Page 1 of Blood of Dragons

PROLOGUE II

TALON

I gripped the sword by the pommel, doing my best to focus with the audience sitting in the stands. In the center was my father, King Bolton, surrounded on either side by his advisers and guards. Behind him was the view of the sea over the terrace, red flowers growing along the trellis, birds chirping in the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day, but I was coated in sweat like a pig in a sty.

The soldier spun his sword around his wrist then rushed me, trying to throw me off balance by using different tactics every time he came at me, desperate to get me to drop my sword and lose the fight.

His steel was met with mine, and we locked in a battle of flashing swords, moving back and forth, ducking blows and blocking others. He was one of the best soldiers in the army, already selected to be the next general when the current one was killed or retired. There was no one more suited to test me than the best.

He came at me again, and I lunged aside, ducking again when another blow was aimed at my head. I somehow danced out ofthe way before I blocked the next deadly hit. I pushed against his steel as he pushed into me, and then I finally shoved him off and stepped back.

My father’s opinion meant the world to me, so having his attention caused distress. I wasn’t as confident as I normally would be. I was too distracted to truly focus, not the way I would if I stood there alone. My father showed his love for me every day, but that affection had become an addiction, and I was desperate to earn more and more.

We came together again, exchanging a flurry of blows and the clash of steel. My opponent was covered in sweat too, and his frustration was evident. He didn’t just want to win, but he wanted this to end.

My father raised his hand and made a slight gesture with his fingers.

Another fighter stepped into the arena.

I looked at him, my eyebrows raised.

“You’re capable of more than you realize, son.”

The soldier rushed me again, and this time, I had to watch out for the other soldier who’d joined the fray. I had to battle both men, move around the arena with greater strides, to put distance between one while I engaged with the other.

I was able to keep them at bay, but I was fucking exhausted.

My father raised his hand and beckoned again.

“For fuck’s sake,” I said under my breath.

His regal voice reached me on the stage. “Focus, son.”

Another soldier joined the battle, and it was almost too much. It was hard to strike an offensive blow when I was too busy blocking, when I was too busy moving from one opponent to the other. I couldn’t strike to kill, so I couldn’t eliminate them one by one. I had to continue to divide my attention three ways, to exhaust my body with the fight.

My father raised his hand again.

“Father, I can’t kill them.”

“That’s not the test.”

“Then what is the test?” I snapped.

“See how long you last. Now focus.”

Another soldier joined the arena, and I was butter scraped over too much bread. I couldn’t keep up with four blades, not when I couldn’t slice heads from shoulders. The sweat loosened my grip on the sword, and I nearly let it slip out of my grasp.

Then a blade ended up at my throat, just an inch from contacting the skin.

I let my sword fall to the ground, overpowered.

The soldier removed his blade and stepped away.

Embarrassed by my defeat, I could barely look at my father.

But he clapped. “Excellent work, son.”

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