ᴡᴍᴍᴀᴘ: ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

Snitch.

TW/CW: blood, violence, etc. 

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Ijekiel watches as his mother succumbs to her illness, and in just a few days her health had deteriorated to the extent where she calls him to her side. 

She clutches his hands with her own, and her pale, waned face gives him a trembling smile that was reminiscent of spring days gone past. 

"Don't hate your father, Ijekiel. He's doing what's best for our family, hmm?" 

Ijekiel couldn't feel the numb tears that trickled down his cheeks as his mother's hands fell from his and her eyes closed for the last time.

Ijekiel feels a pain in his chest that could never, ever, be healed.

Instead of going around to search for the best medicine and the best doctors, his father had sat back and pampered Jennette with toys and gifts. 

Jennette who wasn't even of their bloodline- not even of the farthest cousin, and she who just happened to have the imperial blood, in turn, made her worth more than mother?

Jennette who doesn't care or know that his mother was dying? Jennette who was a foolish girl to her core and wasn't good enough to be the next ruler? 

Everything revolved around Jennette, and Ijekiel hated it. 

Ijekiel looks at them through the open doorway, and the sound of her laughter and his father's voice makes him want to throw everything away.

Just that morning they had stood in front of his mother's grave and under the guise of comforting him, his father had wrapped him into his arms, and in a low, dark voice, tells him, "Sacrifices have to be made to achieve what we desire most, Ijekiel. Understand that - was not be the first one we will have to make in the years to pass." 

He straightens his back again, the perfect image of a grieving husband.

Ijekiel's arms that were halfway to hugging his father back fall short of their destination, and they fall limp at his sides. So this was what it had come to. 

He stands there long after the mourners had gone, those with their fake tears and black veils, white handkerchiefs and roses. They were all filthy.

Jennette who held his father's hand and a doll in the other, Countess Judith who smiled behind her feathered fan, his own father- his flesh and blood who only looked at Jennette with eyes that told him all he needed to know. 

This family of his- he would watch it all burn to the ground.

He continues to eat with them in the mornings. He spends his days as if he were only a mere scholar entering the palace everyday, but only he knew where his true loyalties lay.

His knees bend and meet the crimson carpet and doesn't look up until a voice sounds out. "Raise your head, son of Alpheus." 

His majesty sits on a throne of gold that shines under the lights and Ijekiel can see the sheer power that could overwhelm even the highest of powers. 

For he- no, for they- were the answer to Jennette and his father.

Her highness just off to the side as if she were unsure of her place, but Ijekiel knew she had the intelligence and wits about her that were not yet fully used to their highest capabilities. 

If only his majesty could see that too- then Jennette would have no place in this glimmering palace.

He bows once more, his golden eyes once clear and bright, now dim and yet, bewitching, blink once before continuing.