I glance around the room, observing my men as they filter in. A decent crowd is starting to gather—both soldiers and servants alike. Kaithar stands at the edge of the ring, wearing the black officiating suit of a military games referee. He’s watching the entrants like a hawk, his expression severe, his powerful arms folded.
With Kaithar around, they’ll know not to try any dirty tactics.
Nobody messes with the Commander of the Black Eagles.
We make our way across the floor. I move closer, swapping the pelt to my other arm, putting my hand on the small of her back.
She doesn’t resist.
For the first time in my life, I know the feeling of extreme possessiveness.
I make sure everyone sees us as I guide Finley to the banquet area. At the far end, one table is set up for myself and my chosen guests. Two chairs in the center stand out from the others. The high backs are carved with the motifs of Tyron. Round, plump tansem berries nestle in thorny vines that twist around wide-bladed broadswords. The blades taper down toward the floor, forming the back legs of the chairs.
On either side, scaled dragon claws rise above the swords, forming the backrest, holding the finials—a pair of smooth orbs. The black dragon is the symbol of Tyron—the most fearsome beast known to man. According to the myths, the black dragon nests in the highest peaks of the Khatur Mountains.
The myth is seeded in truth.
I should know.
I killed the damn beast, and it killed me.
I escort Finley toward the chairs. She looks up at me, frowning.
I bend down and whisper close to her ear, inhaling the sweet-scented fragrance of her hair. I’m still aroused. “For the Lord and Lady of the castle. I’m not big on pomp and ceremony, but we should have something to distinguish ourselves, don’t you think? And maybe when he sees this, your father might understand the situation a little better.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve invited him to dinner, on the condition that he behaves himself.”
On cue, Baron Solisar himself appears, escorted by one of my servants, Rugar. Well, Rugar’s more of a guard, considering he was once a broadsword-wielding infantryman. The vicious scar across his left eye and the claw on his left arm—amputated at the wrist—are telltale signs. Naturally, he refused my offer of a generously remunerated medical retirement, complaining that he didn’t want to grow bored and fat and lazy. “Allow me, my lord.” His voice is like sandpaper. He pulls out the chair that’s farthest from us and bids the baron be seated.
Baron Solisar is wearing loaned clothes—a plain shirt and trousers that were clearly designed for a larger, more muscular frame. His face is filled with thunder. There are dark circles under his eyes.
His right hand is tightly bandaged.
I never noticed before, but there’s a slight hunch to his posture.
As he catches sight of us, he stiffens. His expression fills with uncertainty.
That’s to be expected.
After all, he’s seeing me for the very first time.
In the bright lights of the great hall, standing before his daughter, he looks diminished.
“Father,” Finley gasps quietly.
How can she call that man father, after what he’s done to her?
After what he did to her mother?
I’m itching to kill him, but I made Finley a promise.
Solisar hesitates, glaring daggers at Rugar.
“This is where you’re to sit,” Rugar insists, moving in slightly, using his considerable frame to intimidate.
“Evening, Baron Solisar,” I drawl, meeting his furious eyes. “I’m pleased you were able to make it.”
“Y-you…” His eyes widen in fear. Of course, he recognizes my voice.
“We have actually met,” I say mildly. “And by now, I’d think you would know better than to address me improperly.”
“Y-your Highness.” Trembling, disbelieving, he executes a stiff bow. “Forgive my impropriety.”
“Sit,” I order, addressing him as if he were a dog.
Petty I may be, but he hurt Finley. I can’t forgive that.
Knowing her history, knowing his kind, seeing the way she responds, it’s happened more than once.
A beast doesn’t change its nature.
You’re only here because I’m trying to show that I can be a family man. If Finley didn’t ask me to spare your life, you would be dead.
With bitterness, resentment, and fear seeping from every pore, the Baron Solisar allows Rugar to seat him.
“Corvan,” Finley whispers, clutching my arm all of a sudden. “Please.”
I’m pleased that she’s comfortable enough to seize me like that; to make such urgent demands of me. I lean in, making sure Solisar sees me as I put my lips close to her ear. “Why? He’s disrespected you and my men, and I despise craven, shameless people. I know his type, Finley. I can’t even imagine what your life has been like. You don’t have to be good for the sake of it, you know. You don’t ever have to forgive him.”
She doesn’t react with outrage or anger. Instead, she looks up at me, her eyes wide and shimmering, filled with something other than spite. “That’s a lot to assume about me. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s my father, and right now, he looks rather pathetic, don’t you think?”
She has all my power at her disposal, and yet she refuses to pour salt in her tormentor’s wounds.
Family ties are strange indeed. I know that all too well.
The noise in the great hall is starting to become a cacophony to my sensitive ears. I go still and focus, using her unmistakable scent to ground me. Behind us, there’s a shuffle of footsteps; a creaking of wheels.
The lads have arrived, skilfully marshalled by a young servant called Daron. Two brothers and one friend, all wet behind the ears and reckless; the way most boys are at this age.
“Finley, why are you with him? This red-eyed bastard? And… father? You’re here? What’s going on?”
She turns around, her face turning ashen. “Kastel,” she chides, transforming from the alluring woman I know into a stern older sister. She steps away from me, fronting up to her brother. Her voice drops to a near-whisper, but I can hear her perfectly. “Have some manners when you’re meeting people for the first time. You never know who you might be speaking to.”
The offender is a lad just on the cusp of manhood. With his tall, lanky frame, tousled sandy hair, and clear blue eyes, he’s starkly different to Finley, but there are subtle similarities in their features.
I can’t help but chuckle softly as I discreetly motion for Daron to take leave of his duties. Such youthful impudence. It’s hardly surprising these lads rushed here to save their sister in the middle of a Tyron winter without a second thought.
In truth, I owe them greatly. I’m told they saved Finley’s life.
A tendril of cold anger stirs within me, mingling with my arousal. That fucking baron and my bloody father. Something must be happening in Lukiria. Maybe my father is weaker than what he lets on.
Baron Solisar looks at his sons and seethes quietly. The sons look back at him, surprised and uncertain. He pushes his chair back as if to stand and half-opens his mouth, but I silence him with a look.
Stay in your place, Lucar.
“I don’t care who he is.” Kastel lowers his voice, but his eyes are fierce. “He’s a fucking demon.”