Page 51 of Dragon Slayer

Which of course Vlad could sense. He elbowed him. “What?”

Val shook his head.

Vlad kicked him under the table. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Vlad sulked a moment, and then his brows jumped and he leaned in closer. Val couldsmellthe supposed great idea lifting off him before he said, “I’ve got a great idea.”

Val groaned.

“No, listen.” A tiny smile tugged at Vlad’s mouth now, and the dark circles beneath his eyes faded in the sudden glow of his eyes themselves. Once he set a goal, he followed it through, no matter how ill-advised. “They won’t talk about anything serious until later, in Papa’s study. You have to dream-walk and spy on them.”

Val’s stomach shriveled. “But–”

“You do it all the time!” Vlad hissed. “You go all the way to Constantinople! And you’re too afraid to go into Father’s study?” He lifted a single brow in challenge. “Coward.”

Val huffed in irritation. “Last time–”

“Listen.” Vlad leaned even closer; his breath smelled of the wine he’d snuck from Mircea’s cup. “Everyone always says you’re a baby.” His eyes blazed. “Don’t prove them right.”

Val forced himself to take a measured breath. To think.

After the incident with eavesdropping on the night of Romulus’s first visit, Val had been expressly prohibited from dream-walking his way into private conversations. If he wasn’t asked into Father’s study, then he wasn’t allowed.

But as the only dream-walker in the family, no one knew which means to take to prevent him from doing it again. There were no wards, no silver tokens – that would have hurt everyone. So Val technicallycould…

If he wasn’t a baby.

Vlad’s gaze was stern – and desperate with curiosity. He wanted, viciously, to be a part of the discussion, to be a prince who could contribute to the family, to the principality. Power, he’d said. He was a child, still, and not the heir, and he felt powerless.

Val sighed. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

Vlad’s grin was manic. And grateful. Val would do anything for that grin, even stupid things. Maybeespeciallystupid things.

~*~

Vlad was obvious and an idiot. After the third fake yawn, Mother shot him a narrow-eyed glance.

“Long day, my Vladimir?” she asked, reaching to smooth his hair.

“We went riding,” he said, and smothered another massive, pretend yawn in his elbow.

Val rolled his eyes from his fireside chair.

“I shot two hares,” Vlad continued, slumping sideways across the sofa, head propped on one listless hand. “Val beat me in a race, the little shit.”

“Don’t call your brother that,” Eira said, immediately, and Val hid his laugh in his shirt collar.

Vlad huffed a quiet “sorry, Mama” under his breath. Then made a great show of dragging himself to his feet. “I should probably turn in.”

“Yes, dear, if you’re really that tired.”

Vlad trudged toward the doorway, dragging his toes. His faux exhausted face was the dumbest and funniest thing Val had ever seen. He paused with one limp hand on the doorframe, and turned to look back over his shoulder. “Val should turn in, also. He’s tired. Right?” His façade slipped a moment, dark brows slanting down at threatening angles.

Val bit the inside of his cheek, but managed not to crack a smile. “Yes,” he said, levelly, “I’m very tired.” He got up slowly, to prove the point, but without Vlad’s theatrics. Here was another area in which he succeeded over his brother: acting.

Eira sighed once, short and sharp, and when Val darted a glance to her found that she looked terribly unimpressed. “Whatever you boys are doing, I don’t care so long as you don’t break anything, hurt yourselves, or anger your father.”

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