He says nothing, just watches me with an expression I can't quite read.
“Or did you forget the role Mouren has played in the history of this empire?” My voice has trailed to a whisper, for some reason.
His eyes harden as they meet mine. “I didn't forget.”
I brace myself for anger, for him to throw me out of his room after all.
He only runs a hand over the scars on his forearm—those thin, silvered lines I can’t make sense of—and says, “You're right, of course.”
The silence stretches, sharp and uncomfortable, until I’m struck by a question that’s never really crossed my mind before: What does heactuallythink about the conquest and wars his ancestors started? I always assumed he just enjoyedthe spoils of it all. That he was raised on the blood of fallen kingdoms, and when one develops a taste for such things, there’s no coming back, no rising above it.
I’m still not convinced thisisn’tthe truth, and yet…
The truth can be a complicated beast, I guess.
“Anyway,” he goes on, before I can find a way to voice these questions, “my point is that I’m determined to keep you from falling into theirclutches, considering how the ruling families of Dralsk had a history of doing harrowing things to their Flamebound, long before their kingdom was ruined and devastated by Mouren’s armies.”
“Their Flamebound?”
“That was once the common, collective name for all those bound to god-sent dragons,” he explains. “A reference to the divine flames they kept burning.”
“Flames that no longer burn…” I recall from my last conversation with Gareth.
“Correct. Although, at least in my kingdom, the vessel itself is still intact. It’s not far from here, actually.”
I twist the ring he gave me around on my finger, tracing the shimmering red stone. “And what sort ofharrowing thingsdid those Dralsk rulers do to their Flamebound?”
He exhales softly. Wearily, almost. “Let’s not discuss that now. It isn’t going to help either of us sleep tonight.”
Either of us.
Something about the wordusunsettles me. I avert my eyes—at least until another question occurs to me.
“Can a Flamebound even switch alignments, though? Are they not bound to whatever kingdom they were claimed by? Could I truly leave with the Dralsk rebels?”
A small smile curves his lips. “Thinking of deserting me, are you?”
“Since the moment we met. But just answer my question.”
“Traditionally, no. You wouldn’t be able to. As for us, though? We have an agreement, but you haven’t sealed your service to my crown in a way that matters in the eyes of the gods. I haven’t marked you, by the usual divine ritual or otherwise. And I don’t intend to.”
“…You don’t?”
“I never liked the idea of magical bondage, which is essentially what the Flamebound were forced into—or at least, what it became—in many cases.”
I don’t know what to say to this.
To any of it.
And the drink he gave me is making my thoughts increasingly difficult to sort out, so I just attempt to lighten the mood instead. “So, you’re not into degradationorbondage…whatareyour top five fantasies, anyway?”
“Right now, I’m fantasizing about you going to sleep so I can enjoy some peace and quiet.”
“It’s a shame I don’t care about fulfilling your fantasies.”
“It really is.” He goes back to his desk, sitting down this time, slipping his glasses on and reaching for a book.
I give up on trying to make sense of my fuzzy thoughts, studying his room instead of speaking—partly to ground myself, and partly because it seems like another opportunity to learn more about him.
