Page 7 of Kingdom of Lies

I swallow my rage and try to look interested. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve heard things. Someone in my position is always privy to, well, the freshest whispers in Orthani,” he explains.

“I have no doubt your ear is trusted.”

“It would appear that your father has suffered a loss recently, of which his sorrow must be acknowledged,” the captain says.

I don’t give a shit about my father’s so-called sorrow. “Jasper.”

“Yes, your brother.”

“Step.”

He shoots me a look. “It seems that Jasper was set to marry a wealthy, noble elf lady who would benefit your father greatly. However, without a son, that house of cards will quickly tumble.” The captain raises his eyebrow.

“I understand completely,” I say, crumpling the letter with my fist.

“If you choose to go, Draknir, I will make the necessary arrangements for you,” he says.

“I understand, sir, but that will not be necessary,” I say, standing up. A smile forms on the captain's face.

“Home is not always where we expect it to be, my boy,” the captain says.

I close the door behind me, and immediately, as the thought of my father consumes me, the anger rises within me. I think of the letter my mother left me, of the years that he stole from me, and I run as fast as I can. All I can think of is murder.

A pack of worgs snarl as I approach. They’re lean. Hungry and desperate. Saliva drips from their fangs, which are longer than my fingers.

They really picked the wrong fucking day for this. We both snarl at one another, and I raise my sword, bringing it down with savage swings. I relish in my strength at the demise of the stupid beasts foolish enough to get in my way.

Then I hear a scream nearby. I stop and listen.

And I wonder what creature that could be.

4

DRAKNIR

My steps slow as I head toward the source of the screams. Heading through the brush, I move forward, the grumbling sounds of a struggle make themselves apparent as I approach the scene.

What I find would be almost comical if it wasn't so serious.

A small, dirtied human is rolling around on the ground, attempting to wrestle food from a small beast. There is blood spattering this person, a woman, I'm assuming. It's hard to tell. The beast's small sharp claws reach out and gash the woman person again, a piercing shriek of hurt and frustration emits from her furrowed face.

Who is this person? And why on earth is she in such a state?

Her appearance immediately fills me with disgust. She's reduced herself to stealing a measly piece of bread from this small, unthreatening beast.

I let out a frustrated sigh and watch her, the determination and stubbornness only serving to irritate me. The bread is ruddy and as tattered as she is. By Maws, there's even dirt on it. My mouth turns up, wrinkling my nose at the unappetizing display.

"Pathetic," I mutter as my stomach churns at the soiled woman, and her desperation for such dirtied food.

My eyes zero in on her as she is too preoccupied with her plight to have even noticed my presence. Her thin small frame is covered with reddened claw marks and a mixture of fresh and drying blood.

Underneath the blood are thickened older scars like the deep cutting remnants of the tail end of a whip. She's the most disappointing thing I've seen today, and yet, something within me blooms and lingers with a nagging tug.

"Such is the fate of a weak human," I mutter to myself with disdain, trying to shake this inexplicable pull that is compelling me to stay.

As the woman continues to struggle with the small animal, I watch with a mix of pity and frustration. Her clothes are in tatters, her skin sallow and bruised from what looks like years of hardship and abuse.

---