Blood of Dragons (Death #2)

Prologue II

PROLOGUE II

TALON

I gripped the sword by the pommel, doing my best to focus with the audience sitting in the stands. In the center was my father, King Bolton, surrounded on either side by his advisers and guards. Behind him was the view of the sea over the terrace, red flowers growing along the trellis, birds chirping in the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day, but I was coated in sweat like a pig in a sty.

The soldier spun his sword around his wrist then rushed me, trying to throw me off balance by using different tactics every time he came at me, desperate to get me to drop my sword and lose the fight.

His steel was met with mine, and we locked in a battle of flashing swords, moving back and forth, ducking blows and blocking others. He was one of the best soldiers in the army, already selected to be the next general when the current one was killed or retired. There was no one more suited to test me than the best.

He came at me again, and I lunged aside, ducking again when another blow was aimed at my head. I somehow danced out of the way before I blocked the next deadly hit. I pushed against his steel as he pushed into me, and then I finally shoved him off and stepped back.

My father’s opinion meant the world to me, so having his attention caused distress. I wasn’t as confident as I normally would be. I was too distracted to truly focus, not the way I would if I stood there alone. My father showed his love for me every day, but that affection had become an addiction, and I was desperate to earn more and more.

We came together again, exchanging a flurry of blows and the clash of steel. My opponent was covered in sweat too, and his frustration was evident. He didn’t just want to win, but he wanted this to end.

My father raised his hand and made a slight gesture with his fingers.

Another fighter stepped into the arena.

I looked at him, my eyebrows raised.

“You’re capable of more than you realize, son.”

The soldier rushed me again, and this time, I had to watch out for the other soldier who’d joined the fray. I had to battle both men, move around the arena with greater strides, to put distance between one while I engaged with the other.

I was able to keep them at bay, but I was fucking exhausted.

My father raised his hand and beckoned again.

“For fuck’s sake,” I said under my breath.

His regal voice reached me on the stage. “Focus, son.”

Another soldier joined the battle, and it was almost too much. It was hard to strike an offensive blow when I was too busy blocking, when I was too busy moving from one opponent to the other. I couldn’t strike to kill, so I couldn’t eliminate them one by one. I had to continue to divide my attention three ways, to exhaust my body with the fight.

My father raised his hand again.

“Father, I can’t kill them.”

“That’s not the test.”

“Then what is the test?” I snapped.

“See how long you last. Now focus.”

Another soldier joined the arena, and I was butter scraped over too much bread. I couldn’t keep up with four blades, not when I couldn’t slice heads from shoulders. The sweat loosened my grip on the sword, and I nearly let it slip out of my grasp.

Then a blade ended up at my throat, just an inch from contacting the skin.

I let my sword fall to the ground, overpowered.

The soldier removed his blade and stepped away.

Embarrassed by my defeat, I could barely look at my father.

But he clapped. “Excellent work, son.”

I grabbed the sword off the ground and hooked it across my back, my muscles strained in fatigue, the sweat pouring into my eyes and making them burn. It was my opportunity to demonstrate my skills, to show how hard I worked to master the sword as I had. But now I felt humiliated.

I turned away and took a clean rag from the servant to wipe my forehead. I dabbed at the sweat and approached the shade of the trellis, seeing a hummingbird exploring a red flower.

Footsteps sounded behind me before a strong hand gripped my shoulder.

I dabbed at my face again before I tossed the soiled towel onto the nearby table.

“You did well.” It was my father’s voice, possessing strength and affection simultaneously.

“I lost.”

“You were always going to lose, son. That’s the game.”

I turned to look at him, our eyes at the same level because we stood at the same height. He had dark hair the way I did, even the same eyes. I was the perfect image of my father—with a hint of softness from my mother.

His hand remained on my shoulder. “The goal is not to win—but endure. And you endured a great deal, survived some of our finest soldiers for a great deal of time. You should be proud.” He squeezed me. “I know I am.”

I continued to stare into the distance, another wave of sweat dripping down my forehead.

“You act as if you failed.”

“Because I did fail.”

He pulled his hand away. “You’ve endured longer than any other soldier in the ring. Push yourself to greatness, but don’t set expectations that can’t be reached. I’ve enjoyed watching you fight, and it brings me great comfort knowing you’ll lead our people when my time comes.”

I finally turned to look at him.

His eyes softened slightly once our eyes made contact. “I’m proud of you, son.”

“Thank you, Father.”

He grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my brow. “Now wash up. You look like hell.”

I sat on the terrace and looked over the edge, seeing the lights from the village as it hugged the shore. Night had descended, and there was still a humid warmth in the air. The breeze moved through my hair as I sipped my wine.

“There you are.” Silas emerged onto the terrace, wearing a linen shirt and trousers, his signature grin on his face. He pulled out the chair and helped himself to the spot beside me. He grabbed the wine bottle next and filled his glass before he grabbed a few olives from the center of the table. “Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

He continued to eat, helping himself to the food the servants had prepared for me. “What happened?”

I drank my wine and didn’t answer the question.

Silas didn’t push it. He looked over the edge at the dark ocean we could no longer see. “Vivian is looking for you.”

Guilt squeezed my heart.

“It’s not like you not to come home.”

I continued to look at the ocean.

“Father said you did well today.”

“I could have done better.”

“You hold the record for the longest endurance, so I doubt that. You’re just a dramatic overachiever.”

“No. Father holds the record for the longest endurance.”

“But that was like twenty years ago. Old news.”

“I still haven’t broken it.”

Silas drank from his wine and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know you’re the favorite.”

“Father doesn’t have favorites.”

“Bullshit. Yes, he does. And he got lucky that his favorite happens to be his eldest.” He grabbed the glass by the stem and swirled it. “What are you hiding from, exactly?”

“I’m not hiding from anything.”

“You’re literally hiding from everyone.”

“Because this is a secret terrace no one knows about?” I snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I stared over the edge, a white candle burning on the table in front of me, withstanding that ocean breeze as it moved up the cliffs to meet us. “I know when the time comes…I’ll never compare to the king that he was.”

“You’re right,” he said. “You won’t.”

I turned slightly to look at him.

“Because you aren’t Father. You aren’t me. You aren’t anybody but you. Why try to emulate someone you’ll never be, when you can be the best version of you? Be a better king, how about that?”

A gentle smile tugged at my lips. “For being such an idiot, you sure know what to say.”

“I let people think I’m an idiot because I like to lower their expectations. So whenever I do something noble or intelligent, they’re impressed. It’s all about perception.” He tapped his fingers against his temple and gave a wink.

“Very wise.”

“I know.” He sank into his chair with his arms crossed, enjoying the warm sea air as it ruffled through his short hair.

“I appreciate that there’s no animosity between us.”

He turned to look at me.

“I feel the hostility, entitlement, and envy from Uncle Barron and that side of the family, and I’m glad I don’t feel it with you and Rosella. Whenever there’s great power, there’s great envy and, therefore, great anger. I’m thankful we don’t fight among ourselves, that you and Rosella have always supported my inheritance of the crown.”

“You don’t need to get sappy on me.”

“I just wanted you to know that.”

“Truth be told, even if it were offered to me, I wouldn’t take it.”

“Why?” Did he mean that, or was that a lie he told himself?

“Come on.” He looked at me. “My spine isn’t hard enough. Father makes the job look easy, but I know it’s nothing of the sort. You seem like someone who would make the job look easy.”

“You just called me dramatic a minute ago.”

He smirked. “I did, didn’t I?”

I approached the two-story home on the royal grounds, light visible in the windows from the chandeliers. When I tried the door, it was unlocked, so I let myself inside, immediately noticing the smell of a dinner I hadn’t eaten.

I entered the living room and found her.

She was asleep on her side, the blanket pulled to her shoulder, the window cracked open to let the cool air into the room.

I stared at her for a while, seeing the way she’d tried to stay up and wait for me to come home. Her dark hair was all over the pillow, a couple strands right at the corner of her mouth. She slept so soundly I didn’t want to wake her, but I also didn’t want her to sleep there and hurt her back on the thin cushions.

I kneeled down in front of her, gently scooped my arms underneath her, and lifted her with me, the blanket slowly sliding off and hitting the rug.

She stirred slightly, her cheek resting against my chest.

I carried her upstairs, and by the time I got her on the bed, she was awake.

Her eyes were open but sleepy, and her nightdress had shifted up above her belly. “I was worried…” Her voice was raspy because she must have been asleep for hours.

I lay on the bed beside her and placed my hand over her stomach, feeling the bump she couldn’t hide anymore. It was warm to the touch, full of the life we’d made together, her skin so soft. “It was a rough day.”

Her hand moved over mine as her sleepy eyes continued to look at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” My eyes moved to her stomach, where my son or daughter continued to grow in the safety of her perfect belly. I could feel her stare hard on my face, feel it pierce my cheek. But I knew she wouldn’t ask me again. “How’s our love?”

“She’s good.” Her mouth stretched into a soft smile.

“Still think it’s a girl?”

“I know she is.” Her hand remained on mine, her fingertips soft where mine were hard and calloused.

“How?”

“I can’t explain it…I just know. We’ll keep trying until I give you a son.”

I smirked. “I’d want to keep trying even if we had a son.”

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up as she stared at me, the way they always lit up for me and no one else. “One day, I’ll give you an heir. A beautiful boy to take your place when your time comes…and to care for me as I grow into old age.”

My fingers spanned her entire stomach. “I don’t care about that.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispered.

“My father has never treated my sister differently because she’s a girl. And if Silas and I had never been born, I think the crown would be hers. My father would change tradition for her, so I would do the same for our little girl.”

Love burned in her eyes. “I love you.”

My eyes struggled to meet hers because I felt like I didn’t deserve her, even though I busted my ass to deserve her every day. “I love you too.” I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her swollen belly, cupping it with my hand as I loved my child I hadn’t met yet. “With all my heart.”

It was almost dusk, the warm sun setting over the horizon, the ocean deep blue and still. We stood on the royal terrace, clay pots with olive trees placed near tables, colorful flowers pouring over trellises. Torches burned on their pillars, becoming brighter as the day passed into night.

My father sat at the head table, my mother on his right wearing a deep blue satin gown that exposed one shoulder. His brother sat on his left, the two of them locked in deep conversation until they both burst into laughter. The rest of the terrace was full of friends and acquaintances from our other lands, family members we liked and hated. My father insisted on inviting everyone because he preferred to bring everyone together rather than divide them into cliques. Some people thought those moves were about political influence, but I knew his gesture was genuine.

My arms rested over the back of Vivian’s chair, her soft strands coming into contact with my skin when the breeze moved through her hair.

Her hand rested on her swollen belly over her dress as she stared at my father across the terrace. “He looks happy.”

“My father has told me stories about him and his brother. Quite the troublemakers.”

She smirked. “I can see that.”

“Drove my grandmother crazy.”

“Well, I know you and Silas did the same to him.”

“And still do.” I spotted Silas across the terrace, a glass of wine in his hand, mingling with the Earl of Dena.

My brother caught my stare then gave a nod, telling me to meet him on the opposite side of the terrace.

“Speaking of trouble…” I turned to her and kissed her on the temple as I placed my hand over hers on her stomach.

She closed her eyes at my touch like she always did, a warm smile on her face. “Don’t expect me to wait to eat until you get back.”

“I already assumed.” I left the chair and walked through the crowd of people, their voices boisterous as the wine flooded their systems. The musicians played their drums and guitars in the corner, adding another layer of energy to the festivities.

I took the stairs and made my way down, stepping into the empty hallway with my brother nowhere in sight. “Silas?”

“Down here.”

I turned to the left, seeing the staircase that led underground to the storage room, a place we had no business visiting. But instead of shouting back and forth, I decided to descend the stairs, circling the round staircase until I entered the dusty storage space. The lamps burned low in the corners, casting an orange hue against the stone. Large wine barrels were stored there, along with bottles of rich liquor and aged cheeses. The last time I’d been down here was when Vivian and I were sneaking around, having late-night hookups behind the wine barrels. She was of ordinary birth, so we could never be anything more than clandestine lovers. When things got too serious and complicated, I broke it off. But the agony I felt didn’t last a few days or a few weeks. It was the kind of pain that would always last. I told my father I would marry her with or without his approval—and I’d never forget the look on his face.

He was proud.

I married her shortly afterward, and now we expected our first child.

“What are you up to, Silas?” I surveyed the wine barrels stacked throughout the room, a disorganized mess because there was too much for the space to hold. All the members of my family were heavy drinkers, and we were depleting everything in storage as soon as it came in so there was no time to organize it.

“Back here.”

I squeezed through the wine barrels and inched farther into the back of the room, following the maze of containers and then getting a waft of the cheese that was still aging. Vivian and I had stayed away from this section during our midnight rendezvous. “What is it, Silas? My pregnant wife is sitting up there alone.”

He rolled his eyes. “She grew up a commoner. She can handle herself.” He opened one of the cupboards and pulled out a single wine bottle, covered in dust. “I was down here the other day trying to figure out what to get Dad for his birthday, and I found this.” He held up the bottle to me and turned it so the label could catch the light.

I stared at it, my eyes narrowed to read the old script.

“Look at the year.” Silas pointed to the label. “It’s over one hundred years old. I looked at the records, and this is from our great-grandfather’s time. With the way we drink, I’m not sure how we missed this. It must have been hidden in the back all this time. I was thinking of giving it to Father for his birthday gift.”

I held it up higher and turned the bottle, looking at the color of the contents. “The color is off, too bright for a red wine. I wonder if it’s gone bad.”

“Wine doesn’t go bad, idiot.” Silas snatched the bottle back. “You’re just jealous that I have a great gift.”

“I’m giving Father a grandchild. I win.”

He rolled his eyes. “Asshole.”

“I really do think something is wrong with that wine, Silas.”

“You’re an expert now?”

“I’ve overseen wine production in the past. I’m not an expert, but I can spot the difference between wine and piss. It must have spoiled. Perhaps the cork wasn’t sealed properly. You can still present it to him, but I wouldn’t have him drink it. It can be a novelty item, something to put on display in his study.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “Wouldn’t want to make Father sick on his birthday?—”

“No, that one.” A deep voice came from the other side of the wine barrels and storage containers. “Switch those two out, Jairo.”

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at Silas. “Jairo?” I mouthed.

Silas gave a shrug.

Jairo was a cousin, distantly removed on my father’s side. There was also tension with his side of the family, a quiet hostility that was so palpable it didn’t require words. But my father insisted on inviting them to things, as if that would somehow seal the rift between us.

I moved through the maze of barrels and reached the other side of the storage unit, finding Uncle Barron’s two sons, Jairo and Kael. They seemed to have rolled a wine barrel all the way down the stairs without breaking it. “What are you guys doing?”

They both froze on the spot, giving a slight jerk when they were caught by surprise. Jairo immediately looked at Kael, who had his eyes wide as he stared back. A second passed, a silent conversation between them.

Kael, the older brother, was the one to speak. “What are you doing?”

Silas continued to hold the dusty wine bottle he’d found in the back. “We don’t have to explain what we’re doing in our wine cellar. You, however, have no business being here, so I’ll ask again, what the fuck are you doing here?”

My eyes shifted back and forth between them, the animosity so strong between us, it was hard to believe we were related, however distantly. It was a smell in the air, like a rotting corpse. It was repugnant and unmistakable. That was how it always felt in their presence—and it was the worst when Uncle Barron was around. He was no uncle to me, but Father insisted that we call him that.

Kael exchanged another look with Jairo. “We brought our gift to King Bolton. Here’s to many more years.” He nodded to Jairo, and the two brothers took the circular staircase back to the main floor.

I looked at Silas.

He looked at me.

“I don’t like them.”

“No shit.”

I looked at the new wine barrel that had been placed there, looking undistinguishable from the rest that were around. The name of the wine and vintage were written on the wood, coming from the Barsetti Vineyards to the north. The soil was rich in those areas, so their harvests were some of the best. “We should tell Father about this.”

“Tomorrow,” Silas said. “Would hate to ruin his birthday.”

I stood in the great hall, the walls painted with murals of our history, of a great line of kings that had endured for hundreds of years. In my uniform with my sword across my back, I stared at the images of our rich lands, the beautiful sea, the portraits of the kings that came before me, whose ranks I would join once I was dead.

His footsteps were audible against the tile as he approached. “Did you have fun last night?” He was regal in his uniform, the symbol of the black crown woven into it because he refused to wear a crown upon his brow. He called it a tiara.

I turned to him. “I did. What about you?”

“I woke up just an hour ago. That should answer your question.” He came to my side then looked at the mural I had admired a moment ago. “Time passes so quickly, doesn’t it? By the time you understand your own mortality, you’re already so close to death, so close to joining the ranks of those whose time has already passed.”

“Father, you aren’t close to death.”

“I’m closer to death than to birth.” He pulled his eyes from the mural and looked at me. “But enough of that. What brings you here?”

I’d become so absorbed in my conversation with him I’d forgotten the reason for my visit. He had a magnetic presence, something that just sucked you in to the exclusion of everything else. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“Silas and I were in the wine cellar last night?—”

“Yes, he gifted me the wine. It looks like piss, but it’s still quite the souvenir.”

“I’m glad you don’t plan on drinking it.”

“I know my wine, son.” He patted my shoulder. “What were you saying?”

“While we were down there, Jairo and Kael delivered a wine barrel.”

Father stared, as if waiting for the rest of the sentence. “Yes?”

“Said it was a gift for you, but it felt sinister.”

“Sinister, how?”

“By the way they were acting, they knew they shouldn’t be there. Makes me think they were there for nefarious purposes.”

He started to step away, to look at the mural that stretched from the ceiling to the floor. “Why do you assume the worst of people?”

“I don’t assume the worst. Something about that moment unsettled me, and I’m passing that information on to you.”

He stared at the mural. “Well, thank you for letting me know.”

I stared at the side of his face, feeling the annoyance spread from my chest to my gut. “Why do you assume the best of people?”

He stared a moment longer before he turned back to me. “Because that’s the only way life is worth living. I know my heart, and I like to think others share the same sentiment. There may be some bad apples in this world, but most of them are golden.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

“I admire your optimism, Father. But I don’t agree with it.”

He looked at the mural again.

“Any time I’m in their presence, it’s like facing an enemy on the battlefield. I feel the hair on the nape of my neck stand on end. I inhale a breath and hold it—like I’m about to take a knife to the back. Whenever my wife is in their presence, I feel abject terror. Silas shares my sentiment—and I know you do as well—even if you refuse to admit it.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the mural, like he hadn’t listened to a word I said. “They think they’re the rightful heirs to the throne upon which I sit. Of course they’re envious of my power, my wealth, of the admiration the people feel for me. It should all belong to them—in their eyes. What am I supposed to do about that, Talon?” He turned to look at me. “This seed of resentment was planted generations ago, and that weed continues to grow. The tale has become their family legacy, the throne stolen by the power of dragons. The best way to kill something is to let it starve—and I refuse to feed it.”

My eyes were locked on his as I absorbed his words. “You’ve ignored it your whole life, and it continues to grow—so letting it starve isn’t the solution.”

“Then what is the solution?” His voice rose slightly as he stepped closer. “What would you have me do? Behead them? Annihilate their entire line to end the contempt? Anger, frustration, and envy are not good enough reasons to put their necks to the blade.”

“But what if anger, frustration, and envy turn into something more malevolent?”

My father stared, his eyes shifting back and forth between mine. “Kill my own kin for a mere chance?”

“I think they’re planning something. I’ve had my suspicions for some time.”

“And delivering a wine barrel is suspicious?” he asked incredulously.

“Perhaps there was more than wine in that barrel.”

All he did was stare.

Hurried footsteps sounded in the distance, and then Silas joined our conversation. “The wine barrel is gone.” He breathed hard, panting as he caught his breath. “I just checked. It’s not there anymore.”

I looked at Father. “There’s your proof.”

“Looks like the absence of proof if you ask me,” he said calmly.

When Silas caught his breath, he spoke. “Since they were caught, they came back and removed the wine barrel, knowing it could be traced to them. It was probably full of poison. Poison meant for you, Father. For all of us.”

Father looked at the mural again.

Silas looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Shouldn’t you be more upset about this?”

“I never saw the wine barrel,” Father said quietly. “All I have is your perception.”

“You have our facts,” I snapped. “We saw them put the wine barrel in there. Silas just confirmed it’s been removed.”

“Perhaps one of the servants moved it up above,” Father said. “Perhaps it was already served at the party last night. There are several different possibilities, but you assume the absolute worst—that they would try to kill me.”

“Father.” I was losing my temper, but I had to keep it under control. “Our lands may have been at peace for generations, but peace is not a state of permanence, and it will be disrupted at some point. We know Uncle Barron and his kin believe they’re rightful heirs to the throne. We’ve seen proof of that. I admire your commitment to optimism, to seeing everyone in a good light, but that’s simply unrealistic. I will not watch my father get a knife in the back because he refused to look over his shoulder. I want to be king—but only when you’re old and gray and pass in your sleep.”

He looked at the mural again.

“Father, please.” I stared at the side of his face, desperate for him to see reason.

When he spoke, it was with defeat. “What will you have me do? I will not strike them down.”

“You could threaten them,” I said. “Let them know you’re onto their scheme. If their intentions have been treasonous, they’ll back off once they realize we suspect them. That’s the least confrontational and violent way to do it.”

“Threats are just as sharp as the tip of a blade.”

“Then what is our plan?” Silas asked. “Nothing? We just wait for them to make their move?”

Father turned back to us. “I’ve been the recipient of Uncle Barron’s resentment. It started a long time ago, when we were teenagers, and despite my kindness, it’s continued to grow. If he hasn’t moved against me in all these decades, I doubt he ever will.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption to make.” I respected my father, admired his intelligence and strategy, but this was something that divided us. And it would always divide us.

He looked at us both head on. “I appreciate your concern, boys. I know you’re always watching my back and protecting our kingdom.” He gave a nod then turned to walk away, to return to his royal chambers deeper inside the castle.

We stood there together, struggling in silence long after he was gone.

Silas was the one to speak first. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if there’s much we can do.”

“We can confront them ourselves.” He looked to me, his eyes hesitant.

I held his stare and felt the tightness in my stomach. “Father would be livid.”

“Well, Father is being a pussy right now.”

I wanted to defend him like always, but I couldn’t do it this time.

“I understand he wants to be a king who rules without fear, who earns the loyalty of those who follow him, but we all know Uncle Barron and the others are a threat to us all. Doing nothing is the wrong decision.”

I stepped away and crossed my arms over my chest, looking at the painting on the wall that must have taken years to complete. Everything about the castle and the royal grounds was steeped in art and luxury. Vivian and I occupied a home outside the castle now, and one day, we would move in to the castle and call it home.

“I think you should be the one to talk to him.”

I turned to look at my younger brother.

“You’re better at that shit.”

“Only because I don’t cuss every few words.”

“I’m serious.”

I looked at the painting again and gave a sigh.

“It must be done, Talon. I won’t let our family look like a bunch of fools—dead fools.”

“What if it provokes a retaliation?”

“Retaliation?” he asked incredulously. “You speaking to him is the retaliation.”

“It could provoke him to make a bigger move.”

“If he makes a bigger move, then Father will be able to see it.” My brother continued to stare at me. “It must be done—and it must be you.”

Uncle Barron and his relations were distant connections to the throne, so they weren’t permitted residence on the royal grounds at the top of the cliff with a breathtaking view of the Northern Sea. But my father was generous and granted them handsome accommodations in the city, palaces with gates, higher up the hill than the commoners, with views of the vineyards, and food and goods that were paid for by the castle.

It was more than they deserved.

I rode my horse all the way down the cliffs then took the road along the side of the mountain, entering the rich hillsides full of olive trees and grapes fresh on the vine. The hooves of my horse kicked up dirt along the way, the summer air dry.

I approached the gate to Uncle Barron’s property, and his guards granted me entry. I rode to the double doors of his villa, and one of his servants took my horse and escorted him to the stables where he could have a drink from the trough.

I was escorted inside the parlor, offered a refreshment, and then I sat there alone as I waited for my hosts. There was a stone fireplace against one wall, more for ornamentation than actual use because it was hardly ever cold here. The arms of the furniture had a golden veneer, and the wallpaper was the color of blush. It wasn’t a castle—but it was still more wealth than the villagers could ever imagine.

Moments later, Uncle Barron entered, eyes and hair dark like my father’s. There were distinct differences to his facial features that noted the divide in our family tree, but the relation was still undeniable. The second he looked at me, it was there—the hostility. He approached me slowly, sizing me up like a rat found in his cupboard. He moved to the couch across from me and didn’t bother to bow or shake my hand…or offer any kind of gesture whatsoever.

It was rude and disrespectful—and worthy of a beheading.

But I kept my mouth shut.

He sat across from me. “This is a first. What brings you all the way down from your palace of riches?”

“I don’t live in a palace.”

“But you live on the palace grounds, do you not?”

I could see the glint of greed in his eye, the obsession. “My furniture isn’t covered in gold.”

His eyebrows furrowed at the comeback.

“My wife and I live in humble accommodations, a fraction of this size, and we’re perfectly happy. Perhaps you should appreciate what you have instead of always wanting more.”

“Easy for you to say…heir to the throne.”

We exchanged verbal blows back and forth and dug the trench of resentment even deeper. Now I seemed to be in a worse position than when I started. “I’m sure Jairo and Kael mentioned our encounter in the wine cellar.”

Uncle Barron stared at me so hard, with the visage of a stone statue whose features had been worn down by time.

“When Silas returned to inspect the wine barrel that was supposed to be a gift for my father, it was gone.”

He gave me nothing. Fought as hard as he could to feign complete indifference.

“A bit peculiar, to take back a gift.”

“I was unaware that my sons had a gift for the king.”

I gave a slow nod. “Oh, I’m sure.”

“Perhaps there was some kind of defect with the barrel, and they’ll extend their gift once it’s ready.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe it was full of poison.”

There was a subtle narrowing of his eyes, but the rest of his face remained blank.

“I just suggested there was poison in the barrel, and you have no reaction. That’s a bit peculiar.”

“It’s a ridiculous accusation, m’lord.”

“But you seemed prepared for the accusation. Rehearsed, even.”

His eyes narrowed a bit more.

“I did some research in the royal library. It’s never been confirmed, but scholars believe that Haitus Volietum, my great-uncle, poisoned my grandfather in an attempt to jump the line and receive the crown. Find it hard to believe a man would do that to his own brother… But to some people, blood is as thick as water.”

His eyes remained glued to mine, refusing to give away even an ounce of emotion.

“Poisoning my father would be a bit poetic, wouldn’t it? It didn’t correct the royal line the first time, but perhaps it could work the second time.”

He gave me nothing. Nothing at all.

“So a dragon’s magic didn’t save my grandfather. It righted the wrongs of a murderer.”

He was trim with cords up his neck, his face inherently unkind, even when he was spotted chuckling across the room. He had a darkness in his gaze that was unmistakable, a lack of the brightness my father possessed. Somehow he conveyed nothing in that moment—but still showed how much he despised me.

I spoke again. “I’m happy to forget this conversation ever took place. I’m happy to move forward and leave the past in the dirt with our ancestors, to live in the moment and appreciate what we have. I’ve extended my olive branch—and I hope you take it.”