The doors closed with barely a sound. The servant's footsteps echoed further and further away, then melted into the soft hum of background noise.

From their long chair, Father and Mother glowered up at Zier and Coris. Mostly Coris. Zier sneaked a glance at his brother. His eyes were void of emotion, but Zier felt fury mingled in the cold emanating from him. He returned to his thoughts with a gulp.

He drew in a deep, shaky breath, reminding himself of what he'd planned. He'd drugged Jetta and the entourage's horses, stranding them all in the Sands for a week. He couldn't let it go to waste. Yet, every time he filled his lungs and raised his eyes to his parents, his resolve petered away along with blood from his numb lips.

He took too long dithering. Coris blew a soft sigh of surrender then plastered on a bright smile.

"So, what are we working with here?" He flourished two bare, pale hands. For once, he wasn't able to read the room.

"Not much." Mother shrugged. She cocked her head at Zier, "He said you're planning to sneak away to Everglen and bring back the lost ore ships. The rest of the truth is too dangerous for letters. Our guess is it has something to do with The Axel."

The mere word sucked all heat and air out of the room. Zier felt three pairs of eyes honing in on him. He should stand tall, but he folded in on himself.

"Zier?" called Father, impatient. It was time. Had been for the last quarter hour—No, six years.

Do it now. End this. Free Brother from your sin.

Zier dragged in another deep breath. Hopefully, he wouldn't need any more.

"Very well," He shivered. Fists clenched, he looked up,

"Father, Mother, I—"

He found their eyes. Father—his own blue. Father had never placed much, if any, expectation on him. Coris had always been his hope. The prodigious heir, ever ready to sell his soul for the Hadrian cause. Even after Coris fell sick, after his recent rebellions and betrayals, Father still hadn't given up, had never once spared Zier a glance. The Axel Heist was the one time his predictable sons defied expectations. And yet, Father still wouldn't give up on Coris. The one time Zier acted the heir, not Coris. But even that was a lie.

"I—"

Another feeble attempt. Mother stared deep into his eyes. Hers were the sharp gray of Coris's eyes. Mother's love was begrudging. She'd wanted little to do with young Coris, with his precocious, manipulative nature and tantrums. She'd always fawn over Zier—the quiet, sweet, innocent blue-eyed babe who did no harm. The spare she could spoil and coddle and mold to her heart's desire, since Father had claimed Coris for his own. But he was about to shatter that dreamlike doll.

If he confessed, Father's indifference would turn to disgust. Mother's fondness would turn to disappointment. He couldn't lose them. Those shallow, fleeting semblances were the closest to love he'd ever get from them. If he didn't, Coris would resent him, then die with the secret, forever branded a traitor in his place. Nothing would change. And he couldn't have that, either.

Wasn't that why he orchestrated all this? To return justice to his brother who had sacrificed so much for him? But then Father and Mother would hate him, probably banish or kill him. They could. He was the spare, a bumbling one at that. They had no need for him.

"I—We know what The Axel is. Coris plans to use surgery to remove it. To save the dragons."

The words tumbled out, almost of their own free will. And there it went. Another chance, wasted. Weeks of preparation, made meaningless by seconds of cowardice. He couldn't do it. He couldn't face the consequences. He couldn't lose what little love he had from his parents.

Ari, I've let you down.

Brother, I'm sorry.

Zier met his brother's wide gray eyes, pleading for mercy. He saw a blink of disappointment so profound, replaced with resigned determination. The familiar crease appeared between Coris's eyebrows as he rapidly calculated, adapting to the circumstances Zier had left him in. As he usually did.

"Dragons?" Father repeated. Coris faced him with a serene smile. Father shared a look with Mother, then narrowed his eyes at Coris. "Why dragons?"

"Why not?" Coris shrugged, a mocking grin on his lips. Zier saw suspicion in Father's eyes. The reveal wasn't astounding, far too little to warrant dragging his parents across the desert and risking the lives of the whole entourage. He cast about for more ammunition. A trump card.

"He's in love."

Coris whipped around, eyes bulging. Jolts of pain coursed through Zier's heart, but there was no stopping now. He couldn't have Father suspect him. Not until he'd worked up the nerve to confess again. Although, now that he'd added another betrayal to his tally, it would only be more difficult to come clean. Perhaps even impossible.

"That Lady Arinel. She's an impostor. A Greeneye. And he's in love with her."

Coris' heart writhed. His cheeks burned in shame. For the first time in his life, he'd worn his heart on his sleeve, confessed to his deepest feelings, the love of his short, worthless life. And Zier wielded it against him. Fury and grief surged in his stomach, acid burning its scarred walls. He balled up his trembling hands.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"As a proud Hadrian, I'd appreciate it if you don't lump my quest with some lovesick fool's attempt to bed a fair maiden, Zier." He quipped, his smile glazed with ice. He spared Zier a look of pure contempt, just so he could watch him squirm, then turned back to his parents,

"She's the Greeneye who saved my life in the Crosset Famine. Her name is Meya—Maelaith Aine Hild. One of Axel's descendants. Against the odds, we've met thrice over the years. I take it as a sign from Freda that my duty—my purpose—is to support her cause. And repay my debt."

Father and Mother gawked at him. After a whole minute, Mother thawed, raising trembling hands to her mouth.

"So, you found her. Finally." She breathed, her voice shrill and choked with tears. She covered her eyes then melted with a sobbing sigh. Father rested his hand on her shoulder.

"What happened to the real Arinel? Was she killed?" He whispered anxiously. Coris cocked his head towards the door.

"She gave up her titles to Meya to preserve her family's honor and pursue a career in alchemy. She's in Jaise, perfecting anesthesia for my surgery." He unfurled a sarcastic grin, "Turns out she isn't raring to marry a dying man she barely knew and never loved."

Father frowned, incensed. Coris doubled down on his aggravating act. He must draw their attention away from Zier, steer the conversation off-course,

"I'd thought you'd be delighted, Father. Isn't this what our clan is about? Duty and atonement? Fulfilling this two-hundred-year-old promise?" He threw out his hands, a look of innocent confusion. Father cursed under his breath.

"That's not the point, Coris!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, then sprang up and paced, gesturing in exasperation, "You're traveling across land and sea! Why do you not feel the need to consult us? Your parents? Dozens of ships have been lost. When do you plan on letting us know? A month from now? When Norena delivered you a fresh batch of mead, only to discover you weren't there?" He spun around and glared. Shaking his head slowly, he rasped, "How could you be so selfish?"

Coris blinked. Beneath the fire, he caught a glimpse of concern. He fought back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Was Father actually worried he would drown at sea, as a father would his little boy, not Lord Hadrian would his heir? It was unlikely, illogical, considering the number of times he had failed Father. Sickly, useless, ugly, twisted monster—he didn't deserve love. Yet, he ached with every fiber of his being to believe. He didn't have time for this.

"How could you be so selfish?" Coris' voice trembled as he fought the burning in his eyes.

"Manipulating the Council to uphold the Ban. Sending countless men to their deaths at sea, hoping to preserve our clan's influence! While dragons and Greeneyes are suffering across the three lands, and Nostra is draining our soil dry! How could you look Meya in the eye, and recite our motto to her face? Two hundred years! What have we achieved? I'll die soon anyway. Let it end with me. Let our children and grandchildren live for a purpose of their choosing!"

"You—are not—dying—Coris!"

Father exploded. A ringing silence fell. Less because of the outburst, more because of the tremors wracking Baron Hadrian's shoulders. He pressed his fingers over his eyes and turned away. Coris watched, dumbfounded.

Mother rose and walked to Father's side, a soothing hand down his arm. Father heaved a tortured sigh, then met Coris's gaze. His voice sounded decades tireder than his age,

"Son, you have one of the noblest hearts and finest minds Freda has ever blessed Hadrian with. It is an honor to be your father. I should've told you more often." He muttered, then shook his head wearily, "But you're also young. Idealistic. Inexperienced. Rash. Drastic."

Coris trembled at those loving words, wondering if it was simply his longing manifested into a hallucination. Father lingered for a moment—there was no blame in his eyes, just sadness—then broke his gaze. Mother led him back to the chair, and he slumped heavily down.

"Imagine, son. If the king or the people were to learn Greeneyes are dragons in disguise today. What would happen?"

Coris frowned. Father gazed out into the distance.

"Maxus and the Fellowship returned from Nostra—naive, goodhearted young men, inspired by Axel's sacrifice, raring for change. They headed for the capital. King Edward was sympathetic. He promised to restore Everglen, to use The Axel for good."

"Unfortunately, his son Philip and most of his Council weren't so trusting. They killed him then hunted down the Fellowship one by one. Their families weren't spared, down to the newborn babe. Maxus—was the last man standing."

Father hung his head. Coris dropped weak-kneed onto the long chair. Zier remained standing, mired in his own void.

"High Priest Uriel IV, and every high priest that followed were Greeneyes. That's part of the deal Maxus made with Philip the Usurper. Philip would stop persecuting Edward's supporters. In exchange, Maxus would keep The Axel from falling into dragon hands. Decisions regarding Greeneyes would be made by the triumvirate—the king, the high priest, the Baron Hadrian—one human, one dragon, one in between. Balancing the interests of both races."

"Uriel made the amendment which led to the Mining Ban—to protect Greeneyes. Yet, he also made the amendments which explained that Greeneyes are minions of Chione—harbingers of misfortune, instead of outright introducing dragons to Latakia. Why do you think that is?"

Father met his eyes with a raised eyebrow, then tilted his head.

"Fear—especially that of the unknown—tempts man to do the unthinkable, gives birth to the wildest beliefs. The tragedy of the Fellowship is harrowing, yet still but a taste of what could have been. With the threat of Nostra's dragon army looming over us, dragons could either be exploited for war, or massacred."

"So, Uriel invented the most harmless explanation to quell all prior theories. Better petty prejudice than civil war and genocide."

Meya...

Coris masked his heavy heart with a sardonic grin, as the new, old setbacks reared their ugly heads on her path. What should they do? Was it even possible for man and dragon to coxist peacefully in these three lands?

Father pushed himself up and resumed pacing.

"I do agree we have kept the dragons waiting long enough. However, we must be subtle and discreet. And even then, we must still be prepared to lose what is easy, what is dear. Even in the best of circumstances, change is rarely bloodless. Five young men of Crosset have already lost their lives. Are you two ready for the consequences?"

Father locked eyes with Coris. He wasn't referring to him and Zier, but him and Meya. Once the shock subsided, he felt an inexplicable surge of burning, choking, fluctuating emotions in his chest. Confusion. Determination. Thankfulness. Guilt. Joy. Fear.

"Zier, be a dear and fetch Meya for us, would you?" said Mother. Coris jolted—he'd forgotten his brother was still present. By the time he turned to look, the violet corner of Zier's toga disappearing behind the door was all that was left.

Oh. So, he was at least ashamed of himself. A slight improvement.

Zier's footsteps died away, then Father broke the silence,

"It's inside Zier, isn't it?"