CHAPTER 6: SIBLING RIVALRY

"What do you want, old man?" The young woman in armor demanded as she strode through the door.

"Xanthe, I told you to behave," our father reprimanded sharply. "You're not a child anymore, you are royalty. Act like it!"

My eyes did not deceive me. It was her, the Xanthe I had once known. But she had grown into a striking young woman.

Why is she here? And how is it possible that she, too, is of royal blood?

She studied us for a moment, her gaze lingering before turning away, as if seeing us for the first time. I could sense her shock, mirroring my own. Yet, my mother remained composed. She knew exactly what was happening. Looking around, I noticed something unsettling, no one seemed to care about my appearance, about how different I was.

"Youngest, this is your family," my father said, gesturing toward the assembled figures. One by one, he introduced them.

Xanthe, the firstborn, my sister. She had lost her mother at a young age. The first queen of the Colossals, our father's childhood love.

The older woman was Naveah, the second wife and the first queen by title. A woman of royal descent, she had been part of an arranged marriage. Her son, Joaquin, the young man who bore a striking resemblance to our father, was my eldest brother.

The elegant woman beside her was Caitriona, the third wife and second queen. Renowned as the most beautiful woman in Caelum, her son, Keane, was my second eldest brother.

It all made sense now. Xanthe and I were siblings. I recalled her once mentioning that my mother had been a servant in their household.

Then my mother spoke. "My son still has no name."

A tense silence filled the room. The queens and their sons frowned, as if she had uttered something forbidden. But my father only laughed.

"You've changed, Rhea. Fine," he declared. "From now on, the boy's name shall be Tiny."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Then, my father's expression darkened. "The reason I've gathered you all here today is to announce that, beginning next month, the Battle of Succession will commence."

The room fell into stunned silence. He had to be joking. The Battle of Succession could only take place after the reigning successor had passed.

"Unlike my ancestors," he continued, "you will fight while I still live. I will personally forge the next king to be worthy of the throne. From this day forward, you are all rivals."

The weight of his words settled over us. Only one could claim the throne. The rest would have to die.

I saw the panic in my mother's eyes and in the queens'. No mother wished to lose a child.

My father turned to me, his voice deep and commanding. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Tell me, Tiny, do you think your head is heavy enough?"

He let out a thunderous laugh that echoed through the great hall.

"If you win, your mother will never kneel to anyone again. And I will grant you a name worthy of a king."

His laughter rang out again, filling the vast chamber with a sound both ominous and inevitable.