone even, but his body revealed a flicker of unease.

Ambrose leaned into Sepehr’s shoulder and mumbled something aloud, which Zen couldn’t decipher. 

「It’s like appeasing a child.」

[I want you.]

「I take back what I said. He's clearly not a child...should I look away...yeah.」

“You mustn’t—Ah—” Sepehr's voice faltered as he flinched, his body instinctively recoiling from the sudden closeness. His hands pressed against Ambrose's chest, a feeble attempt to create distance but the prince held him firmly. 

“Your Highness—stop.” Sepehr’s breath hitched, the words more plea than a command. The dim light did little to hide the reddish hue spreading from the tip of his ears, down to his neck. He was frozen under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze—dark, unreadable, his expression caught between restraint and hunger. 

“It…it’s been a long day, Your Highness.” Sepehr exhaled quietly, his voice barely steady. “ You need to rest.”

“Are you tired?” 

“Yes, I am,” Sepehr replied quickly, not meeting Ambrose’s gaze as he spoke.
Ambrose’s grip loosened but he didn’t let go entirely. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing close to Sepehr’s ear, his breath warm against the flushed skin. “Why do you always push me away?” His voice was low, carrying an ache hard to look over.

“I’m not—” Sepehr’s words caught in his throat, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes before he turned away again.

Ambrose’s hands lingered for a moment longer, his fingers ghosting over Sepehr’s arms before he finally stepped back. “Alright then.” His tone was calm, but there was a faint bitterness in it.  

Sepehr exhaled as soon as the distance returned, regaining his posture. “Good Night, Your Highness.” The words were animated; a practiced shield. 

Ambrose said nothing more, his gaze remained on Sepehr for a while longer before he turned and entered the room. The door closed with a soft click and Sepehr began to walk in the opposite direction.

「That’s it?」

Zen, watching from the distance, could feel the weight of unspoken emotions. The tension was so thick, that it even left him astounded.

「Hey, that feels like the wrong way to end it. What?」

Sepehr’s room was right across the hall from Ambrose’s, but the atmosphere shifted the moment he approached. A girl and a boy were waiting in front of the door. “Senior Sepehr.” They both bowed sixty degrees upon seeing Sepehr. Their voices held a kind of reverence that didn’t fit with the rest of the evening. 

Sepehr paused, his gaze softening. “What are you two doing here this late?” His tone carried faint reprimand. 

“We heard you’ll be leaving in the morning. So we came to greet you.” The boy spoke up.

“Are you two doing well?” Sepehr asked with a sigh. 

“Yes, sir!” They both announced in unison.
“But you don’t look well. Are you alright? I heard you fell ill recently.” The girl inquired. Zen, observing quietly, noted the genuine worry.

「They seem to be close.」

“I’m alright, Inara,” Sepehr replied with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just a bit tired. I’ll be fine after a good night's rest.” 

Zen’s ears perked up. 「Wait…Did he just say Inara?」

“His Highness is probably overworking you!” The enthusiastic boy interjected, puffing out his chest as if preparing to challenge the crown prince himself. “I still don’t understand why you took this kind of job. You had better options.”

Sepehr smiled ever so slightly. “Why did you take it, Jace?” He asked in reply. “You should quit while you have the chance.”

“It’s not the same thing,” The young boy muttered. “Who else would help you if not us?” 

Sepehr’s gaze softened further, the faintest hint of warmth showing on his otherwise stoic face. For a moment, Zen could see the bond between them, the quiet trust forged through the years. “I’ll be looking forward to your help in the future then,” Sepehr said in a gentler tone, but then it shifted, his expression firming. “Go back now, it’s past curfew.” 

Inara and Jace hesitated, glancing at each other before nodding. “Good night, Senior Sepehr,” they said, bowing again before retreating down the hall, leaving Zen drowning in the sea of confusion. 

The door closed softly behind Sepehr walked into the room. For a few minutes, he stood there with his back facing the door, as though the weight of the night was finally catching up to him.
Zen observed him, worried; until a fleeting and incomplete image was played before him. He got a glimpse into Sepehr’s memories. 

The king's advisor. A position of immense respect and even greater risk. Unlike what the conversation with Ambrose suggested, it wasn't about loyalty to the crown, but to the king himself—his will, his whims, his sins. The loyalty demanded was absolute, unwavering, and devoid of morality. The advisor was to put his life on the line for the one they served. The role demanded far more than it gave in return.

And in the memory, Sepehr was explaining as much to younger Inara and Jace, urging them to abandon their ambitions to be his assistants, his aide. 

In return, he was asked another question. “Why do you do it then?” Sepehr hadn't answered. Not then, not now.

This was before he officially accepted his position. He took the position despite knowing the risks, despite having better options.

Zen pieced together the fragments, his understanding shifting. The nineteen-something-year-old Sepehr taught the two since they turned nine. Bonds created in childhood were one of the strongest; no wonder they took the chance anyway. Sepehr still urged them to take another path and was asked the same questions in return.

But the question was left unanswered to this day.

Yet, the memory itself wasn’t what threw Zen off balance.

 Inara and Jace. Zen was quite familiar with the names. The names of the protagonists in ‘Debt of Blood.’ If there was an antagonist, there had to be protagonists too, right? 

If half of ‘Debt of Blood’ was about Ambrose, the other half was about them and their constant attempts to stop the massacres, which always failed. That’s all. 

But was it that simple?
Many factors led up to a moment; be it in real life or a story. It was like a chain reaction of incidents. Sepehr Vale was a catalyst.

The tyrant's advisor. The figure the protagonists were set to serve. He was a thread connecting the two sides.

But yet, he wasn’t a part of the story Zen knew. How could someone so central simply not exist in the narrative? Even if he were to die, his absence from the story defied logic.

Sepehr moved then, not bothering to light the candles, he gradually walked towards the mirror. His hand instinctively moved to the faint mark on his neck. He stood there silently for what felt like an eternity before removing the decorative accessories piece by piece, down to each brooch, intricate clasps, and every fragment of finery; leaving only the earring untouched. Without any wasted movement, he turned and lay down, his face shrouded in shadows.

「You didn’t eat dinner.」

Zen was half convinced that Sepehr could hear him when he spoke directly to him. But there was no response. 

He didn’t pry further and drifted to a corner where moonlight seeped in.
To think this was a different story was the easiest. But for some reason, Zen couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Not yet. It was too soon to reach that conclusion, after all, this was still at least three years before the first act of 'Debt of Blood'.
There were a lot of missing pieces, and too many unanswered questions, but now was not the time to look for them. The answers would come, but not tonight.

For now, Zen put aside these thoughts just as Sepehr did with his accessories, surrendering to the calm of the night, for one last time.