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"A bold move," he says, closing the gap between us. "Considering the Midorians will never acknowledge your reign, now that you've discovered you have no trace of true Midorian blood flowing through your veins. I dare say, they would rather watch your throat be slit than allow a nobody to sit on their ancient throne."
My heart pounds so loudly I can feel it drumming in my ears. He's not wrong, but I hold my ground. "You needn't concern yourself with the Midorians. It's evident you have your hands full hoping your king will deem you worthy enough to wear his crown, if and when he passes."
"Frost blood runs through you." He eats what little distance remains between us and towers over me, forcing me to tilt my chin up to meet his gaze. "You are just as power-hungry and blood thirsty as the rest of us."
"My mother doesn't seek the crown."
"Because she is weak. She tarnished our bloodline by having you." He unsheathes a dagger from his belt loop so quickly I have no chance to react. Pinned to the wooden gate behind me, he puts the blade to my throat. "Perhaps I will be guaranteed the Frost Throne, if I lay your head at our grandfather's feet. The blemish expunged."
Before I can respond, I feel a cold gust of wind behind me and hear a low, guttural growl. Not able to turn around, I keep my eyes fixed on Thrane and see pure satisfaction beam across his face. It's the slightest trace, but it's there. He retracts his blade and holsters it, putting his hands up in surrender and retreating a few steps.
I slowly spin to look into Seraxes' pen, but she's not on the opposite side where I last observed her lounging. Her long, scaled face is up to the gate, her blue and golden eyes narrowed in animalistic fury, rage directed entirely at Thrane. I reach my hand up, cautiously, and once I stretch my arm as far as I can, my dragon presses her snout against my palm. I can't help the surprised giggle that escapes me and worse, I can't hold back the tears of joy that slip down my cheeks.
"I suppose it is safe to assume Seraxes has indeed forgiven you."
I glance over my shoulder at Thrane who has once again taken up a lazy, nonchalant stance against the pen next to ours. "You provoked her."
"You wanted to know if she believed you," he shrugs. "Now you know."
"She could have hurt you."
"She could have," he agrees.
"You never intended to harm me, did you?"
A wickedness flashes in his gaze before a full-blown smirk snakes across his face. "Oh, Aurelia, I can't give you all the answers, can I?"
"Why do you insist on calling me Aurelia, when you know my name is Shaye?"
He pauses, taking a moment to eye me head-to-toe. "I do not call you Shaye, because I refuse to address you as who you pretend to be."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I snap.
"I told you when we first met, I don't waste my time exchanging hollow pleasantries with those who don't appeal to me." He takes a commanding step toward me and Seraxes growls lowly behind me. "Ilaria Shaye Kitarni is of no interest to me, but Aurelia Basilius-Sol has my undivided attention. The question is, Cousin, when will you stop pretending and claim who you really are? After all," he smirks, "you have been searching for answers. Now you have them."
"I don't claim that name because I have not yet earned it."
"What a preposterous thing to say," he clicks his tongue. "You do not need to earn your name, Aurelia. It's yours. You just have to be bold enough to reclaim it."
"And what if I don't want to reclaim the Basilius name?"
"Now I am beginning to believe you say things for the enjoyment of hearing your own voice." He shakes his head and clasps his arms behind his back. "You have a choice to make, and no one can make it for you. I, for one, will not coddle you. I will not allow you to make excuses or run away because you're scared – "
"I'm not scared!"
"You are, and it's not befitting a Basilius, nor a Sol," he silences me with his harsh tone. "We do not beg, we never surrender. We die as we live, free and feared."
"I'm getting sick of you reminding me of your House motto," I mutter.
"I wouldn't have to remind you, if you just accepted that whether you like it or not, you are a Basilius. It's time you start acting like one."
"You know" – my eyes snap up to meet his – "you are starting to get on my nerves."
He smiles, his eyes dancing in delight. "It's about time. Oh, and by the way, Aurelia, your mother wanted me to tell you that you passed all your courses and are eligible for your Orhelle tattoos." Without another word or second glance, the prince saunters out of the stable and disappears around the corner before I have a chance to respond.
I'm not sure how I feel about Thrane. He's cunning to be sure, and has perfected masking his thoughts and feelings, but I sense goodness in him. I don't think he would harm me, but then again, he could be buttering me up, hoping I lower my guard and strike when I least expect it. And I can't shake the icky feeling that he's hiding his magic from me because he intends to use it against me.
I groan, shaking my head. If the Harland brothers hear Thrane got the drop on me and had a knife pressed against my throat, they'll unleash hell.
