Vincent found himself pondering politics; legislations, to be precise. For surely, as prince of the realm of Farden, Duke of Norda, Baron of Wellyem, and cousin to King Rhey Vasili, he should have a say in such things.

“I’m going to pass a law against meddling parents, if it’s the last thing I do,” he said to the old Archduke, who paid no mind to the threat.

Viktor Vasili was master at the art of ignoring his son when he didn’t want to hear what was said.

“What about dear Saskia? She’s grown into quite the beauty, I hear.”

Vincent groaned, lifted his gaze high towards the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He then prayed to all the gods for the patience to deal with the would-be matchmaker.

At one thousand, one hundred and three years of age, Viktor, eldest amongst the elders, the most ancient member of the royal family still breathing, had been practically stunned when the pretty she-bear shifter he’d been keeping at home had produced a son and heir.

That hadn’t been part of the plan. Viktor was a scholar, a hedonist, a musician. He enjoyed life and freedom, and was quite indifferent to political games. As his name was Vasili, having a child was a political move, so he’d never thought of it. But when Vincent came, Viktor took to fathering with an unceasing wonder.

“I suppose I may as well marry you now,” he’d told Mula, his mistress, who was so good as to inform him that he could go do something he deemed anatomically impossible.

She’d made him work for it, but Viktor was patient and, at long last, earned himself a wife.

Mula wasn’t swayed by the courtship as much as the fact that the father of her child was, simply, a good dragon. He hired no maid, no weapons master, no great tutor. It was he who played his violin to their son at night, as he had no voice for a lullaby. It was he who held his baby close, while their driver turned the carriage round their citadel when he still wouldn’t sleep. Vincent learned to walk holding his hand, and, soon after, learned to fight with him, too. No son had ever had a better father. Or a more adoring mother.

Vincent had to repeat that to himself quite frequently of late, for Viktor and Mula were in agreement right now. They wanted grandbabies. Badly. And to acquire those, they needed Vincent to choose a bride.

Although, neither Viktor, nor Mula, was against him simply throwing a wench on his shoulder and having his way with her until she was with child. They weren’t fussy like that. Viktor had wed Mula, by and by, but they hadn’t been bound at his birth. No wonder that their sense of propriety wasn’t quite in line with every other noble’s. A somewhat familial trait.

“Saskia,” said Vincent in a slow hiss, “would cut my throat in my sleep.”

This wasn’t an exaggeration to anyone who knew the beautiful blonde creature his parents were considering as a potential wife for him. They apparently didn’t place the value of his neck above their lust for grandbabies.

“Poppycock,” Viktor protested. “The girl has honor. She’d attack you while you were awake, and come at you from the front, too.” The man had a point. “But, perhaps not. It wouldn’t do to hasten your demise. What think you of Demelza, hm?”

Vincent sighed, deeply. “We’re related,” he reminded his father.

In his long life Duke Drakr, Viktor’s father, married twice. Of his first wife, Wuja, a proper lady his own father handpicked, he birthed Rhey’s father, Ryker, who was to become King. After Wuja’s death, Drakr chose to elevate his favorite mistress, Syn, to the outrage of some and the amusement of many. Viktor was born of Drakr and Syn. Drakr perished before his second wife, and finding herself rich, but without a husband, the lady, still beautiful - as dragons were for many years - devoted her life to her pleasures. She had an entire harem to satisfy her needs, so it was no surprise that she gave birth to three other children.

One might have thought that her daughters would be rejected as bastards of low birth, children to a Noble Whore, but, on the contrary, Syn’s children were embraced at court. Syn shared her beauty and her arts with her progeny. Viktor, and his half siblings, Tara, Pyru and Lore, played music, wrote poems and danced so well there was talk about some elvish blood in their veins. When they were of age, the most eligible gentlemen offered for his sisters.

Tara wedded Prince Julian, the son of the King who’d preceded Ryker on the throne; Demelza was their only daughter. She thus shared Vincent’s blood, courtesy of Syn.

“Come, Vik, this won’t do at all. Our son knows every woman of birth and rank in the kingdom. If any of them had caught his eye for more than a night yet, we’d know.” Vincent was about to thank his mother for the unexpected aid, but she then added, “We’d better have a look amongst peasants he may not yet have seen. Should we line them up?”

He threw his hands up in the air, in sign of defeat. “I give up.”

Mula perked up. “So, you’ll wed?”

“I meant, I give up on you, and I’m leaving. Mother,” he kissed her cheek, “Father,” he bowed his head. “Get in touch when you’ve both retrieved a fragment of your sanity.”

On that note, he turned on his heels and left his amused, insane, aggravating, and weirdly endearing parents’ dwelling. In the last year, he’d visited them two dozen times, and two dozen times, they’d parted ways in the same manner. He half wondered if they didn’t bring up the subject of his upcoming nuptials when they’d had enough of him.

They’d grown more insistent recently, though, and he knew why. It was his cousin’s fault. Well, not quite; poor Rhey had had no say in the matter. The fault belonged to the Elders of their kind, who had called for a Claiming.

Within a few months, his cousin would have a Queen and his parents saw it as a sign that it was time for Vincent to also tie the knot.

Vincent sighed. He didn’t intend to take a wife, now or later. What sort of a husband would he be to any woman? A dragon that couldn’t shift was of little worth. If he hadn’t been allotted a list of titles longer than a forearm when it had to be recorded on a parchment, he would have been nothing in their world. Thanks to his birth, he had fortune, a good position. Thanks to his father, who’d taught him well, he was as strong as anyone in their mortal shell. He was also blessed as to be able to make use of his fire, in small quantities. But nothing changed the fact that the dark blue creature with shining metallic scales he’d known, and even loved in his youth, was gone forever, crippling him in a way no dragon should ever be crippled. Worse yet, Vincent knew his beast should stay gone.

He was a man now. A strong one. A handsome one, too. But a man, nonetheless. And men were nothing in the realm of Farden, where dragons were the most powerful, feared, and revered creatures alive.

Any woman who accepted his advances would do so because she wanted to be Princess of the realm, not because of his own merits. As a child born of love, bathed in joy throughout his life, and still witnessing so much affection between his parents, he didn’t think he could bear to form a cold alliance.

Eager to chase away such depressing thoughts, Vincent rode at high speed, heading north for two days, until he reached the gates of the Golden City of Tenelar, home to his kin.

The guards flying around the City must have seen him coming, for he was greeted at the gate by the King himself, rather than a simple envoy - an honor few were blessed with.

“Cousin.” Rhey Vasili was smiling, although his eyes weren’t quite there. The vacant expression he wore was familiar. They’d all seen it on King Ryker’s face, before he went well and truly mad. Vincent stiffened. Rhey wasn’t there yet, he had time, perhaps even centuries, but there was no doubt: the madness of kings was upon him. “Back so soon, I see?”

Vincent had been forced to take one of his yearly leaves of absence, and he’d attempted to spend it with his family.

“Welcome me into your home, Rhey, or send me back to work, I beg of you. I just can’t deal with the parental unit.”

Rhey stared at him pointedly. “That you would be welcome under my roof has never been questioned and I shall not have it doubted again.”

And so the King had spoken.