Oathbound

The Gentle Heir ( Brothers At Odds

📖 The Gentle Heir

Chapter 3: Brothers at Odds

The sun rose over Castle Vanyria like a blade of fire cutting through the mist.

Elian was already awake.

He stood at the edge of the training yard, watching the soldiers drill. Swords flashed in the morning light, shields clanged, and boots stamped in perfect unison. Yet Elian’s mind was elsewhere. His father’s words from yesterday still rang in his ears:

“Perhaps you’ve chosen the wrong heir.”

He tightened his grip on the wooden practice sword in his hand. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the sting of them.

“Why so serious, brother?”

Elian turned just in time to see Darius striding across the yard, his swagger unmistakable. His younger brother carried himself like someone who already wore the crown — chin high, shoulders squared, a wolfish grin fixed on his face.

“Don’t tell me Father’s words hurt your feelings,” Darius went on, circling him. “If you can’t handle his disappointment, how will you handle the weight of the throne?”

Elian said nothing at first. He lowered his practice sword and faced Darius squarely.

“You don’t need to provoke me, Darius. You’ve already made it clear where you stand.”

Darius chuckled and plucked a second practice sword from the rack.

“And where is that, exactly?”

“You want the crown,” Elian said flatly.

Darius twirled the sword in his fingers with casual ease.

“Can you blame me? Someone has to lead. And let’s be honest, brother — you’re too soft for it.”

That word — soft — sent a chill down Elian’s spine. The same word his father used.

But he only tightened his jaw and stepped onto the sparring circle.

“Then show me how a true king fights,” he said.

For a moment, Darius blinked, surprised. Then his grin widened.

“Finally. I thought you’d never ask.”

The sparring began civilly enough — a few cautious strikes, a few measured blocks. But quickly, it escalated.

Darius fought the way he always did — aggressively, with no concern for honor or restraint. His blows were wild and heavy, his movements fast, almost brutal. Elian countered with precision, his stance steady, his parries clean.

A crowd of soldiers and squires began to gather around the circle, watching in silence as the two princes clashed.

“You think the people will love you into power?” Darius snarled between strikes. “They don’t care about love. They want someone who can crush their enemies.”

Elian deflected another blow and countered with a swift jab that nearly knocked the sword from Darius’s hands.

“And what happens,” Elian shot back, “when you become the enemy they fear?”

For the first time, Darius’s grin faltered.

But only for a moment.

With a roar, he lunged, driving Elian back. The younger prince slammed his shoulder into his brother’s chest, sending Elian sprawling onto the dirt. The crowd gasped.

Darius stood over him, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

“You’ll never rule this kingdom,” he hissed, low enough for only Elian to hear. “Father will see to that. And when he does, I’ll make sure your precious little peasants remember who their king truly is.”

Elian’s fingers curled into the dirt. Slowly, he got to his feet, met Darius’s glare, and spoke just as quietly.

“And when they rise against you, brother… don’t expect me to save you.”

Later that morning, Elian sat in the library, a cool breeze drifting through the tall windows. His hands were still trembling faintly from the sparring match, but his mind was sharper than ever.

He poured over the old histories of Vanyria — stories of kings who ruled with cruelty, kings who ruled with mercy, and the rebellions that brought them both down. He read until his eyes ached and the words blurred together.

At some point, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Lenara stood in the doorway, her gown whispering against the floor.

“I heard about the sparring,” she said softly.

Elian closed the book and looked up at her.

“Did Father?”

“He was watching from the balcony,” she admitted.

Elian’s heart sank.

“And?”

Her eyes were full of sadness.

“And he left before it was over. Without a word.”

That evening, a banquet was held in the great hall. The nobility of Vanyria gathered in their finest silks and jewels, feasting on roasted boar and honeyed figs while musicians played in the corner.

Elian took his seat at his father’s table, directly across from Darius, who smirked at him over his goblet.

Halfway through the meal, Harun raised his hand. The hall fell silent.

“I have an announcement,” the king said, his voice carrying easily through the vast chamber. He rose to his feet, his dark cloak pooling behind him.

He glanced at Elian — just for a heartbeat — then let his gaze settle on Darius.

“I have decided,” Harun continued, “to name my sons co-commanders of the royal guard. Each will lead half of our forces and oversee the city watch in turn.”

Polite applause broke out around the hall, though there was a note of confusion in the air.

Elian forced a smile, though his chest felt tight. Co-commanders?

Harun raised his goblet.

“Let this be a test. A king must command his people — and his brother — with strength. Only one of you will wear this crown when I am gone.”

His eyes gleamed as he drank.

The implication was clear.

It was no longer just a matter of winning his father’s approval.

Now it was a contest.

And Elian realized, as he looked at Darius’s triumphant grin, that his brother would stop at nothing to win.

That night, Elian stood at his window again, the stars scattered above him like shards of broken glass.

He thought of the people in the city below — the children he’d helped, the beggars he’d fed, the families who cheered when he walked through their streets.

He thought of Darius, and his promise to make them all fear the crown.

And he whispered to himself:

I cannot let that happen. Not while I draw breath.

Even if it meant fighting his own brother.

Even if it meant losing his father forever.

Elian straightened his shoulders, and for the first time in his life, he let the weight of the crown settle fully on his mind.

He would prove them both wrong.

He would be the king they needed — not the king they deserved.