Page 76 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
"You're the Crown Prince of the Empire," Marcus shot back. "That's not exactly something you can just set aside when it becomes inconvenient."
"Isn't it?" I met his glare directly, feeling months of frustration and isolation boiling over. "Because I've been trying to set it aside since the moment I arrived at the Academy. I wanted to be judged on my own merits for once in my life, to be valued for who I was rather than whose son I happened to be."
"And how did that work out for you?" Septimus asked, his tone deceptively mild.
The question hit like a physical blow. "Not well, obviously. But at least for a few months, I got to experience what it felt like to be a real person instead of a political symbol."
"A real person," Tarshi repeated slowly. "Is that what you call lying about your identity? Deceiving everyone around you?"
"I call it surviving," I snapped. "You have no idea what it's like to grow up knowing that every person who speaks to you, every friend you think you've made, every relationship you try to build is ultimately about what you represent rather than who you are. I wanted one chance—just one—to find out if anyone could care about Jalend instead of Prince Jalius."
The silence that followed was thick with tension. I could see them processing my words, weighing them against their own experiences and prejudices.
"So you came to the Academy," Antonius said finally. "Pretended to be a minor noble. Why there specifically?"
I looked around at their faces, seeing genuine curiosity mixed with suspicion. It was more engagement than I'd gotten from them in days, and I found myself desperate to maintain it even if it meant revealing truths I'd never spoken aloud.
"Because of Imperia," I said quietly. "My dragon. I'd had her since I was twelve, and she was... she was the only real relationship in my life. The only creature who seemed to care about me rather than my title." I paused, the bitter irony of that memory hitting me anew. "Of course, now I know she never had a choice in the matter."
"The collar," Sirrax rumbled, understanding immediately.
"The collar," I confirmed. "But I didn't know that then. I thought we had a genuine bond, that she chose to be with me. When I expressed interest in formal dragon-riding training, my father saw it as a way to give me military experience without actual danger. Send the heir to the Academy for a year, let him play at being a soldier, bring him back with some useful skills and a better understanding of the military."
"Except you didn't want to come back," Marcus observed.
"I never wanted to be heir in the first place," I admitted. "I wanted to fly. I wanted to serve in the dragon corps, maybe become an instructor myself. I wanted a life that had nothing to do with politics or succession or the burden of eventually ruling an empire I wasn't sure I believed in."
The words hung in the air between us, more honest than I'd intended to be. But something about this remote mountain location, about the shared purpose that had brought us together, made concealment feel pointless.
"You don't believe in the Empire?" Septimus asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"I believe in the idea of the Empire," I said slowly, trying to articulate thoughts I'd never fully examined. "A unified realm where people can live in peace, where trade and culture canflourish, where strength protects rather than oppresses. But what we've become..." I shook my head. "What my father has made us... that's not an empire worth preserving."
"Pretty words," Tarshi said, his tone sharp with anger. "But you still took the promotion, didn't you? When they offered you command of a wing, you still said yes."
The accusation cut deep because it was true. "I tried to refuse," I said quietly. "I told him I wasn't ready for command, that there were others more qualified. But—"
"But you took it anyway," Marcus interrupted. "You led that army north. You gave the orders that put us all in that valley."
"Because I had no choice!" The words exploded from me with more force than I'd intended. "You think I wanted to lead that slaughter? You think I enjoyed watching good soldiers die for a cause I knew was wrong?"
"Then why did you do it?" Antonius demanded. "What could possibly have forced you to—"
"He showed me the prisoners."
The simple statement seemed to leach all the energy from our confrontation. They stared at me in silence, waiting for an explanation I wasn't sure I could give without breaking down entirely.
"My father took me to see them," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thousands of them, locked in dungeons beneath the capital. Men, women, children—all with Talfen blood, all captured during raids in the last few months. He told me that if I refused to lead the campaign, he would have every single one of them executed."
I could see the shock ripple through the group, the way their expressions shifted from anger to something approaching understanding.
"Thousands?" Septimus asked.
"Three complexes that I know of, maybe more. Families torn from their homes, children who've never seen sunlight, elders who remember what freedom felt like." I closed my eyes, trying to block out the memory of those hollow, desperate faces. "There was a woman holding a baby, maybe six months old. A toddler clinging to his mother's skirt. And my father standing there calmly explaining that their lives were the price of my compliance."
"Gods," Marcus breathed.
"So yes, I took the promotion. Yes, I led that army. Yes, I gave orders that resulted in deaths on both sides." I met each of their gazes in turn. "Because the alternative was watching thousands of innocent people die for my principles."
