Page 242 of Dragon Slayer

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KING OF ROME

Romulus came three days later.

As the bodies still stood watch from their pikes, bloated and black with flies, a runner came pelting into the throne room to report a lone rider. “Handsome and princely,” the boy struggled to say between gasps for breath. “He looks – forgive me, your grace, but he looks a little like you.”

Vlad tossed him a coin and sent him away.

“Leave, everyone,” he said, motioning to the advisors and scribes who’d been urging him to send another half-dozen missives to allies and foes alike. “All save Malik and Cicero and Fenrir, out.”

They obliged, seeming relieved to be out of his presence.

“Helga, take my mother up to her chambers, please.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Eira stood up, affronted. “I am not your wife, Vlad. You can’t just send me away because I’m a woman, and–” She fell silent when he looked at her. He wasn’t sure what sort of face he was making to cause that, but he was glad of it for the moment.

“It’s Romulus, Mother.”

She swallowed. “I know.”

“I’m going to ask him about Valerian.”

Her eyes widened, and sparkled, though no tears actually formed.

“I don’t want you to have to listen to that. Mama,” he added, softly, pleading.

She glanced away, blinking rapidly. “Fine.” Heaved a breath. And then sent him a scowl. “Don’t you dare let him leave this hall alive.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

They waited.

Fenrir couldn’t hold still. He paced the length of the throne room, booted footfalls ringing on the stones. He wanted to shift, Vlad could tell, and maybe he would need to. But Vlad wanted them all man-shaped, at least to begin.

“You defeated his heir,” Malik said, stating the obvious. “Is he coming to chastise you? Or to take you under his wing?”

Vlad sat up taller in his seat, surprised, and glanced up toward his advisor. “You think he wants to repair our relationship?”

Malik shrugged. “He wanted an heir badly enough to turn an Ottoman prince. That prince has failed, and you’re the one who stopped him. And his own blood besides.”

“An heir to what, though?” Cicero said. “We understand Mehmet’s motives – he styles himself the next Alexander. But what is it that Romulus wants?”

Vlad took a deep breath; he found a tremor in his lungs, a little hitch of nerves. He tamped it down. “We’ll find out, I suppose.”

Vlad heard him long before two guards escorted him into the chamber. Heard the rhythm of his footfalls, and the low murmur of his voice as he attempted to engage his escorts in conversation. Scented his blood, and his skin, and the fact that he was a relative, blood-family. Loathed.

Vlad steeled himself.

And still he growled when his uncle finally came into view.

The guards broke away, and took up posts at the door, blank-faced.

Romulus paused just inside the heavy wooden doors, visibly rocking back on his heels. “Hello, nephew,” he said after a moment, and continued forward. He came to a lazy halt, a pace too close to Vlad’s throne for politeness. Smiled. “It’s good to see you again. To see you as a man.”

For one terrible moment, Vlad was a boy again. Young, and beardless, propped on an elbow in the bed he shared with his brother, watching Val’s eyes shift beneath his closed lids, lashes fluttering as he dream-walked. Uncle was here, and Mother had gone running down to be at Father’s side, and Vlad wished, so vehemently, that he could walk with his brother; that he could see what he saw, hear what he heard, and protect him from things he couldn’t yet understand, and shouldn’t have to bear–

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