Soul Bound

Chapter 6

Prince Darius Fortys leaned heavily on his propped up hand as he watched a jester prance in front of the members of his father's court. His seat was obnoxiously uncomfortable, the cold stone biting his flesh through his breeches. The tables were set up in a U shape, giving the jester plenty of space to draw out his bleak performance. The pudgy, sweaty fool shook and beat his tambourine as if his life depended on it. If he kept playing like that, his life wouldn't last much longer.

Jingle-jingle.

Darius wished his father would let him kill him now, end all of their suffering--but he had rules. No killing during court dinners. This rule especially applied on a night like this. They were actually celebrating tonight. Every member of the court had come to feast with the king.

Mithril was found in the fissure in Duskfield, a small mining town up north. A lot. Enough to equip their entire army. King Renkon's forces wouldn't stand a chance against mithril armour. The only problem?

King Renkon had Dragon Knights. Estrus' Dragon Knights were disbanded after the dragons left. While Darius and his brothers were successful in killing off storm dragons one by one, there was little they could do against an army of dragons--and now that they were down a brother. . . .

Jingle-jingle.

His fists clenched on the obsidian throne. Fucking Dex. The traitorous bastard. Killing him hadn't been nearly as satisfying as it should have been. It only left him cold and hollow.

"To our king!" Lord Rikard announced. He stood, raising his goblet; others joined him. The jester didn't dare stop his incessant melody. "You have lead our kingdom to greatness! Because of you, we have mined more ore than in our entire history! You have brought us wealth and prosperity! Val and Lorelus have blessed you and your family."

Darius snorted. The gods of war and vitality had nothing to do with their success.

"Long live the king!"

The court cheered: "Long live the king!"
King Sylus remained seated and allowed his court members to rave about his success. They knew he wouldn't interrupt them. He wasn't known for giving speeches and definitely not one to participate in social spectacles.

Darius, on the other hand, would have preferred to make them perform for him. If they wanted to drink his wine, eat his food, and waste his time, then they had to entertain him. Whether they sing or dance or kill each other, he didn't care as long as it was entertaining. And if it wasn't. . . well, Darius had his own ways of playing with his subjects.

The side door creaked open just enough to allow a slip of a shadow to creep in. King Sylus' spies were renowned for their stealth, akin to the shadow-wielders in the Uncharted Territory in the North East--without the magic. There was no more magic in Estrus. His spy entered the courtroom undetected, sliding behind Darius, and knelt beside his king's throne.

Sylus' gaze was fixed ahead, jaw grinding as he listened to the jester play that wretched instrument. His shadow spoke quickly, softly, as to not interrupt tonight's festivities. "My Lord, there are rumours of a black dragon in Aboria."
Sylus' whole body froze in his throne.

Shit.

A sudden wind whipped passed them and stirred the fire sconces. His court didn't notice the drastic drop in temperature--too busy gorging themselves--but Darius felt the prickle of goosebumps on his forearms. Rain pelted the windows violently.

Darius felt as if someone had flooded his veins with acid. He forced his body to be still. Any movement on his behalf would draw Sylus' attention--his impending wrath--to him. He couldn't go hunting tonight if his bones were broken.

Jingle-jingle.

"The rumours also say that he has Bonded with a villager," the spy went on stoically. He knew--they all did--that it was not wise to stir the angry beast within their king, but it was his duty to inform his king, regardless of the consequences.

Jingle-jingle.

Sylus hands balled into fists, knuckles going white from the strain. He held his gaze ahead, on the oblivious jester prancing in the middle of the court, maintaining an eerily calm appearance. "Tell me what you're hiding," he demanded through gritted teeth.

The spy breathed in, licking his lips. "She has fair hair, Sire. It's just like-"

He slammed his fist down on the armrest. "It's nothing like the prophecy!"

The room fell silent. All but the jingle-jingle from the tambourine.

"Shut up!" Sylus drew a dagger and threw it straight for the jester. The thin blade lodged itself right between his eyes, and he staggered back two steps before crumpling to the floor. "Everybody out!"

A symphony of chairs scraping against the stone floor filled the room. Every single member rushed out of the doors, save for Darius, Dravyn, and the spy. Not a single word was spoken, in fear of invoking the king's wrath. Once the room had been cleared, two servants scuttled in and dragged the body out through the door.

Sylus couldn't leave his throne fast enough. Darius and Dravyn leapt from their seats and knelt before their king, eyes fixed on the black stone floor. He paced back and forth, dire wolf cape draping over his broad shoulders and cascading down his back. He was a large, muscular man with a heavy gait; the buckles on his boots clinked with every step.

"You told me you killed them all, Darius," the king growled.

Darius wasn't stupid enough to meet his gaze. "We did, Sire."

He and his brothers tracked down every lead of black dragons they could find until they fizzled out into oblivion. It had taken them seven years and across all of Astrida. They had been positive that none survived the purge.

"Clearly not." His black leather boots halted in front of him. Darius was all too familiar with the feel of their soles on his cheek. He braced himself to taste leather.
The boots turned away, stopping in front of his spy. "You will go to Aboria and kill the rider. Kill her and the dragon will die."

Darius cocked his head curiously. His father's voice was level, but the fear in it was palpable. He commanded armies, had led Estrus to greatness, and didn't blink twice at death. What creature could make his merciless father quake in his boots?

"Father," he spoke up, fully prepared to face the consequences. He raised his head and met his steely gaze; those eyes, as black as their hair, were bottomless, unfathomably cold. It was the only look Darius had ever known. Dex was granted the gaze of a proud father; even Dravyn had shared a moment of satisfaction with him after his first kill. But Darius? Never. "Send me. I'll do you better than killing her--I'll bring her to you."

"I do not care for another puppet, Darius. This girl must die."

"But why?" His father was being short-sighted. Couldn't he see the potential? "Her dragon is a storm dragon. The last of its kind. Their power is unique and potent. With it in our hands, there won't be an army we can't defeat."

"She is too dangerous to be allowed to walk this world. You will kill her, Darius, or I will send somebody who will."

"Yes, sir." Darius ground his teeth, feeling the fires of frustration lick his bones. If Dex had offered his proposal, Sylus wouldn't have to think. He would have given Dex the command in a heartbeat.
Dex is dead. I am the heir. Estrus is mine.  
Sylus stopped in front of his spy. "Do we have a name?"

The spy kept his head down. "No, my Liege. We only know that she has three scars on her stomach and her hair is the colour of ash."

He turned back to Darius. "I'll give you thirty men. Kill the storm dragon rider."

Darius rose to his feet, a wicked grin plastered on his face. "I won't fail you, Father. The storm dragon rider's fate is sealed." His father might not see the potential now, but once he had her and turned her into his puppet, he would show his father why Darius would be the better king.

He was very much looking forward to meeting her.

She better not disappoint.