A boy came to find him that morning, bearing a message that made him leave the family wing and head to the one place where he’d never stepped foot without being up to mischief in the past.

Nathos’ office hadn’t changed - it was sparse and clinically organized.

“Your Highness. You’ve been hard to pin down.”

No doubt. He barely spent any time in his apartments, not leaving Talia from dawn to dusk.

“These last few days have been full, as you can imagine, but I believe I might have found details about the…matter we discussed.”

He pointed to a leather-bound book on his desk - bound in blue, which meant that it came from Nathos’ personal collection, the only few volumes Vincent had never managed to locate.

He lifted a brow.

“Help yourself. Unless books are only tasteful to you when you aren’t permitted to take them.”

“You knew?”

The Elder rolled his eyes. “There isn’t much happening in these walls without my knowing, Prince.”

That, Vincent didn’t doubt.

“We were right to be suspicious. From what I’ve read, Riders do come from the same families. When one sibling was chosen, before the Rift, the other children in the family were watched closely and encouraged to link themselves to a dragon. Sometimes it occurred, sometimes not. But even without the link, they did tend to exhibit the same characteristics as fully developed Riders.” After a beat, he added, “And were often wedded amongst our kind.”

No surprise at all there.

“So their entire family…”

“It’s not quite as simple. Their parents may be, for all intents and purposes, very regular mages. They simply had the right genes, and mixed together, the result was extraordinary.”

The Elder was one of the dullest men he knew, but even then, he hadn’t looked or sounded quite so wary in the past. Vincent found himself asking, “Is everything alright?”

Nathos hesitated.

“I’m old. Very old. And tired, too. I imagined these next few years would be my last.”

If anyone had asked Vincent whether he liked the elder, he might have shrugged. Hearing him say that, though, he wanted to roar and jump out of his skin in protest. Nathos wasn’t going anywhere.

“What this woman represents…” he sighed. “I’ve never felt this way. I want her.” He practically growled. “I want to keep her safe and care for her. She insinuated herself into my world overnight.”

Aleria. He talked of Aleria.

Vincent winced on his behalf. He had his work cut out for him there.

“Welcome to the club.”

That was exactly what had occurred with Talia - he didn’t quite comprehend it. By gods, she’d only been in the Kingdom three weeks, and now, his world began and ended with her.

“One thousand years, and I find myself not knowing what to do.”

To make things simple for him, Vincent asked, “Do you have a choice?”

* * *

He spent most of his day reading, although he did it in Talia’s company. When he’d expressed his wish to read, and offered to arrange for her to visit low-town, or anything she pleased to amuse herself, she dismissed his idea.

“I’d love to get my hands on the books you talked of.”

So, he returned to Nathos’ office, to steal a book this time. And yes, perhaps he could have asked, but that would just have removed the fun out of it.

Immersed in tales of old dragons and Riders as he was, he might have forgotten to eat or order a drink, if Talia hadn’t been with him. She was, though, so occasionally his dragon growled to demand his attention and he knew it was time to see to her needs.

Ringing a bell, he ordered tea.

How comfortable they were, just in silence.

During one of their little breaks, he shared, “You know, I believed you might have bespelled me when you first came. Turns out, I was right.”

Talia lifted a brow.

“Instant bonds. Dragons and Riders form them two ways - the sisterly bond that linked Xandrie to Demelza, and the bond she formed with Rhey from the very beginning. As you’re of the same blood, you have the same latent ability to form both.”

“Something Nimue said made me think all of us - Xandrie, Aleria, and I - might not be so very different, despite our different skills. She said I descended from what they called Dragonlords in the past. That got me thinking that perhaps it was another word for Riders.”

Vincent inclined his head. “No doubt. If I could pin down that woman, I’d have her write a damn history book,” he grumbled.

Talia laughed, and there was nothing in his mind, save for peace. Now, he had to tell her that.

“I’m grateful. Grateful you walked into my life. I was lost for a long time. My dragon and I would never have mended our differences without you. I believed him to be a monster, I gave up on him, and, in doing so, he was lost to me. I owe you everything for making me see that.” He had to smile. “He adores you, you know.”

Talia beamed.

“As I adore you. It’s not normal, it’s not logical, but from the very first moment I saw you, I knew you were mine. I’ll know it when I draw my last breath.”

How awkward he was, with words such as these. “What I meant to say-”

“I know perfectly well what you meant to say. And I love you, too, Pretty Man.”

* * *

Miles away.

If he’d ever spared a thought on how death would come at him, Ash would have imagined dragonfire, blood, surrounded by a thousand enemies. Not this. Not this slow, agonizing decline, tainted by the taste of betrayal. He wasn’t dying here, alone, because of his sworn enemy; no one even knew he’d left his castle yet.

No one, save for his kin, the man he’d trusted above all others.

It was no coincidence when the raids had started, following him wherever he went, but he’d brushed it aside. The lands were perilous, he knew that. It meant nothing.

He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, after the Royal Warlock had blasted the town where he’d stayed into oblivion. He recognized his own magician’s spells.

The magician was attacking him on enemy territory; if, no, when, the dragons of Farden saw what had happened to their people, they would declare war on Absolia.

Ash had no clue why anyone would wish that. It was insanity. There were as many dragons in Farden as there were in Absolia, according to their spies; fighting against them meant the potential extinction of their kind.

Ash could have flown out. He was quick enough to change and get out of the way. But there were children about, bears and little dragonlings, frightened and crying for their mothers, so he’d done what he could. He’d shifted and flown, not away from the danger, but right to it, meeting it head on, and taking the worst of the blast.

Gragnar’s blow had been fire and Shadow. A lesser dragon - one less versed in protection spells, or with a weaker bloodline - wouldn’t have survived it. Ash was still breathing now, but only just. If aid came to him now, he might see another morrow; but he’d fallen in deserted lands, unknown to anyone who might wish him well, so, instead, he was dying, thirsty, broken, and despairing for his people.

There ended the line of his ancestors.

The gods were kind enough as to show him the shape of an angel before he closed his eyes. A beautiful creature with golden brown skin, and those brilliant eyes.

“Stay with me, Rogue,” said she.

He wished he could, but he had to go now.

“Dammit. Sorry, Xandrie, I’m going to have to borrow your strength.”

Hundreds of miles away, the Queen of Farden cried out in surprise as an acute pain gripped her. Demelza closed her eyes, and recited every healing spell she could recall, to breathe life back into the limbs of the King of the Fiery Shadows.