Page 8 of Blood of Dragons

Father turned back to us. “I’ve been the recipient of Uncle Barron’s resentment. It started a long time ago, when we were teenagers, and despite my kindness, it’s continued to grow. If he hasn’t moved against me in all these decades, I doubt he ever will.”

“That’s a dangerous assumption to make.” I respected my father, admired his intelligence and strategy, but this was something that divided us. And it would always divide us.

He looked at us both head on. “I appreciate your concern, boys. I know you’re always watching my back and protecting our kingdom.” He gave a nod then turned to walk away, to return to his royal chambers deeper inside the castle.

We stood there together, struggling in silence long after he was gone.

Silas was the one to speak first. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know if there’s much we can do.”

“We can confront them ourselves.” He looked to me, his eyes hesitant.

I held his stare and felt the tightness in my stomach. “Father would be livid.”

“Well, Father is being a pussy right now.”

I wanted to defend him like always, but I couldn’t do it this time.

“I understand he wants to be a king who rules without fear, who earns the loyalty of those who follow him, but we all know Uncle Barron and the others are a threat to us all. Doing nothing is the wrong decision.”

I stepped away and crossed my arms over my chest, looking at the painting on the wall that must have taken years to complete. Everything about the castle and the royal grounds was steeped in art and luxury. Vivian and I occupied a home outside the castle now, and one day, we would move in to the castle and call it home.

“I think you should be the one to talk to him.”

I turned to look at my younger brother.

“You’re better at that shit.”

“Only because I don’t cuss every few words.”

“I’m serious.”

I looked at the painting again and gave a sigh.

“It must be done, Talon. I won’t let our family look like a bunch of fools—dead fools.”

“What if it provokes a retaliation?”

“Retaliation?” he asked incredulously. “You speaking to himisthe retaliation.”

“It could provoke him to make a bigger move.”

“If he makes a bigger move, then Father will be able to see it.” My brother continued to stare at me. “It must be done—and it must be you.”

Uncle Barron and his relations were distant connections to the throne, so they weren’t permitted residence on the royal grounds at the top of the cliff with a breathtaking view of the Northern Sea. But my father was generous and granted them handsome accommodations in the city, palaces with gates, higher up the hill than the commoners, with views of the vineyards, and food and goods that were paid for by the castle.

It was more than they deserved.

I rode my horse all the way down the cliffs then took the road along the side of the mountain, entering the rich hillsides full of olive trees and grapes fresh on the vine. The hooves of my horse kicked up dirt along the way, the summer air dry.

I approached the gate to Uncle Barron’s property, and his guards granted me entry. I rode to the double doors of his villa, and one of his servants took my horse and escorted him to the stables where he could have a drink from the trough.

I was escorted inside the parlor, offered a refreshment, and then I sat there alone as I waited for my hosts. There was a stone fireplace against one wall, more for ornamentation than actual use because it was hardly ever cold here. The arms of the furniture had a golden veneer, and the wallpaper was the color of blush. It wasn’t a castle—but it was still more wealth than the villagers could ever imagine.

Moments later, Uncle Barron entered, eyes and hair dark like my father’s. There were distinct differences to his facial features that noted the divide in our family tree, but the relation was still undeniable. The second he looked at me, it was there—the hostility. He approached me slowly, sizing me up like a rat found in his cupboard. He moved to the couch across from me and didn’t bother to bow or shake my hand…or offer any kind of gesture whatsoever.

It was rude and disrespectful—and worthy of a beheading.

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