**Haaa!**
Leor shot upright, chest heaving like a weight had crushed him. His breath came in ragged gasps, the air thick—until suddenly, it wasn't.
*Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.*
He repeated it like a mantra.
The tension eased. A familiar scent—flowers and shampoo—filled his nostrils. Warm sunlight spilled through the window, bathing his small room in gold.
"Leor, wake up! It's seven, and you'll be late for class!"
Clara's voice snapped him back. His sister stood by his cluttered study table, organizing a chaos of university notes and history books. He'd stayed up late studying for exams, and it showed.
*Just a nightmare…*
"You're finally up," Clara sighed, hands on her hips. "You can't keep skipping sleep. Take care of yourself."
Leor rubbed his eyes, a painful twist in his gut. At twenty-two, Clara still looked years younger—pale, poised, like a noblewoman in her worn linen gown. Her brown hair was tied in a bun, strands clinging to her forehead.
"I know," he mumbled. "Sorry for the mess. I'll clean up after freshening. Only one class at eleven today."
Clara narrowed her sharp green eyes, then nodded. "Hurry. Breakfast is almost ready."
She paused, hesitating. "If you want to talk… I'm here." Then she left.
Leor smiled faintly. *Just a nightmare. No need to worry her.*
He straightened his desk, set aside his notes, and headed to the bathroom.
Their small house—three rooms, one bathroom, a modest kitchen, and a living room—was cozy for the three of them: Leor, Clara, and James. James had the downstairs bedroom; Clara and Leor shared the upstairs. The bathroom was a blessing, except in summer's unbearable heat.
After washing up, Leor slipped into a white cotton shirt, black trousers, and his prized black leather shoes. He grabbed his silver pocket watch from the dressing table—its platinum surface gleaming, green gemstones catching the light. A family heirloom, passed down from their mother to James, then to him.
Leor adjusted his collar, meeting his reflection: ember-green eyes, tousled brown-black hair, a bookworm's frame with a hint of muscle. A strange feeling washed over him.
*I've done this before…*
Brushing off the déjà vu, he headed downstairs, where the rich aroma of coffee greeted him.
"Finally," James said, glancing up from his newspaper. "You take longer than most women."
Leor smirked. "And what do you know about women? Have you even spoken to one besides Clara?"
James spat his coffee, grumbling as he wiped the paper.
"Did you see the news?" James asked, shifting gears.
"Not yet. What's happened?" Leor slid into the chair beside him.
"Queen Victoria was assassinated. By her own daughter."
Leor nearly dropped his coffee. "What? The empire must be in chaos. And with Lavenham already at war—"
Clara set down a plate of bread and eggs, joining in. "Riots are breaking out. Maybe even a revolution. The royal family's under pressure to crown a new ruler."
"Her husband will take the throne," James said, biting into his bread. "He benefits the most."
Leor frowned. "You think King Edward was behind it?"
"Of course. He's framing Princess Flora. Why else would a daughter kill her doting mother?"
"Why are we talking conspiracy this early?" Leor sighed.
"It's not conspiracy if I'm right," James shot back. "But you should care, Leor. You're joining the military. Who rules the empire matters."
Leor scoffed. "I'm not joining to die for the Empire. It's for the money."
Clara sat down, exasperated. "Enough. If anyone heard you, we'd be arrested—or worse."
James raised his hands. "Alright, alright. But I've got good news."
He pulled a folded yellowish paper from his coat, sliding it across the table.
Clara grabbed it first, eyes lighting up. Leor leaned in, their faces nearly touching as they read together.