Interlude 1- Malleus
His family was important to him. They were the most important parts of his life and always would be. It did not matter how large his colony grew, how many wings joined them. It did not matter if they lacked scales and claws or fangs and tails. They were his. They belonged to him. He owned them in all their entirety. The only one he would share with was his grandmother, and there was little he could do against that.
He had not been particularly impressed with Lilia when his mentor brought up the prospect of taking in another. It was perhaps foolish of him, but Lilia was his favorite of all his belongings, and he did not wish to share him further. He knew the child Lilia brought in would more than likely not be a threat to his claim on Lilia, just as Silver had not been, but instinct was a difficult thing to reconcile.
Once upon a time, he would have been much more displeased, but that was before his position became evident. He knew where he stood in Lilia’s life now. It had been made very clear that while he claimed and owned Lilia, the feeling was not mutual. Lilia was not his sire and most certainly was not his father.
Lilia, powerful, irreverent, merciless, Lilia was an exile. The sentence may have been reversed when he was just a few decades old, but that did not erase the fact that Lilia had been forced from their hold. He had left the possession of the Draconian hoard, and while Malleus knew it was without the knowledge or approval of his grandmother, the effect had still stained the Fae. It followed him wherever he went. It was in the scorn of all those who beheld him. It was in the tithes that draped themselves upon him like torn robes and tarnished jewels.
Friend.
Knight.
General.
Nightmare.
Terror.
Betrayer.
Forsaker.
The Tainted One.
The Wingless Bat.
Most were older than Malleus, and that gave them power. They bolstered Lilia’s power just as much as they poisoned it. He could taste the change in him, and Malleus refused to acknowledge it. Lilia, for all his faults and there were many, was invincible in his eyes. It was inconceivable that something as unconquerable, as invulnerable, as Lilia could weaken.
Lilia had been the port in Malleus’ storm for as long as he could remember. For nearly 176 years, Lilia had been at his side. Lilia had been the one to train him in his magic, had been the one to gift him his first sword, his first toy, his first-
So many things. So many irreplaceable memories.
He’d cried for weeks, had raged for months, the first few times Lilia left for his travels. Something inside him screamed and cried out every time Lilia left him. He was never there long enough, and every time he left, it was like he’d been ripped away from Malleus.
His chest ached and burned, bubbling and rotting.
He had nightmares at times. They were of many things, but most often of Lilia. Some of them were horrors of watching his- of watching Lilia fall. Of watching some imagined enemy fell the one person aside from his grandmother who had never hated him, never feared him. Some changed and, instead of Lilia being felled, it was Malleus himself faced with the prospect of fighting, of killing, one of the very few people Malleus could truly claim as his own. Those dreams stuck to him, painting themselves across his mind in vivid black and white and fleeting crimson.
But, as horrid and terrifying as those night terrors were, the ones that haunted him the most were faint, vague, recollections. Blurred images of green flames and vibrant red lightning. He dreamt of the warmth of armored arms and the stench of sweat and fear, not for his holder, but for Malleus himself. He dreamt of those arms being wrenched from him, of him being seized out of those caring, possessive, arms and into the greed and reverence of others. He’d scream and roar as loud as he could, and only the scratchy screech of a hatchling would escape him. He’d scream and fight and try to get back. He’d hear the booming condemnation of his sire, the rip of tithes, and the agonized screams of his-
He dreamed of being stolen, of being secreted away, of having tithes forced upon him, of having power that wasn’t his thrumming through his veins. Dreams were not an escape for him. They were not a paradise he wished to embrace. His dreams were terrible things that made him feel like the magic inside him was revolting against him. Perhaps that was why he neglected his sleep in an odd reflection of Silver.
Malleus had taken to exploring ruins in an attempt to stay awake. The night would always embrace him, and as long as he moved, he wouldn’t succumb to the temptation to close his eyes. It was only as he truly began to examine the things he came across that he began to enjoy his nightly strolls. Seeing the remnants of the past ignited a certain thrill in him. Walking amongst the broken stone and crumbling pillars made a restless part of him, a part of him that had never ceased to squirm, go still.
It was like waking up.
Malleus had never felt completely whole in his life. He had always been missing something, and for many decades, he had assumed it was a family he was missing. Walking along ancient pathways long forgotten made him feel a bit more complete. Lilia noticed his growing wanderlust with an amused confusion.
“Neither Maleanor nor Revan ever felt any inclination to leave the Valley.” He’d grinned down at him proudly, back then when Lilia had still been taller, and brushed his fingers through Malleus’ hair, “I suppose you get that from me!”
Malleus wished. He wished with every minuscule part of his heart, with every pulse of his magic.
Back then, he had not yet learned his place in Lilia’s life. But he had soon after.
Malleus had not been permitted much time with Lilia back then, no matter how much he’d tried to sneak out or barter. His tutors were strict with his education. Politics, etiquette, mathematics, science, and diplomacy. He had tutors for everything. Most of his tutors were old Fae, ones who’d lived through the wars and been employed under the royal family for so long most had forgotten their alliances.
Malleus had grown used to the fear and awe they held for him, no matter how much it both pleased and grated on his nerves. It was a conundrum he could never fully understand. His grandmother had always told him that to have the fear of others was to be a dragon, that that fear was his right as a Draconia. He should’ve felt vindicated by that fear, should’ve felt proud of it. It was a mark of his power and his subjects’ submission to him as their ruler.
He hated it.
A part of him did feel that pride, but another part of him hissed and spat. He wanted to fight for the respect he deserved. He wanted to earn it, not through his birth or through his inherent power, but through hard work, through combat.
He couldn’t battle his tutors however. His grandmother would be upset with him if he did. So Malleus sat through his lessons with a fraying temper and a need to move. It wasn’t until his restraint began to truly fray that he was made aware of his position.
“The Fae known as Lilia Vanrouge acquired your egg and fled, leaving Her Highness, Princess Maleanor, to be felled by the Knight of Dawn.” He could remember the cold gaze of his tutor as they spoke. He tasted the scorn as they spoke his- spoke Lilia’s name. It carried the tainted breath of Coward, of Forsaker,Betrayer. Malleus had taken offence, but he’d not been given time to come to his- Lilia’s defense.
“Lilia Vanrouge was exiled two hundred years later after forsaking the royal family once more. Although he has been acquitted by Her Majesty the Queen, it is imperative that you acknowledge his place. He is an exile, Prince Malleus. He will never have a place within the Valley of Thorns. He is a bat, a parasite living off the lifeblood of others. He has no power of his own. He is beneath you. You must accept your place. He is not your retainer. He is not your sire. He is of no import to you.”
He had tried to interrupt, to stop the words that hurt, to make the insolent Fae suffer for speaking so out of turn. Each word tore into his soul. They ignited his heart in a way he had never experienced. The Fae had leveled a cold, steady, stare at him, and Malleus had shrank into himself. Why was it that despite all his power, despite his royal blood, despite the rage aching in the hollow hole in his chest, why couldn’t he fight against the judgment of others? Why did it hurt so much to be judged? Why did the fear burn?
“You are the sole heir of the Land of Briars. You are the Crown Prince of our nation. You have a duty to your people, Prince Malleus. You are to be the ruling King in but a millennium. It is your duty to grow powerful, to reign with honor and prestige. It is your duty to know your place, and that place is far above that of Lilia Vanrouge.”
From then on, his tutors had made a point to keep him busy, to have the guards watch his movements even further. He was not able to sneak away as much as before. He couldn’t go out to explore the ruins when guards followed every step he made. So he began his garden. His grandmother was too busy herself to bother with his plight, but she’d found the time to gift him seeds for his garden. He took over his great-grandmother’s old garden. Roses and briars and orchids and carnations were left to the care of the servants after her passing, some two thousand years ago. Under Malleus’ hands, they bloomed bright once more. His grandmother said nothing when the flowers bloomed in waves of scarlet and magenta under his careful tending.
Some nights, he’d wake from incessant night terrors to find packets of seeds on his nightstand. Seeds from the Sunset Savanna, Pyroxene, The Queendom of Roses, The Scalding Sands, even seeds from the Coral Sea. He could taste the magic on them, the scent that lingered over them, and every time his heart hurt that he hadn’t managed to see him. Some nights he’d toss and turn, half awake as nightmares consumed him, only to have soft, deep, singing soothe him. A lyrical voice that stirred some forgotten part of Malleus’ brain, like a candle flame slowly gaining strength. It calmed his dreams. It lulled that restless part of him that had grown so very tense. It tempted him, and as sleep-addled as he was, Malleus surrendered to that temptation. He’d nuzzle up into the gentle hands smoothing over his hair, sigh into the soft purring that scratched some itch in his mind he didn’t understand.
A small body would curl itself around him, would press his head deep into its chest, would cradle him like he was still a babe. Jagged wings would engulf him, large and leathery as they settled over him in short, pain-filled, jerks. It would treat him like he was precious, like he was a treasure in a hoard, like a shiny piece of gold to be protected and possessed. Malleus desperately wanted to be possessed, to be claimed, to be held and anchored down to reality. He was afraid to float too high, to drop back down to the harsh ground.
His grandmother wasn’t nearly enough to hold an adolescent dragon. He loved her dearly, and she did claim him, did possess him, owned him, but she wasn’t enough. Lilia made it better. When Malleus grew older, his rooms decorated with keepsakes Lilia gifted him, and his lessons lessened in favor of magic; his grandmother called Lilia back to the castle.
Lilia was the only one, other than his grandmother, who could teach him how to control his errant magic and his oceanic temper. Day in and day out, they trained. He went to Lilia’s cottage daily for their lessons, and slowly the hole in his chest began to ache less and less. The power in his veins didn’t burn as much when Lilia was around. It still pushed at him, still filled him too much, until he felt like one wrong movement could rupture his soul, but it was easier.
He adored his time with Lilia. He adored living out on the outskirts of the Valley. He adored when Lilia took him on his trips, as few and far between as that was. It was there that he finally felt…wanted. Loved. Every moment with Lilia was filled with a warmth that banished the permanent cold Malleus lived in. Lilia didn’t complain or speak of Duty when Malleus crawled into his lap and buried his face in his shoulder. He didn’t speak of Malleus’ age or prestige when Malleus knocked on his door in the middle of the day and sheepishly asked if he could sleep with him.
With Lilia, Malleus was free. It was even better when Malleus grew the courage to tell Lilia of his desire for battle. Then combat joined their lessons, and Malleus felt what it was like to have his blood ignite. Lilia was a terror in battle. He had earned his tithes in the war through prowess and skill. Under his teaching, Malleus’ skin bloomed with purple and blue and scrapes and scratches. He loved it. He loved the rush. He loved the satisfaction in successfully dodging a blow, of learning how to dance to the song of blood and battle.
No matter how much he fought with Lilia, against Lilia, he never gained the upper hand. Not even when he used magic. Lilia was a relentless opponent who could weave in and out of reach like a needle through fabric. He was a conductor in an orchestra of thrilling pain. Battle was Lilia’s birthright. Far more than it would ever be Malleus’, but with Lilia, it felt like a neglected half of his soul was finally growing. He felt utter elation when he finally managed to get inside Lilia’s guard long enough to snap his head forward and Bite. Lilia had laughed himself silly as he teleported out of Malleus’ reach just before his teeth would’ve met skin. It was the first time he’d ever made Lilia use magic in their duels. He’d laughed even harder when Malleus managed to burn away half his hair when he tried forcing him into the bath.
“My powerful little pup,” Lilia had crooned teasingly, and Malleus had forced himself not to preen. To be claimed so obviously, to be possessed for just that small moment, had brought out the starving need that festered in him. He wanted Lilia to claim him, wanted to be his childe, to be Lilia’s fledgling, to be anything but his Prince.
And then Lilia came home, to the cottage, to Malleus, with a small pink Thing in his arms. Malleus had stared at the Thing and its weird hair and round ears and pink flesh.
“What is it?” He’d asked, tilting his head this way and that. The Thing watched him with shifting, magical, eyes that swirled blue, purple, green.
“My son,” Lilia said immediately with a sharp gaze, watching, possessive, assessing. Assessing Malleus. Watching Malleus.
Watching Malleus like he was a threat…
And Malleus broke a little bit.
Malleus learned his place quickly. His and Lilia’s duels did not stop, their lessons did not end, but if the Thing, the Son, cried for its Father, Lilia went. It did not matter if they were in the middle of a lesson or a bloody fight; Lilia left.
Malleus learned his place, and that place was below the Son. He hated it. He hated the Son. He hated and hated and hated. He hated until Lilia lifted his lips and bared sharp fangs at him for the first time, when Malleus backed away with a cold stare when the Son tried reaching for him.
And then Malleus accepted.
He accepted his place.
He accepted it because he would do anything to make sure Lilia never looked at him like that again.
It was not wise to tempt a Fae when it came to their children, and Malleus came deathly close. Fae were vicious, horrible, creatures. And disastrously protective of those they claimed ownership of.
In Lilia’s life, the Son was above the Prince, and Malleus was left to accept that. He began distancing himself quickly after that. Malleus was Lilia’s Prince, not his Son, and he needed to act like it. Malleus had a Duty, and he was there, at the cottage, to learn to live up to it.
Malleus was not a Son. He had never been a Son. He would never be a Son. But he could be a Prince. So he moved Lilia in his mind, no matter how much it hurt. Malleus owned Lilia because Lilia was his subject. Lilia was a servant, a knight, of the Draconia, and as such, it was Malleus’s duty to be a good Prince to him. Lilia had been the head of his mother’s guard, had been her closest confidant along with his father. Malleus owed Lilia not only his life- “The Fae known as Lilia Vanrogue acquired your egg and fled”- but also his loyalty.
Malleus stayed away from Lilia and his Son until he was sure he’d reconciled their places in his mind. In that time, his grandmother took over his training. He needed to be taught to control himself in battle. He could not risk eating all his enemies. She helped him learn how to control the raging hunger in his blood, the hunger for blood that never left him, and taught him how to use his fangs and tail. She was an even harsher trainer than Lilia, but battling her didn’t awaken the fire in his blood like Lilia. Her strength was overwhelming, was intimidating. She didn’t bother to dance around him like Lilia. She stood and allowed Malleus to attack her, and promptly punished him for every mistake. A misstep ended in him being grabbed and slammed into the ground. Too long in the air, and he was crushed by her tail. Too close, and her claws would gouge through his skin.
She crushed any attempt at dominance he made with extreme prejudice. She taught him how to control himself, how to comport himself, how to keep his wild nature hidden behind royal restraint.
Lilia did not make an attempt to see him during that time, and neither did Malleus go back to the cottage. He did not return until his grandmother had beaten him so thoroughly she’d left a scar across his stomach. When he saw the Son, he did not make the same mistake as before. He showed nothing.
Lilia watched even more oppressively than before. Malleus kept his visits brief. It was a tense time for them.
Lilia kept the Son in his sights at all times, apparently coached by the Zigvolts in childrearing. It was during one of his visits that Malleus witnessed Lilia’s attempts at changing his Son. He had not announced himself, had not been granted invite, but he was the Prince, and Lilia was his servant. He did not need to be invited to see someone he owned.
Lilia had been bathed in moonlight, holding the sleeping babe in heartbreakingly gentle arms, swaying under the silvery light as he breathed out ancient whispers over the child. Malleus’ heart had broken for the umpteenth time, seeing the obvious care in the actions, before he’d tasted the magic. He heard the whispers of a Name, the Name Lilia had bestowed upon his Son. He felt the swirling attention of the ancient spirits. He tasted the magicks as Lilia pushed.
“May the night bless you, Silver,” Lilia whispered with Intent.
Only for nothing to happen.
Those little round ears did not stretch into points. Those closed eyes did not flicker red. There was no magical hold on the child, nothing apart from the blessing, the claim, Lilia had placed on it when he first acquired it. The babe did not even awaken from its sleep.
Lilia had failed.
Was it wrong of Malleus to feel vindicated? To feel vicious satisfaction? Was it wrong of him to eagerly await the day that baby would die? It would live only a few decades. Only a century at the most. Truly, it was little more than a pet. Lilia may call it his Son, may care for it more than he’d ever cared for Malleus, but it would still die in the end.
“Malleus, be nice to your brother.”
And then everything began to shift. His brother? Malleus had blinked in open astonishment at Lilia, but the Fae didn’t look up from his brewing. Malleus had been purposely nudging the Son’s toy away from its pudgy hands, vindictively delighting in the frustrated little sounds the thing made.
“Malleus, would you pick up some fruit from the market for your brother. I think he’s teething.”
“Malleus! Silver!” Lilia dragged his hand through his hair. “Stop fighting! Clearly, I can’t leave you two alone. The two of you act more like animals than brothers sometimes.”
“Malleus, keep a close eye on Silver. You’re his older brother, it’s up to you to protect him when I can’t.”
Lilia had given Silver to him. Lilia had given Malleus his Son. He’d allowed Malleus to share in possession of his Son. Silver was his. It felt like an apology, like an attempt at a balancing act between them. It wouldn’t work. Lilia had been clear, more than clear. Malleus had no place within his colony, his clan, his family. Malleus accepted that. He understood that. He accepted the attempt, though.
It was not something that could be taken back, not something Lilia could change now that he’d given it. Silver was under Malleus’ guardianship, and Malleus was not oblivious to Lilia’s reasoning in giving up some of his claim. Lilia himself was not completely able to protect Silver. He owned land, was a Lord to several vassal families, but he was still considered an exile. He would not be able to give Silver opportunities within the Valley. Malleus, however, could. Malleus could give Silver the greatest opportunity available to any within the Valley, and with Lilia’s previous position, there would be little doubt exactly what position he wanted for his Son.
But now, Silver was his. Silver belonged to Malleus just as much as Lilia did, even more than Lilia did. Malleus had a say in every aspect of Silver’s life now. An older brother was not as powerful as a parent, but it gave Malleus responsibility over Silver. It was his duty to ensure Silver grew from then on. And that meant he could influence how Silver grew.
Malleus lived with the pain in his heart, the lingering ache that flared whenever he saw Silver and Lilia together, and he adapted. He was a Prince. He had responsibilities to attend to. He was not a Son. He had no Mother, nor a Dam. He had no Father, no Sire. He had a grandmother and a knight, and that knight’s Son.
Then Sebek was presented to him.
The day he’d gone to Lilia’s cottage had been like any other. He half felt that his continuous need to see Lilia was some masochistic desire for pain. He’d been prepared for it. It had been six years since Lilia brought home his Son, Malleus had had time to come to terms with Silver’s presence.
But, instead of Silver’s bright excitement and sleepy personality, he’d been greeted with Lilia standing with a young boy. The child had been nervous. Nervous and excited. His magic was a flicker of lime and citrus. He’d stood as still and straight as he could at Lilia’s side, standing in a practiced parade rest.
“This, Malleus, is Sebek Zigvolt.” Lilia had gently urged the boy forward. “His mother has given him to me for training.”
The boy hadn’t spoken, simply stood there, nearly shaking. Malleus knew what Lilia meant, what agreement he and Sekhmet Zigvolt had come to. Baul Zigvolt had been a vicious commander under Lilia during the war. He was vaguely aware of Sekhmet’s, Baul Zigvolt’s daughter, marriage to a human male. He’d had to listen to plenty of gossip among the nobility of how Sekhmet was dishonoring the Zigvolt line with her half-breed spawn.
And yet he’d been presented with one such spawn. One that, like Silver, would be his to do with as he pleased once Lilia was done training him. One who would become a guard, a servant, for him.
He was used to such things being decided for him. Malleus truly had no choice in many things in his life. It did not matter how powerful he became, how good at combat or magic he was, he was born with chains around his neck. He had little choice, little freedom, in anything in his life.
But Malleus Draconia was Fae. And looking down at that small boy, he’d felt a little spark of rebellion, of something vicious. It was a twisted little thing. A slap at Lilia, at Silver, at the entirety of his life. Malleus hated the chains, the collar that choked him with every breath he took.
So he’d knelt before that small child, the half-breed who’d already been exposed to their people’s vindictive, spiteful, nature. Lilia had gone very, very, still. Already, such a small action had shocked his mentor, had turned the situation on its head.
The boy’s eyes had gone wide, and Malleus examined the bright yellow-green of his hair and eyes. Bright jewel tones, the typical colors of a Fae, not what one would expect to see in a half-breed. He’d tilted his head at the subtle point to the boy’s ears, another oddity in one of his blood, and the sharp slit to his pupils. A jewel. Malleus purred low, too low for a human to hear, too low for a half-breed to hear, but the boy gasped like he could. This boy would be his, that was without question. He was small now, but Malleus had met Baul Zigvolt, and the Fae was positively massive. The fact that the clan had allowed the boy to take the name Zigvolt spoke to what potential they thought the boy had. Otherwise, Sekhmet would have simply given the boy her husband’s name.
A half blooded Fae child, drenched in lightning and hidden potential. It was no wonder that he’d been given to Lilia. His colors were brighter than those of the Zigvolt, though they would darken with age. At that moment, though, little Sebek Zigvolt was an uncut peridot. A stone not yet made into jewelry. He would be, though.
“So you are the one who will become my shield,” he did not say it as a question, because it was not. Lilia gaped, eyes wide and bleeding crimson, even as the child’s eyes exploded into vibrant light, the magic settling into the boy.
It was a slight to Lilia. As the head of his mother’s guard, it was Lilia’s privilege and duty to appoint guards to Malleus’ retinue. It was obvious that he’d intended Silver to be the first to join Malleus’ side. Perhaps he’d planned for Sebek to join as well, but it was more likely that he’d simply intended for the boy to be a part of Malleus’ guard. Malleus had taken that choice from Lilia. To be the first to join Malleus’ retinue was the absolute highest of privileges one could achieve. It spoke of power, of the amount of trust Malleus was willing to put into the boy.
Malleus tilted his head and smiled at the child. The boy didn’t step away, didn’t feel terror at the sight. Instead, complete devotion shone back at Malleus. Vindictive satisfaction guided Malleus to his feet so he could look into the burning red of Lilia’s eyes. He would pay for the disrespect, likely in training, but Malleus could not find it in himself to care.
“Do not disappoint me, Sebek Zigvolt.”
And that devotion grew.
Years passed, and Malleus stood witness to his grandmother beating the life out of Lilia after he’d mistakenly mentioned Silver. Evidently, the Fae had not seen fit to notify the Queen of the addition to Lilia’s colony. Malleus had forgiven Lilia slowly, though their relationship had forever been changed. He grew attached to Silver and stifled the ache in his heart that screamed for his-
He could admit to a flash of utter panic when Silver, bright, foolish, brave, Silver rushed the Queen with his little wooden sword. Foolish boy. Brave boy. His grandmother liked that bravery, not so much the foolishness, however.
Malleus thought he understood his grandmother now. As he stared down at a small boy, skinny and tinier than even Sebek had been, he admired the bravery that lived in the child’s heart. When Lilia had come to him and Silver and told them of the child he’d found, Malleus had not expected the child that sat before him.
It was the eyes that caught his attention first.
They were green. Luminous. Draconic. They glowed with magic, unworldly magic, untamed and unrestrained. This child was something Malleus recognized. Some instinct in the back of his mind sat up and took notice, and it took every ounce of royal decorum he had to not react outwardly. He couldn’t help the low rumble in his throat, not a threat but an inquisitive call. What was this boy? What was the magic that tingled on Malleus’ senses?
The boy was Lilia’s. Not in blood or magic, but in Kind. This boy was something Malleus shared with Lilia, though he hid it beneath bloody lessons at the hand of his grandmother. This boy was wild. This boy was bloodthirsty, battle hungry. He was a savage.
“You have horns!”
Malleus blinked, because mortals appreciated such things, and wondered if the boy would fear him. There were no other dragons in the world, even a toddler could understand who Malleus was.
“That’s socool!”
He had never been called such before and considered if it was an insult for a moment before Lilia whispered the meaning to him. Not an insult. Quite the opposite. The boy admired his horns. Not in awe or fear or reverence, but because he liked them.
It-
Startled him. He had never been subject to such irreverence from anyone except Lilia and his grandmother. It was obvious why neither would feel reverence for him, they were both stronger than him. But this child was small and fragile and…weak. Weak but powerful.
“I will fight you for him.” He’d growled under his breath, too low for a human to hear in Olde Fae. Lilia grinned, challenge sparking in his magic.
“Try me, boy.”
“You think they are ‘cool’?” He’d had to make sure he understood correctly. Human expressions were so confusing. Humans were confusing.
Beautiful eyes burned up at him from a feral grin that matched Lilia’s. No child so young should be able to conjure such malice and thirst.
“Your horns are the coolest.”
And so a fearless child had joined their small colony. And that same small child would come to bind them tighter together, closer than Malleus had ever thought them capable. He had forged a spot for Malleus in that colony, had forced him into the family Malleus had always thought he’d had no place in.
Malleus hummed softly and brushed his hands through wild black hair and baby fluff. Stray feathers tickled his knuckles. He hummed a lullaby to his sleeping family and ignored the smears of black he left along their youngest’s pearl white skin.
Malleus Draconia had spent nearly two hundred years thinking he was alone. He had borne the pain of loneliness and rejection until it nearly broke him. He had spent far, far, too long without a family to ever allow it to leave him again. Malleus would not lose the closest person he had ever had to a Father.
He refused.