For the next several hours, Silas flew southwest, beating his wings furiously against the wind as steam seeped from his scales. The air around him heated as he became more and more frustrated. He and Rhett were angered over the viscount’s blatant refusal to aid the kingdom. Quinn and his family had purposefully turned their backs on Sylvaris, despite the war against Drurus. It made no sense. Had the tables been turned—had Drurus invaded their lands—Ruggeweyn would have demanded support. So why refuse to fight now?

  The only logical conclusion Rhett and Silas could come up with was that Drurus had sunk its claws into Quinn and Walden. Perhaps Arnav had promised them something irresistible—titles, greater influence, or even land. Ruggeweyn sat within the Zahareth Expanse—a dry, reddish desert filled with salt flats and granite mountains. To the north was the Elarion Grove, a forest where the trees and their leaves were various shades of orange and red, as if it were constantly autumn. While the wood from Elarion was strong enough for furniture, it lacked the thickness needed for homes or ships. As a result, Ruggeweyn’s economy depended heavily on its granite and salt mines.

  It was honest work—but it wasn’t profitable. Unlike the wealthier cities of Sylvaris, Ruggeweyn’s earnings were modest, ensuring Quinn remained a viscount rather than an earl or margrave. Only those in cities wealthy enough to afford higher taxes could rise to those ranks.

  But if Drurus had promised him fertile farmland to the east or control over the shipping ports to the south, Quinn would stand to gain far more than he ever could under Sylvaris’s rule. And if land and wealth were his true ambitions, then siding with Drurus would be the easiest path to achieving them.

  If that were the case—if Quinn and Walden had indeed thrown their lot in with the enemy—there was little Rhett could do to stop them. He would not punish Ruggeweyn for its lord’s choices. Its people were innocent. Its soldiers were merely following orders should the time come to raise their swords against Sylvaris. No… the only ones who deserved his wrath were Quinn—and, to some extent, Walden.

  By late afternoon, Rhett finally spotted the stone castle to the north of a large granite mountain. The structure wasn’t big, but its most recognizable feature was a tall, circular tower in the center. Within its walls was one of the oldest libraries north of the Sea of Bain. Branching out from the central tower were halls and chambers, housing the Viscount and his family.

  Silas descended quickly, and as he landed, his massive wings kicked up a bunch of dust and loose gravel. Within moments, soldiers rushed out of nearby barracks, unsheathing their swords as they surrounded the dragon.

  Rhett had no intention of attacking anyone—at least, not yet—but having blades pointed at them was clearly making him reconsider. A low growl rumbled through Silas’s chest. Steam curled from between his scales, hissing into the air, and the seams along his throat and belly began to glow—a warning that fire lay just beneath the surface.

  The soldiers hesitated, gripping their weapons tighter. A few of them took an uneasy step forward, but Silas responded immediately. He slammed his tail against the ground, causing a few men to stumble backward. With a deafening roar, he lowered his head just enough for them to see the flames in the back of his throat. Another warning that he could burn them where they stood, but he hadn’t. Not yet.

  During all this, the castle doors opened, and two men stepped onto the stone steps. Both were short and stout, with strikingly bright red hair. Quinn and Walden. They walked down the steps and weaved through the line of soldiers until they stood in front of the dragon.

  Silas narrowed his eyes as he looked down at them, snarling before motioning toward the soldiers. Quinn hesitated, assessing the situation before finally raising a hand.

  “Lower your weapons,” he ordered.

  One by one, the soldiers obeyed, sheathing their swords, though they kept their eyes glued to the dragon.

  Satisfied, Silas tilted his head back before dropping a leather bag onto the ground. He then began to shift, and within seconds, Rhett stood in his place. Heat still radiated off his skin as the young king rolled his shoulders. Without a care for his clothes, he turned his gaze immediately to the brothers. The three men stood in silence, staring at one another.

  In the end, Walden was the first to break. With a scoff, he crossed his arms and looked away.

  “Get dressed already,” he muttered. “Your cock flopping in the wind is unsightly.”

  Rhett fought the smirk that tugged at his lips. Between the two brothers, he had always been closer to Walden. Or at least, he had thought so.

  Without a word, he reached for his bag, pulled out his clothes, and dressed quickly. Once he was finished lacing up his boots and running a hand through his hair, he turned his attention to Quinn.

  “Care to explain why you refused my call for help?”

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  “Did you even bother to read the letter I sent?” Quinn questioned with a frown.

  “I did,” Rhett replied with a curt nod, taking a few steps forward. “But what I don’t understand is why you claim the kingdom doesn’t care about Ruggeweyn. Didn’t we lower your taxes last year? Not just yours but those of every city in southern Sylvaris. That was done to keep money in the pockets of your people so they could rebuild after the rebellion. And did you not receive the trade contract I helped my father negotiate with the kingdom of Eldoria? Ten percent of your salt is now shipped overseas at a premium, and you, Quinn, receive the bulk of those profits yourself.”

  “So tell me,” he continued as his expression darkened. “Where do you get off saying we don’t care about you? Because to me, that sounds like nothing more than a cheap excuse to justify siding with Drurus. But let me tell you something: the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. And at this point, I’m—”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Quinn suddenly interrupted, raising both hands. “Wait a damn minute. What is this nonsense about Drurus?”

  Rhett stared at him, stunned by the viscount’s blatant denial.

  “The fact that you’ve turned against me! That you’re fighting alongside him!” He took another step forward, breathing heavily, but when neither Quinn nor Walden responded with guilt like he expected, it only made Rhett angrier. “Don’t play dumb! I know what you’ve been doing behind my back. Walford has already sided with them. Drurus soldiers have already invaded Jux and the neighboring villages. So, what’s your role in all of this? Are you supposed to take over Portyngton and take over the port?”

  Quinn puffed up his chest and stepped closer, narrowing the space between him and Rhett to a few inches. Though the Viscount had to tilt his head up to meet the king’s gaze, he showed no fear.

  “We aren’t supposed to do anything because we have sided with no one,” Quinn countered. “Yes, Arnav’s men have approached us. Yes, they’ve tried to convince us to bend the knee. But I care nothing for Arnav and his court. Just as I care nothing for you and yours.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you killed my brother before we had the chance to say goodbye!” Quinn spat. Then, without hesitation, he spit onto the ground, dangerously close to Rhett’s boot. “And no one, no one, sent condolences when my mother died during the spring progress.”

  “First off, I was injured when Hugh was executed,” Rhett argued as his eyes flashed burnt orange. “My femur was nearly cut in half by a spear. I begged my father to wait, but he refused. I was not king when your brother died, Quinn. But if I had been, I would have stopped it.”

  Then suddenly, as Rhett remembered the viscount’s second grievance, his expression softened.

  “And Lady Eleanor… I didn’t know she had passed.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit!” Walden cut in loudly. He had remained quiet up until then, but no longer. “While my brother wrote to your father, I personally sent a letter to you. You didn’t come to her memorial, you didn’t come to her burial, and you sure as hell didn’t respond!”

  Rhett furrowed his brows, glancing between the two brothers with a confused expression.

  “I swear I had no idea,” he insisted sincerely. “Had I known, I would have come. Eleanor was a lovely lady, and I respected her greatly. You know that. But I swear to you—no letter ever arrived.”

  “Then perhaps you should ask your father what happened to it,” Quinn retorted.

  Rhett’s shoulders tensed. His gaze dropped briefly to the ground before he exhaled heavily.

  “I would… if I could. But he is dead.”

  Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise before he turned to Walden, who merely shook his head, signaling that he hadn’t heard the news either.

  “When?”

  “Ten days ago,” Rhett answered, clenching his hands into fists. “He was killed in Drurus while trying to bring Emmett home. But instead… all that came back was his head.”

  “By the Gods,” Walden murmured, stepping forward. “What happened to the rest of his body?”

  “Burned, I assume,” Rhett growled. “So that his soul couldn’t return to the Creators. So that he couldn’t reunite with my mother.”

  Walden hesitated before speaking again.

  “Rhett, I’m—”

  But Quinn lifted a hand, silencing him.

  “Be that as it may,” the viscount finally said. “Whether or not you had anything to do with Hugh’s execution or our mother’s death notice is irrelevant now. I have decided that my people will not fight in this war—for either side. And there is no guarantee that we will bend the knee to whomever wins. I have already begun taking the necessary steps for Ruggeweyn to become an independent country.”

  Rhett’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

  “So you would make yourselves a kingdom that lacks the means to produce crops or raise livestock? You can be angry at me all you want, but don’t punish your people for it! Do you have any idea the taxes we charge other kingdoms for the right to buy our goods? And it’s not just us—it’s every other kingdom out there! Do you really think an independent Ruggeweyn will survive on its own?!”

  “We’ll find a way,” Quinn said, shrugging as he finally stepped back. “The people of Ruggeweyn are strong and resilient. We don’t need to rely on some man sitting on a throne hundreds of miles away, dictating how we should live. We’ve survived worse, and we’ll do it again. Now… if that’s all you came to discuss, then this conversation is over. Unless, of course, you plan to punish my people for my decision?”

  “I don’t hurt innocent people,” Rhett stated firmly. Without another word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it into his bag. “If you’ve chosen to stay out of this fight and make your own path, then I wish you luck. And if I survive this war, I hope you’ll give me the chance to win you and your people over.”

  “And if you don’t survive?” Walden inquired with a concerned expression.

  “Then I wish you luck with Arnav,” Rhett said grimly, stripping off his pants and tossing them into the bag. “Because after what he did to my father—and what they are doing to my brother—I wouldn’t put it past him to come for you next. Or anyone else who doesn’t bend the knee to him.”

  The king pulled the drawstrings of his bag, securing his belongings before tossing it to the ground a few feet away. Taking one last look at the two brothers, he gave them a small, respectful nod before stepping back.

  After a few seconds, Silas stood before them, towering over everyone. He stretched his body, flexing his scales. Reaching out with a paw, he grabbed onto the bag with his claws. Then, with a few flaps of his wings, he pushed off the ground.

  Quinn and Walden stood in silence, watching as the dragon disappeared into the sky.