Page 90 of Killian
The D’Vaires were familiar with loss. With agony. Aleksander rolled his shoulders and was grateful his dragon was too powerful to leave him with external scars. The whips, chains, and kicks had bitten deep into his skin, and those dark hours visited him often in sleep. But physically, he had not changed.
Shaking his head to ward off the path his mind wanted to wind down, revisiting the filthy dungeon he’d called home for most of his life, Aleksander forced himself to stay in the present. Noirin had lost her brother twice. She was barely seven at her parents’ death, and Aleksander’s father had torn four-year-old Dravyn from her.
Dravyn had been banished to the garden, and Noirin was ordered to the kitchen. The pair had been forbidden to speak. Aleksander doubted many had talked to Dravyn as he grew up. Aleksander’s rude ousting from Castle Ethelin had provided the siblings with a second chance. It had been cut tragically short barely a day later when Imperial Duke Bernal deemed the D’Vaires cursed.
The little plot of land the D’Vaires had claimed granted each of them what they most wanted—peace.Most of us, Aleksander amended. Any sense of tranquility escaped him, buthe kept that truth to himself. Thanks to Dravyn’s mate and the humans their family had encountered, the D’Vaires had even built connections. Now, Fate was intervening again.
It did not surprise Aleksander that Dravyn wished to follow his mate to the foreign land The Council wanted to chase. Perhaps if Aleksander still believed in love or happiness, he would have done the same. Instead, he was numb.
Noirin’s violet gaze blazed with fury. Aleksander was stunted. His years in the dungeon had robbed him of much. His soul was sundered. As for his heart, it too was broken. What he had learned was to trust the truth in people’s eyes.
Noirin didn’t understand it yet, but she would not allow herself to be separated from Dravyn again. Although she did not have the tight bond she wished for with her sibling, she would be denied any relationship if an ocean or more parted them.
The world’s lone Duchess and Dravyn were liked by everyone. If they left, everyone else would want to follow. Aleksander swallowed thickly. Leaving terrified him. Hiding meant no one could hurt him. No one would judge him. The D’Vaires were cursed, but that was meaningless if they could not be found.
A heavy pounding on the door of their home startled Aleksander, and he braced his hands against the wall behind him to keep himself upright as sweat dotted his brow. No one but Killian knew where to find them, and he teleported into the house whenever he desired.
“Who would dare?” Brogan demanded, stomping out of the room.
Dravyn yelped as Noirin dragged her brother to Aleksander’s side. The woman Aleksander had made a Duchess—despite draconic law refusing to recognize a female’s power—rested her palm on Aleksander’s shoulder.
“Breathe deeply,” Noirin whispered.
Licking his horribly dry lips, Aleksander nodded, but following her advice remained elusive as his fears spiraled out of control. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, and his lungs could not take in air. His legs shivered as if he were cold, while immense heat tore through the rest of him. Such panic blinded him to anything else going on around him.
“Aleksander, stay here,” Noirin said, her voice firm but considerate. She used a steady grip to force one of his wrists away from the wall, and she clung to his forearm. “Take my hand. Can you do that? Focus on that one thing.”
Aleksander forced himself to ignore the roaring in his ears and unclenched his fingers. One command. In that moment, all he had to do was listen to a single instruction. With his limb shuddering mightily, Aleksander found enough dexterity to do as Noirin instructed. As horrible as it was to be so out of control, it happened frequently. Only Noirin knew how to give him some power over his riotous body.
“Excellent,” Noirin commented. “Keep breathing.”
It startled Aleksander that he had started to breathe without realizing it. The terror had subsided just enough to allow him to grow embarrassed that he had lost control in a room full of people. Forcing himself to open the eyes he didn’t know he’d squeezed shut, Aleksander’s gaze widened as he took in the two men standing next to Brogan.
Dropping to his knees hard enough that Noirin winced next to him as she released his hand, Aleksander bowed his head. The D’Vaires followed his lead and kneeled—except for Dravyn and Mac.
“They really don’t like it when people do that,” Mac said forlornly.
“Their Majesties are here to speak with you, Your Highness,” Brogan stated with a glare for Mac.
The only great thing about having two dragon Emperors in his dining hall was that it allowed Aleksander to gain a smidgen of control over himself.
“Our title is now Reverent Knight,” former Emperor Drystan remarked. “But we are old friends, are we not, Aleksander? Please rise.”
Needing comfort—though it mortified him—Aleksander took Noirin’s hand again once everyone gained their feet. Somehow, Noirin had kept hold of her brother. Not even their remarkable guests could conquer her fear of losing Dravyn again.
“You honor us with your presence, Your Majesties,” Aleksander said.
“Again, if you insist on using a title, it is Reverent Knight, Your Highness,” Conley replied. “But Drys is right, we are friends. Or at least I hope we are.”
“Fate did not replace you, does that also make you still the dragon Emperors?” Brogan asked.
Drystan shook his head. “No, Your Grace, we have no gold rings any longer. No beasts either. Apart from our present company, we refuse to align ourselves with dragons. Too many of them are menaces. They prey upon the people we are sworn to protect.”
Aleksander believed that Brogan was correct and the two men remained dragon Emperors in the eyes of Fate. But he was unwilling to anger the pair. He ignored his shakiness and the rapid thumping of his heart so he could speak again—using Drystan and Conley’s preferred title so he wouldn’t insult them. “Reverent Knights, what brings you to Court D’Vaire? Is there some way we can aid you?”
“May we speak freely, Your Highness?” Conley asked.
“Of course, Reverent Knight, but you need not be formal.”
