Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Dirk
It was a lie. It had to be.
“They covered it up because they were ashamed of my appearance,” Mirko continued, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “They thought I would be unable to command the respect of those around me, because I was blessed with this mark.”
He touched the large blackened patch of skin that ran down the left side of his face from temple to jaw, as if it were some sort of gift from an ancient god.
That was how I knew he was full of shit. All his life, Mirko had spoken about how he hated the disfigurement and the blame he placed on his parents for it. He treated it as a hideous piece of him that he could use to make his opponents uncomfortable so they’d give him what he wanted.
In no way did he think it was a blessing. Even now, as I continued watching everyone but Mirko, I saw his son’s face twist ever so slightly in disgust.
Andrik was everything his father wasn’t when it came to appearances.
His hair was never simply let down. It was always teased, coiffed, primped and twisted into some sort of fashion statement.
His clothing was immaculate, perfectly tailored and always formal.
Even now the sleek black fabric of his tunic sported gaudy beaded lines of white threading throughout that was mirrored by his hair, the curled and pinned locks bound with little black braids.
But he was just as much an arrogant, egotistical asshole as his father while sharing his mother’s penchant for cruelty. The entire family had thrived under my father and were now chafing from the changes and rules Caz was trying to implement.
Casimir raised his hand, signaling for silence. “That is quite the claim,” he said.
I marveled at the lack of worry in his voice. Did he understand what Mirko was up to with this play? What it meant?
Of course he does. Caz knows what he’s doing. Stop focusing on him, and do your job.
“It is no claim,” Mirko replied, standing his ground. “It is the truth.”
“So you say. I have yet to hear anything from Yellena herself, for starters. Nor have you presented any proof that she is who she says.”
Mirko’s birthmark twisted as he sneered. “Her word is her proof.”
Caz tilted his head back and laughed. “And I say you aren’t actually my father’s twin, and that mark on your face is from the surgery performed to try to make you look like him.”
Mirko slashed his hand violently in denial. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Of course it is,” Casimir replied coldly, leaning forward from the throne. “Because it was said without proof. Without anything to back it up. It was simply my word. In this throne room, we require proof of accusations.”
“Tell him,” Mirko commanded to the ancient shifter at his side.
I was listening, but my eyes were on Andrik, which is why I saw the way his fingers slowly clamped down around Yellena’s wrist when his father spoke.
“It is so,” Yellena replied. “I was there the night the twins were born. A rarity in dragon society, it caused quite the stir on its own. But when your grandsire saw the face of his firstborn, he nearly ordered the babe cast into the fire. His mate saved both her children by suggesting they claim the order of birth was reversed. That Hatveik came first. Not Mirko.”
The room erupted once more at the woman’s testimony. Most seemed surprised, even stunned, by the depth of the supposed cover-up. The lines of belief seemed to be falling similar to those who usually supported Casimir, against those who did not. There were no notable surprises.
“That may be so,” Caz said once the room had calmed again, and the eyes of the Elite focused on him. “But we will need further proof for this claim to be given any credibility. Records, others who can corroborate her claim of employment for the tyrants of centuries past.”
I stifled a smile at the look of shock on Mirko’s face.
He must have expected Casimir to deny him, to throw the case out. If he’d done that, Mirko would most likely have called him weak and afraid. At that point, Caz would have been forced to challenge Mirko.
Which seemed to be what he was going for with this extraordinary claim that the throne belonged to him.
By giving his claim legitimacy and calling for further investigations and proof, Caz had neatly taken the wind out of Mirko’s sails. Now Mirko would be forced to go along or risk everyone finding out he was trying to provoke a formal challenge.
This is why Caz must remain Tyrant. I could never think that fast. I would have simply told Mirko to go bathe in fire and been done with …
The doors at the rear of the throne room were flung open as Florian burst in.
“Apologies for interrupting, my lord,” he said with formality. “But we have a situation at the northern border.”
I stared at Florian. That was the border we shared with the Reds. The timing couldn’t be worse.
“What kind of situation?” Caz asked, standing up.
“An attack. A big one,” Florian said. “My messenger wasn’t positive, but it sounded like Akio was there.”
I stiffened. Akio was Florian’s equivalent among the Reds. If the War Chief himself was on the field, the Red attack would be no little raid. They were here in force.
But why? Not that it matters right now. We must respond. But the timing is odd.
“Come,” Caz said, gesturing at the guards stationed around the room, descending the steps of the dais with smooth, purposeful steps. “The Ice Kingdom is under attack. Let us defend her.”
I was a step behind Caz.
We passed Mirko, who was busy frowning, in fear or confusion I wasn’t sure, and in the moment, didn’t care.
The Reds had struck at our people, and now they were going to pay.