When Coltair awoke the next morning, the palace was in chaos. Zephen was brought to his apartment and unceremoniously dumped in his company. Regardless he was a grown man, they were both ordered to stay there until summoned.

“What is this about, Zephen?” Coltair growled, getting out of his bed and pulling on a loose robe. He moved to the bathroom without waiting for his brother to reply.

When he returned moments later, Zephen’s expression didn’t indicate he could explain any better. His brother shrugged and shook his head in mute reply.

“A security breach of some kind?” Coltair offered.

Zephen turned toward the lounge chair by the window and lay down, lifting his arm to pillow his head. He too was still in his bed clothes.

Coltair huffed, moved to his door and yelled at the guards there that someone bring them some coffee.

An hour later, his brother sipped his second cup but hadn’t offered any idle chatter. Ordinarily, Zephen easily filled the empty air.

“So?” Coltair asked finally. He stretched far back in a sitting chair, slouched with his knees slack and wide, his arms draped over the arms and near touching the floor. “What’s new?”

Zephen stopped the cup inches from his lips. His eyes bounced up to his brother’s.

Coltair frowned. “We’re stuck here. Tell me something I don’t know,” he invited. “And skip the court gossip,” he added.

Zephen took a quick sip but lowered the cup to the saucer and pursed his lips to take an extra second.

“I-I-I-I would like to marry Cariana,” he said.

This was more than idle news. Coltair, instead of scowling at him, cocked his head.

Zephen only shrugged. “Truth.”

“Is there a chance she’s the mother of any of your children?” Coltair asked, only a slight air of disapproval in his voice.

Zephen frowned and scratched behind his ear.

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“Whatever. Do what you want when Father’s dead. I don’t care,” Coltair told him. Zephen’s expression brightened. “Just don’t ask me to legitimize any of the bastards. Pick a wife, hell pick ten, but sire one line. Fair?” he added.

Zephen took a deep breath. “Deal,” he agreed but with some reluctance.

Coltair could only chuckle. Grinning, he leaned to grab his own coffee and sip it. It was tepid and reminded him that he had been kept waiting long enough.

Setting the cup down with a clatter, he stood. Zephen didn’t follow. Almost at the door, it opened before Coltair reached the handle. His mother, dressed elaborately in sheer layers of black silk and gossamer edged in gold, her robes swirling out from her movement, arrived and stopped in front of him. Her expression was grave but determined and formal. He distrusted it immediately.

With an odd, dramatic flourish, Ewa drew her hand to her bosom and lifted the other.

“Prince Coltair, my dearly beloved firstborn,” she said loudly and Coltair noticed the crowd in the hallway. Zephen had come up to stand at his shoulder. “The emperor, our loving and precious father and giver, is dead,” she said finally and dropped her eyes and head in low, implied sadness.

Coltair, having crossed his arms at the first sight of his mother, now lowered them in surprise. “Dead?” he asked.

Zephen gasped behind him.

“Dead, dear son,” his mother went on. Coltair recovered himself but his mother, still in her dramatic pose, her eyes shut in false grief, was beginning to irritate him. She’d certainly taken her time to dress that morning before telling him.

“Thank you,” he said firmly. “I await the court's arrangements,” he said and turned away so she was standing alone, save for Zephen, whom she had yet to acknowledge.

Startled that Coltair hadn’t offered her condolences or any greeting, the empress stood in awkward silence.

“Condolences, Exquisite Mother,” Zephen said to her and bowed low. “Our great father was a giving and generous man. We will miss him.”

Ewa’s eyes flashed in anger. She shot an irritated scowl at Coltair, whirled around and left.

“I really wish she didn’t hate me so much,” Zephen said when the door closed. “I really can’t recall what it is I ever did to her.”

“After me, what use did she have for you?” Coltair changed into day clothes, not waiting for his valet. His hands moved fast to fix his buttons and tuck his shirt into his waistband.

Zephen looked up at him, but there was no malice there. He splayed out his hands and grimaced. “Still not my fault, is it?”

Coltair huffed and shrugged. He grabbed his wide royal sash of gold and blue and began tying it fast.

“What will you do, brother?” Zephen asked him. “What should I do?”

“Dress. Appropriately,” Coltair replied and added the second with emphasis. “As of this day, Mother’s authority expires, my brother. Don’t let her treat you like a peasant from now on.”

Zephen rolled his eyes. “I said no more,” Coltair reaffirmed. “If she so much as looks at you like that again, correct her firmly. Remind her who you are, my brother, the emperor’s senior advisor,” he added and waited.

Zephen smiled lightly. “Finally, brother,” he agreed. “Your time has arrived.”

Coltair actually grinned. “And not a moment too soon.” He patted his brother strongly once on the shoulder, then left alone.