TANDOR MOUNTAINS, EDITHIR SPRING, 560 CE
Dynara was quick on his heels. Faliam had wasted no time carrying their son in his arms as he led the way into the mouth of the cave. Guilt welled in her chest as she clung to her husband’s arm as he approached the stone altar. Her fingertips, stained with the blue powder she’d crammed into the boy’s mouth, trembled as she pleaded with Faliam to be gentle with their son. The coven of Styxin witches filed in around them, dressed in dark robes and chanted in low voices. One carried a thick book, opening it in front of the stone slab. She motioned to the chains lying around the base and the other witches gathered them up, endless in their rounds of sacred song.
Faliam set his son on the stone and then took a seat on the carved chair beside him. His bloodshot eyes met the worried gaze of his wife, her crystal blue stare shaking with more unspoken fear than she could describe. It had to be done. His hands, covered with the blood of the son he couldn’t save, shook as the witches bound him to the seat. The smoke of incense rushed around them and thickened the air. Dynara covered her mouth and fell to her knees as her husband’s head flipped back and his chest rose and fell in quick, violent heaves. She dared not look at her son, bound to the stone bed.
Barely waking beneath heavy chains, his eyes peeled open, and through the haze, Haros saw his mother for only a moment, weeping on her knees. Then a rush of sensations filled his small body. Like pins and needles, all the best aromas he’d ever known, and the warmth of pleasures he’d yet to experience, flooded him. With a gasp, he breathed in the smoke, and then it was gone. The cave blurred and swirled, and he was hungry. He twisted and turned and the cave shrank. From the pain of starvation, he shrieked and screamed, and whipped his head around, knocking into the stone. Then, he realized he was alone. The only light in the entire cave came trickling down from a hole overhead and illuminated the small figure moving around the floor; a mouse perhaps. He jerked back and the chains tightening around him, but it wasn’t him—it wasn’t his body.
Haros thrashed back and forth, trying to break free, and when he was sure he could free himself and rip the chains from the wall, warm hands pressed to his freezing skin. A soft voice like the ringing of a silver bell made him still and settle back to the floor. Through the smears of blurriness, he could almost see her. She was small and grabbed hold of his face like he was a giant, and stared at him with haunting disapproval. She moved like a mirage, filtering in and out as she pulled up her sleeve. He breathed out a low hiss he’d meant as a growl as she instructed him not to move. Haros tried to find his voice and his petulant argument, but neither was anywhere to be found. Then, came an awful taste. It was sour and metallic. He bristled and shrunk down as it filled his mouth. Swallowing the wretched flavor, the world turned black, and the taste was gone.
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DES PATIER, EDITHIR SPRING, 560 CE
It seemed as if it were only a moment before his eyes opened again and the wicked dream was gone. Haros lifted his hand to his head while someone tugged at his shoulders. He flopped back and hit the ground. Staring up at the sky, squinting in the midday light, he tried to figure out where the hell he was, what he was doing there, and why he was naked. Sure, he had a habit of sleepwalking, but this was absurd. The last thing he remembered was the raid on the castle and his brother… fuck.
Haros turned over, coughing and clutching his stomach as it gurgled in demand of food. “Where the hell am I?”
“The middle of town, dumbass.” Danren laughed, his beautiful green eyes twinkling with amusement as he peeled off his jacket and draped it over Haros’ shoulders. “And you look like shit.”
“Thanks, I feel like it, too.” He rubbed his hand through his dark black hair as he straightened up. His head roared, and he blinked wildly to clear the distortion of static in his vision. “What are you doing here?”
“Chores,” Danren said as he thumbed over his shoulder at the basket of laundry he’d abandoned on the sidewalk. “Not everyone has the luxury of being royalty. Remember?”
“You never let me forget,” he groaned, taking his friend’s hand and coming to his feet.
“Speaking of things you might have forgotten,” Danren chided, “while you’ve been away, Asmond’s wedding is still coming up and he’s really hoping you’re going to be there.”
“While I’ve been away?” Haros shoved his hands through the sleeves of the jacket. It hung on his narrow frame like a sack. He’d been on the small side his whole life and any time he borrowed clothes from Danren, he looked even smaller.
“The king said you were with your aunt after the attack last month. Isn’t that where you were?” Danren asked, though it was clear he didn’t care either way.
“Last month?” Haros recoiled, his face twisting in confusion. How the hell did an entire month pass, and he didn’t remember a damned thing about it?
“You know,” Danren said as he lifted the basket, “Yvin’s going to have a cow when she finds out you’re back and you missed her birthday. She said thirteen’s a big deal. I don’t buy it, but when I turn thirteen, I’ll let you know if it is or not. Anyway, she had a big party and was pretty disappointed you didn’t get to come.”
“I was planning on it…” he muttered. Yvin was two years older and one of the few people who accepted him for who he was, ignoring his title. Being the Crowned Prince of Edithir attracted attention for all the wrong reasons, and being poised at all times was exhausting. He tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck. He was tired to his bones and hungry for something he couldn’t explain. “You got anything to eat?”
“Help me with the laundry and I’ll share my lunch with you.” Danren smiled with a roll of his eyes as he hauled the clothes towards the laundromat. Haros beamed with delight as he hurried to catch up with him, careful to keep the jacket drawn shut. Not only would help him earn Haros some quick food, but he’d also have warm, dry clothes to wear. Afterward, he’d make his way back to the castle and deal with whatever he’d missed, and perhaps someone would explain what happened to him.
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ROYAL PALACE, ORDAITHAHN AUTUMN, 567 CE
While funerals were bad, memorial services were worse. It was the final part of the traditional years of mourning. When a child died, it was nothing short of the minimum to spend one year for each surviving family member in a display of true, heartfelt grief—an act of sharing the burden—but when it was a member of the royal family, the production dragged on far longer. Hell, when the last king died, the mourning period lasted almost eleven years before the memorial services brought it to an end, and his father was an only child. The worst part, though, was the pageantry thinly veiling the obvious politics. It was all for show because Edithir had lost a prince, and Ordaithahn had lost three during the raid seven years earlier. And to make matters worse, their queen had passed in grief while pregnant. It was a damn shame and a bigger mess. The rows of pictures and memorabilia of their lives looked more cluttered than honorable. But there wasn’t much anyone could say about it. The Siege of Edithir was nothing more than the consequence of the purge of the Dragon’s lines—an act of the War of Kingdoms they’d been subjected to for as long as Haros could remember.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
After the fall of the Seralena at the end of the War of Gods, and the termination of the Wind’s Speed inheritance, a mighty horse-like Dragon, there was a change in public opinion regarding the balance of power. One by one, the Nine Kingdoms came together and decided it was best to eliminate the threat of those responsible for Seralena—The Styxin—and thus, with the quiet invasion of G’hein, the Great War began. Once it had ended, and the Styxin were vanquished, and nearly erased from the world, the Nine Kingdoms turned on each other. Balance was lost, and they each wanted to claim the place of the highest throne. Led by greed and jealousy, they cut each other down and rid the kingdoms of the core of their power by terminating every last Dragon line. The War of Kingdoms was nothing but spite and rapacity married by malignant conceit, all because the prince of Raioben had refused the princess of Pelcatera, rumored to be tainted with Styxin blood, in favor of a noblewoman in his own court. Perhaps if she’d not retaliated, or so people said, then the whole war between the northern and southern kingdoms would have never started. Of course, Haros wouldn’t then stand in the middle of a memorial service higher than the trees with his hands in his pockets whilst his parents delivered a memoriam eulogy for his brother for the seventh fucking year in a row. He’d seen enough pageantry he could vomit and feel better for the distraction. The world tipped, and a smile curled on his lips. He’d only tried a handful of interesting herbs, but red weed was fast becoming a favorite. It took the edge off enough that he could tune out the noise in his head. Turning from the crowd, he headed for the estate.
Ordaithahn was the pinnacle of claustrophobic fashion. Their bleached white walls were as uptight as the family who lived within it. The only redeeming quality was how lovely, though wholly superficial, everyone was from head to toe and in between. Hell, their princess was adorable. She had perfect curls, a button nose, and dreamy bedroom eyes. The problem was that she was anything but beautiful under the surface. She clung to Haros as if her life depended on it, and their parents giggled and snickered about how they’d one day make a handsome couple. He snorted to himself as he bounded up the back stairs of the servants’ building toward the kitchen. The closest he wanted to be with Princess Keirah was maybe shoving his dick in her mouth. At least then it would be useful for something other than drowning him in coma-inducingly sweet compliments based on estheticism and whining about her whims not being met fast enough to please her.
He paused outside the kitchen and looked around. Keirah was nowhere to be found. A grin pulled up on his lips, expecting the delighted greeting he usually received from the head cook, Deanne, as the door swung open. A girl, smaller than most, squeaked an apology and ran back the other way. Without missing a beat, another girl was quick to the door with a tired explanation and apology for the previous servant. She paused and leaned on the doorframe as she looked Haros up and down, her lovely orange hair curled around her plump freckled cheeks, pushed out by a smile. “So, what do I owe this occasion?”
“You can thank my brother for being dead.” Haros slumped against the door in front of her with a smirk.
“Well, it’s a shame you don’t have more brothers, then I’d get to see you more often.” She stepped closer, tugging at his shirt as her sultry gaze flitted up to him.
“Take a walk?” His fingers slipped beneath her chin, and his lips grazed against hers in an enticing sweep.
She giggled and called to the kitchen that she would be back in an hour. Haros grinned from ear to ear as he slung his arm around her shoulders and led the way down the stairs and around the corner. He wasn’t sure how old Carin was, but he knew she was old enough to know how to please him. As they came into the shade away from the morbid festivities, she had no inhibitions about dropping to her knees and pressing him back against the wall. He had only a half second to catch his breath as she opened his pants and took his cock into her hand and then her mouth. Tilting his head back, he shut his eyes as her tongue slid around the already sensitive tip and her hand pumped his length. Damn, she was good.
She groaned with delight as he shuddered, fingers sliding into the thick of her hair as he watched her lick and suck his dick like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. Her gorgeous round eyes met his, fluttering with long lashes. Haros swallowed hard as his cock pulsed, a threat of how close he was to satisfying release. Carin slid a hand under her skirt, pleasuring herself in time with him. A wicked untempered desire curled through him, hazing over every rational thought he might have had. Fuck, he’d do damn near anything to grab her, bend her over, and taste her. She could be his first—blowjobs didn’t really count—and she would feel so good wrapped around his—
“Haros!” A shrill scream shattered the moment.
His heart nearly stopped as fast as Carin did. She threw herself back and wiped her mouth with her hand, sheepishly staring at the ground. Haros crammed his cock back in his pants, the damn thing going limp the second he recognized her voice. He rolled his eyes and sneered at Keirah. “What the hell do you want?”
“For starters,” she scowled, “to not find you defiling my maids! I can’t believe you! Don’t you have any dignity?”
“What does dignity have to do with getting head?”
“You have an image to uphold, Haros.”
“And I had a hard dick being upheld. Then you came along and ruined it.”
“One day, you’re going to destroy your good reputation by acting like a filthy pig. Do you honestly expect I’ll show up to fix it and make you respectable?” She folded her arms as she pretended as if she wasn’t watching Carin sneak away.
“Oh, are you jealous?” Haros pushed off the wall with a smirk. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strolled to her and stopped with more confidence than he should have had given that she’d caught him with his dick out and her servant red-handed on her knees. He looked down at her as if she didn’t carry the same authority as himself. Keirah seemed so small, but that was only because Haros was so tall. Despite his age, and how tiny he’d been as a child, he’d quickly outgrown most of his peers in a few short years. He was already taller than his father and still had time to keep growing. “If I’m going to ruin my reputation, I can ruin yours, too, if you ask nicely.”
“We are supposed to be greeting guests,” she hissed through a clenched jaw.
“Do you really think anyone gives a shit about us? It’s all about shaking hands with our parents and pretending like they cared about our brothers.” He huffed and tossed a hand through his hair as he looked toward the load of crates the servants carried out of the kitchen for the banquet tables. “If you want, I’m going to steal some wine and drink until this party starts being fun. You’re welcome to join me, Princess.”
She turned, her arms tightening over her chest. “I heard they have an imported selection from Sadel-Hirsche.”
A smile wound on his face as he clapped a hand on her shoulder. Sure, she wasn’t the prettiest in Ordaithahn when she scowled at even his slightest indiscretions, and she had a way of crawling under his skin, but Keirah wasn’t without her perks. It was rare for her to reject one of his better ideas for fun. Hell, the first time he tried willow root, she’d taken it too, and they’d laid on her bed laughing about their hallucinations for hours on end. By the time the drug waned, she’d ordered food to her room, and they sat in her bathtub eating their feast of fried foods. Her father found them there and was so angry his face turned purple. It was the only time Haros ever felt inspired to kiss Keirah, and a part of him regretted having not. Instead, he’d laughed his ass off as her father dragged him out by his collar and lost his mind to his parents about the corruption he was spreading to his sweet little girl.
She wasn’t as sweet as he thought, but Haros wasn’t about to tell him that or how he’d seen her tits more times than he’d seen his own ever since she’d grown a pair, and how they also happened to be the first ones he’d had the pleasure of touching. Not that there was much to touch, but he enjoyed it all the same. The timing was shit, though, and he probably would have fucked her if her friends hadn’t shown up when they did. They didn’t like him much and liked him even less when they saw his hands wrapped around her breasts. She explained it away with flippant ease and he was a quick master of hiding a boner. Regardless, Keirah wasn’t as innocent as she led everyone to believe. It was a front, and after a few bottles of wine, they’d have a good laugh about Carin, and maybe she’d blow him instead before the day was done.