Hiding My Twin Heirs from the Ruthless Prince

CHAPTER 131

POV: Sebastian

They line up too quickly. That is the first thing I notice.

Adrian steps into place before the command is fully spoken. Mark follows half a breath later, jaw set, eyes forward but defiant in the way only he can manage—obedient in body, rebellious in spirit.

It reminds me of myself. And I hate that.

“Again,” I say.

The training yard is quiet except for the scrape of boots against stone and the controlled rhythm of breath. Thirteen years old, both of them, and already their movements are sharp, precise, learned through repetition and pressure.

Not enough pressure, a voice in my head whispers.

I silence it by speaking louder.

“Adrian, faster.”

He moves instantly, sword slicing the air with clean efficiency.

“Mark,” I snap. “Focus.”

“I am focused,” he says.

“Then show it.”

His next strike is harder than necessary, strength overpowering control. The swordmaster shifts uneasily but says nothing. Everyone here knows better than to interrupt.

“Stop,” I bark.

Both boys freeze.

“You’re not listening,” I say to Mark.

“I am,” he replies. “I just don’t agree.”

The words land like a challenge.

“Agreement is irrelevant,” I say. “Obedience is not optional.”

Adrian’s shoulders tense. Mark’s jaw tightens.

“This isn’t a debate,” I continue. “You don’t get to choose what discipline looks like.”

Mark exhales sharply. “And you don’t get to choose who we are.”

Silence slams down around us.

Adrian turns slightly. “Mark.”

“No,” Mark says. “I’m tired of pretending this is about training. It’s about control.”

“That’s enough,” I snap.

“No, it isn’t,” he shoots back. “You don’t even see us. You see what you want us to become.”

I take a step forward before I realize I’m moving.

“You will not speak to me like that,” I say coldly.

Mark doesn’t retreat. “Why? Afraid you’ll hear something true?”

“Mark,” Adrian says sharply now. “Stop.”

I look at Adrian. “And you—don’t correct him. That isn’t your place.”

His face falls. “I was just trying to—”

“To what?” I interrupt. “Manage him? Like you manage everything else?”

He flinches.

The sight of it—small, instinctive—tightens something ugly in my chest.

“Leave,” I say.

Neither moves.

“I said leave,” I repeat, louder.

Adrian bows his head. Mark doesn’t. They turn and walk away, footsteps echoing across the stone.

I don’t call them back.

I should.

But pride holds my tongue still.

Evangeline finds me an hour later in my study.

“You pushed them too far,” she says without greeting.

“They challenged me,” I reply.

“They challenged pressure,” she corrects. “There’s a difference.”

I pour a drink I don’t intend to finish. “Mark refuses to discipline himself. Adrian is too willing to disappear into obedience. That imbalance will destroy them.”

“And yelling fixes that?” she asks.

“I wasn’t yelling,” I snap.

She raises an eyebrow. “Sebastian.”

I turn away. “They need strength.”

“They need safety,” she replies.

“This world is not safe.”

“No,” she agrees. “But their home should be.”

I set the glass down harder than necessary. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re afraid,” she says quietly.

I turn back to her. “Afraid of what?”

“Of failing them,” she answers. “So you’re becoming your father instead.”

The words cut deep and clean.

“That’s unfair,” I say.

“It’s honest,” she replies. “You said you wanted to be better.”

“I am trying,” I say.

“Then stop measuring them by the standards that broke you.”

I run a hand through my hair. “Adrian is withdrawing. Mark is rebelling. If I don’t correct that now—”

“You’re causing it,” she interrupts.

Silence stretches between us.

I look at the desk, the books, the symbols of order I’ve built my life around. “What would you have me do?”

She steps closer. “Listen.”

***

That night, Adrian knocks on my door.

“Enter,” I say.

He steps inside cautiously. “You asked to see me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply.

He hesitates. “I thought—after earlier—”

“Sit,” I say.

He does.

I study him, the careful posture, the way he waits for instruction even now.

“Do you feel responsible for your brother?” I ask.

“Yes,” he answers immediately.

“Why?”

He frowns. “Because someone has to be.”

“Why you?” I press.

“Because he won’t,” Adrian says. “And because if I don’t, everything falls apart.”

I lean back. “That is not your burden.”

“It is,” he insists. “You expect it.”

The accusation is quiet but devastating. I open my mouth to deny it. And realize I can’t.

“You shouldn’t have to carry that,” I say instead.

He looks startled. “Then who will?”

I hesitate. “Me.”

The word feels strange in my mouth.

He nods slowly, uncertain. “Yes, Father.”

When he leaves, the room feels heavier.

***

Mark does not knock. He storms in, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You yelled at Adrian,” he says.

“I corrected him,” I reply.

“For trying to help,” Mark snaps.

“He doesn’t need to manage you.”

“No,” Mark says. “You do. But you don’t. You just push.”

I stand. “Enough.”

“See?” he says bitterly. “That’s all you ever say.”

I step closer. “You want freedom without responsibility.”

“And you want obedience without trust,” he fires back.

The truth lands squarely between us.

“You think I don’t care,” I say.

“I think you care more about the crown than us,” he replies.

The words hurt because I fear they might be true.

“You are my sons,” I say. “Everything I do is for you.”

“Then look at us,” Mark says. “Not at what you’re afraid we won’t become.”

I exhale slowly.

“You are dismissed,” I say, softer now.

He studies me, searching for something—an opening, perhaps.

Then he turns and leaves.

Later, I sit in the dark and remember my father’s voice.

Discipline makes kings. Weakness destroys dynasties. I think of Adrian, shrinking into perfection. Of Mark, pushing against every wall I raise. Of Evangeline, watching me with quiet disappointment.

I rub my face with my hands.

“I’m trying,” I whisper to no one.

But effort without change is just repetition.

And for the first time, I understand the weight of expectation not as something I must place on my sons—but something I must finally set down.