After navigating through the hallways, I reached the massive, silver-trimmed doors to Alvis's solar. I didn't even have to knock. They swung open with a silent, mechanical grace, as if they had been waiting for me.
There he was. Alvis wasn't reading or drinking tea. He was standing by a floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the kingdom he was destined to rule. The sunlight caught his sapphire eyes, making them look like cold, unfeeling gems.
"Rio," he said, his voice a smooth, terrifying hum.
He was looking at the sprawling kingdom below, his back turned toward me. He didn't look at me, yet he still knew exactly who had entered.
'Does he have a tracker just like Elena?' I wondered, a bead of sweat tracing its way down my neck.
'Of course he would. He is a dragon too.'
I knew he was strong—possibly the strongest of the siblings. If Elena was a blade and Laila was poison, Alvis was the entire mountain. He was sharper than Laila's silver tongue and deeper than Elena's bloodlust.
I recalled the dinner. He hadn't said a word to Laila when she was dragging my name through the dirt, but you can't know for sure with someone like him.
Maybe he had his own reasons. Maybe he was actually a good guy—I mean, a good Dragon. Or maybe he just didn't think I was worth the breath it took to defend me.
"What are you doing here?"
He noticed I was just standing there like a statue, staring at the back of his head without blinking. He didn't turn, but the air in the room seemed to vibrate with his question, forcing the conversation to start.
"Ah... I..."
The words caught in my throat. My mind raced. Should I just ask him directly about the history of the family? Should I blurt out ask about my mother? Or should I lead with something else first?
In a world of predatory dragons, the choice of my words would decide what response I would get.
I couldn't just demand answers; I needed to draw him into a deep conversation, something that would bypass his "Crown Prince" armor and get to the information I desperately needed.
"I realized something at dinner last night," I said, my voice barely above a whisper but steady enough to carry.
Alvis finally turned. It wasn't a sudden movement; it was a slow, predatory rotation. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, the room felt devoid of oxygen.
"Oh," as soon as the word left his mouth, his expression suddenly took a 180-degree turn.
The serious, weight-of-the-world expression he had while looking out the window—the eyes that seemed so dangerous—suddenly turned soft.
A warm, practiced smile appeared on his face. Now, he looked exactly like he had yesterday when I met him for the first time: the gentle, composed eldest brother.
"What is it? Tell me?"
He asked, his tone light and encouraging, but I was kind of confused by his sudden change. It was like he had flipped a switch to put me at ease, but that only made me more wary.
"It is nothing much," I began, trying to keep my voice stable as I stepped further into the room. "You know about my mother, right? And you know... about what I am."
I stopped, watching him closely for any crack in that friendly mask. He didn't flinch. He just tilted his head, his sapphire eyes shimmering with a feigned curiosity.
"Yeah, so what about it?" he replied simply.
"Laila said that I would soon meet with my mother. Hearing that reminded me... I was terminally ill."
I lied. Well, it was a half-truth.
I looked down at my shaking, stick-thin hands, letting my shoulders slump just a fraction more. I had to get him to pity me, or at least to see me as so non-threatening that he'd drop his guard. If I was just a dying boy looking for a last bit of closure, maybe he'd loosen his silver tongue.
"I don't have much time left, do I?" I whispered, my voice sounding more hollow than I intended. "The 'terminal illness' or whatever you call it... I can feel it growing thicker. It's like being a candle that's already reached the bottom of the wick."
I looked back up at him, trying to make my eyes look as tired as I felt. "If I'm going to go to the 'gutter' like Laila says, I don't want to go without knowing why I was born in the first place. Why was a demon like my mother even allowed in this palace? Why did the King keep me if I'm just a mistake?"
Alvis didn't answer immediately. He walked over to a small, ornate table and poured a cup of tea, the steam rising in lazy curls. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain.
"Pity is a cheap emotion, Rio." he said finally, his voice still terrifyingly soft and his smile slowly fading away. He held out the cup toward me. "But curiosity... that I can respect. You've changed. The old Rio would have been in a tavern by now, trying to drown his fear in wine."
He gestured for me to sit. "Laila is cruel because she is certain of her place. You are uncertain because you are a mystery even to yourself."
He took a slow sip of his own tea, his sapphire eyes never leaving mine. "Your mother wasn't just a 'human' or a 'demon.' She was a piece of a puzzle that Father couldn't solve, and you are the leftover scrap. If you really want to know the history of the Aragons and the war that birthed you... you should know that it's a story written in blood that hasn't dried yet."
He leaned forward, the friendly mask finally slipping just enough to reveal the cold intellect underneath.
"Tell me, Rio. If I tell you the truth, and it turns out to be the thing you feared the most, will you still be able to walk like you do now? Or will you crumble under the weight of a legacy you never asked for?"