Chaos erupted and boiled over like an untended pot.

Merin watched, amused by the words thrown her way. It was funny that she was being asked by several men and women who she was. Everyone talked over each other, so she pretended not to understand for more chaos.

One voice was clear and more authoritative than the rest. It came from a young scholarly-looking man. His voice brought a calming hush across the enraged faces.

"Aram, who is this woman?" He said.

"Rutilus Aram," Merin said. "You should add the proper title. Regardless of your ties."

The nameless dozens of faces turned their gaze back on Merin. Each had different emotions staring holes into her. She stared back, unrepentant or uncaring. She had escaped the trappings of noble families but remembered how to play their games.

"She is my Russus," Red said.

It shouldn't be a surprise for any of Red's brothers or concubines. The only women allowed to wear orange in the Habrin Empire were royal concubines. Russus was the kinder way to title these women.

They were afforded an opulent life or a time of poverty depending on which prince they ended up with. Their lives became tied to whichever harem they entered. If their prince rose to become the Emperor, then whichever Russus he favored most became his consort.

It was a custom different from what the Habrin Emperors of old used to do. Russus and Rutilus were titles and roles the Habrin Empire stole and copied from the country of Rusin. It was one of many lands the Habrin Empire razed to the ground after they stole all the natural resources and customs they desired.

Seeing the people Merin had spent so much time learning about these past few weeks was quite fun. Red hadn't left details out like the colors they were forced to don. She could tell who his brothers were and, from their descriptions of their characteristics, guess which was which.

Telling everyone apart took a lot of work. Everyone wore varying shades of red, brown, black, and orange. It was one big splash of the sun rising.

"Enough."

A firm voice who had yet to speak snapped everyone's mouth shut. Everyone in the banquet hall snapped their head down except for Red and Merin.

A man who sat on what looked like a bench stood up. Due to her lessons, Merin knew that this was the Habrin version of a throne. It was ornate, but considering the throne her father had sat on, it was not impressive.

"Father," Red said. There was a distinct hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Merin peeked at him to see his expression.

The Emperor of Habrin was the only man allowed to wear red, black, gold, and silver robes. It was expected of him to dress in several layers of these colors.

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This man was wearing black leather that rippled as he moved. And he was striding over to them. She thought the Emperor wasn't supposed to be so spry. He was a man in his sixties, after all.

The closer he got, the more wrong it felt to look at him. Something was off about this man, and Merin instinctively stepped back.

When he was finally three feet away, she realized why she wanted to run out the door.

He was wearing a skin mask on his face. His eyes were burned out hollowed ducts. And they were barely covered by the mask.

Merin bit her lips as she pondered how this emperor could see without eyeballs.

"Aram, we've missed you. You've grown so much since we last saw you. I'm glad you could come back on such an auspicious day."

The freaky-looking emperor then took Red away from her. The two disappeared. She assumed Red would talk about his travels that separated him from his family.

Merin stared at the rows of faces turning their ire towards her with Red gone.

"Shit." She said in her native tongue.

"These are serious accusations."

Red stared at the man who spoke. He wasn't stupid enough to tell the truth about what happened to him. At best, it would be treated as sibling rivalry. At worst, there would be consequences for all.

The branding on his arm was what the Tyrin Nomads used. It was unreplicable magic that they could weld due to their craft. It was the only irrefutable piece of evidence he could use.

"Cut the shit, Sosia," Red said.

The man quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. "How could you tell?"

"There's no way the Emperor would cut through tension like that. He'd sit back and drink wine as he watched his sons bicker. Also, your face mask doesn't have the right thickness. He prefers supple skin when he picks them."

"Rutilus Aram, I am in awe of your observation. It took your brothers two weeks before they realized."

"Where is he?" Red said. A knot of tension was building in his head. How could he kill his father and brothers if the most significant target was using his Sosia to take his place?

"No one knows." The Sosia said with a shrug. "He slips away to the slums some days. He was setting off to sea the last time he checked in."

Red's head began to throb, "Who is running things?"

"The other Rutilus are. They refuse to return to their provinces. They're fearful that any of the other Rutilus will take over in their absence."

"And you," Red said. "As his Sosia, he can use your body like a puppet to take his place."

All Red got for that was a nod. It was a secret that every Sosia was strung up with strings to be used by every Emperor to do with as they saw fit.

"Has he physically checked in or only entered your body? When was my father last seen?" Red said. His mouth burned, as always, when he called that man father.

"He only checks in by taking over my body." The Sosia said without a hint of emotion.

Red didn't bother wasting a single second more on the Sosia. Although the man had given him credit for recognizing who he was, there was one straightforward reason why Red knew he wasn't his father.

Red's blood didn't react as the man got closer. His abilities granted him the knowledge of blood connections. He could feel that pull through touch or proximity. Naturally, it was the same with his brothers. It was one of the reasons he gave everyone so many chances over the years.

How could you hate someone you feel instinctively tied to? With just a touch, that blood connection filled him with strength, comfort, and the knowledge of shared blood.

Those feelings would be mutual if his brothers shared his mother's side. They would have the power of blood and see why the Elan Nation lived the way they did. His brothers' blood ran Habrin strong, and like their forefathers, they preferred to cut off branches of the family tree instead of encouraging them to grow and spread.

Habrin saw the family as rivals, not blood.

It was easier for Red to lament this again than focus his attention on just how fucked he was.

His seed donor was calaventing about the damn world while his blood-hungry sons were chomping at the bit to see which one would take over. He left the world in ruins through his greed and then ditched the reins as another big fuck you.

To kill the man, he would have to find him first.