Page 153 of Shadows in Bloom

“Yes, Dominus,” he finally said.

“Good.” Astor took a piece of meat from the tray that had been placed next to the bed, and popped it into his mouth. The cold, salty flavour made him think of home. “What’s your favorite game?”

“Hide and seek,” the boy replied instantly, then flinched when he realized what he’d said. “I mean?—”

“That’s very good, Melas. Why don’t you and I play a little game once we get to the Academy?”

Melas hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Certainly, Dominus. What?—”

“I will tell you the rules when we start,” Astor cut him off, crooked his fingers and forked up another piece of meat, sliding it between the boy’s lips and watched as his lips worked around the texture. Melas didn’t need to look at him to show how hungry he was. As he alternated bites of meat, cheese and bread between himself and his slave, Astor patiently let his thoughts unravel in his mind. His stomach fluttered with anticipation at what was to come, for the Academy was a lot of things outsiders didn’t know anything about.

A summary of the past and prejudice, a foretelling of the future.

A survival of the fittest.

They finished the plate of food in silence.

“Melas,” Astor whispered and let a hand through the boy’s hair before quietly pushing the blanket aside, just enough to expose his heating groin. He watched as the slave crawled forward and dipped his head over Astor’s thigh, playing with the boy’s enticing curls as he guided his mouth to where it burned.

Yes. Astor closed his eyes and leaned back on the plush pillow with a satisfied sigh.

The cards had been redistributed for this year’s school year.

But House Novar would show its supremacy once more. Of that, he was sure.

CHAPTER 2

The rising sun was announced by the song of the nightbird, and it didn’t take long for them to pack up camp and get ready to leave.

When Valentino led them through the Great Pass—the Three Point Country as people called it nowadays, where Novar, Darmayar and Nethyr met—their group fell silent.

It was on this very spot the war had been decisive, where House Novar had suffered their greatest losses. In the desolate, tricky nature of the east, with its hills, valleys and hidden lakes, they’d been isolated from the aiding armies of Akotan and Staljord. It was here where they’d rung the bell, where Darmayar hadn’t shown up.

That day, thousands of Novarian soldiers had fallen.

That day, she had fallen.

“Keep formation, one after the other,” Valentino Prianos barked from over his shoulder, and the white plumes on his bronze helmet slightly waved in the air as if saluting the sleepy forest.

As if the woods replied to their quiet appearance, sounds roused. Deer looked up from between rustling leaves only to flee back into the shadows, colourful birds heading further east flew by, filling the air with their chirping songs toward the country of the mystical forest on the horizon.

Toward Darmayar.

Their horses and carriages bumped on sand trails that meandered over tree roots where soft moss dotted around, dimming the impact of each jostle as they went. They were old, judging by their thick trunks, their endless sizes and uncountable branches, and the shelter they offered to insects and rodents.

They made their way through the Great Pass, following the narrow road where it widened into fields of grass they could ride freely on. Behind them, the dry, flat land of Novar. On their right, the land behind the mystical forest. And right ahead of them, the destination of their travels and the future for their next school year. Nethyr.

They hadn’t even crossed the first passage when his father, who rode in the front, waved his hand in the air. “Guards, take position!” It was as if he’d momentarily forgotten that the war had ended, momentarily haunted by his own recollections.

Simple black suits and blood-red capes froze in the morning sun, limps straightened and spears stretched in front of shields that were no longer on their backs, but in their hands, ready to defend their lives. They had executed the order in less than five seconds, their training kicking in effortlessly, regardless of the lack of necessity.

Astor passed the small, unmoving party nonchalantly, his shining jet-black hair matching the black suit that was laced at the back as it hugged his lithe frame with all its developed muscles. He sat back on his horse, only loosely holding the reins, blood-red cloak flapping with every step he took towards his father. His gaze flitted over the Novarians and halted only to stare into the light that was Fabiano. Then he raised a hand.

“Put your weapons down,” he said, voice rich with that usual hint of arrogance.

Spears were withdrawn, shields were tucked behind backs and conversations were reluctantly picked up as the group got back to their normal activity.

“Filius.” His father blinked when he watched Astor approach, as if he too had been in a trance, only to be awoken just now and surprised to see his son by his side.

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