The Blinding

My father's funeral unfolded with all the expected solemnity, an occasion for mourning that enveloped the palace in an air of melancholy. Yet, as mourners wept openly and paid their respects, I stood apart, my demeanor a study in detached indifference. I had little reason to grieve; my relationship with my father had always been distant, our connections strained by his relentless pursuit of power.
As I observed the elaborate display of grief, my thoughts drifted back to my upbringing, marked by my father's unceasing desire for a male heir. Aadan, my younger brother, had briefly held that position until his untimely death in infancy. I was never the son my father had hoped for, and he had begrudgingly turned his attention to me only after Aadan's passing. But I was not the successor he had envisioned, and I had always felt the weight of his disappointment.
My mother, too, had regarded me as frivolous and silly throughout my life. She had often been dismissive, thinking me inconsequential compared to the aspirations she held for my younger brother. Her opinions were disregarded during council meetings, and I had been underestimated my whole life. I could sense her frustration and the isolation that gnawed at her, as she yearned for a connection that remained elusive.
In the wake of my father's death, I found myself thrust into a whirlwind of meetings and briefings, forced to navigate the treacherous waters of politics for which I was ill-prepared. My father had not deemed it necessary to groom me for such responsibilities, leaving me to grapple with the intricacies of governance in his absence.

Once the dreadful gathering was over, I'd been called to yet another meeting, with my father's chief advisor Samater, and Loyaan's righthand, Dahir. Dahir shifted uneasily in his seat, but still he said nothing; a coward who had betrayed Loyaan out of fear for his own safety. My face remained impassive as I looked at him, hiding any trace of disdain that lingered beneath the surface, but I vowed to make him pay as soon as I got the chance.
"Dahir here has informed us," Samater began, "that the mage responsible for your father's death was once a servant in the palace."

Before the name was even spoken, a suspicion had already begun to stir within me. Her presence had lingered in the shadows, a specter haunting my thoughts.
"Oh," I replied, keeping an air of nonchalance. But I somehow already knew the name that would come out of his mouth. In all her insignificance, she had taunted me since the day she'd fled.
Friend, she'd once called me, and I her. But beneath that façade lay a tangled history, one that now threatened to unravel further. Her actions had thrust us into a war, and I knew that to emerge victorious, I would need to set aside sentiment and embrace the ruthless determination that was my birthright. She would be crushed just like the rest of her mutinous tribe. With every force at my disposal. If it was war she wanted, then war she would get. I would show no mercy.
Samater began again, his words pulling me from my savage thoughts. "We are told her name is Tissa."