King Alaric Draventh IX paces beside the vast bed, his face pale and streaked with tears. On the sheets, a young queen lies motionless, the wail of a newborn echoing against stone walls. Rain pelts the stained-glass windows, dragons carved in crimson and black seeming to watch from every surface. "She’s gone. She’s gone and left me with only him," his voice cracks, and the infant—Prince Valen Draventh II—cries louder, as if mourning a loss he cannot understand.
Valen, small and sharp-eyed at ten, sits alone at the head of the table. Before him, seven dragon eggs glisten, obsidian shells streaked with crimson veins. Laughter ripples through the crowd, a cruel undercurrent masked by forced politeness. Lady Elyra Vaelen, regal and cold, leans over to whisper, "Perhaps your father will grant you a toy worthy of your... abilities, dear prince." The hall hushes as the eggs tremble, then shatter—seven hatchlings, black as midnight and red-eyed, slither forth, hissing in unison. Panic and awe clash in the room, and Valen only smiles, eyes reflecting the firelight.
Alaric lifts a jeweled goblet, his voice ringing above the murmurs. "Ovrannoch thrives on unity. Tonight, I pledge my hand in marriage to Lady Elyra, who will stand as queen beside me." Gasps and scattered applause follow. Valen stares, unblinking, as Elyra takes her place at the king’s side. Tension flickers between them—resentment, rivalry, and something darker.
Elyra, resplendent in silver, approaches Valen. "Try not to embarrass your father tonight, Valen," she sneers. Valen tilts his head,. "Embarrassment requires shame, my lady. I have none left to give." He gestures, and one of his dragons slithers to his side, its tongue flickering at Elyra's silken hem. The guests giggle nervously as Elyra recoils, her face flushed with rage.
Lord Theron Draventh, tall and silver-haired, leans against the tower’s balustrade. His gaze fixes on Valen, who stands with his dragons curled around his ankles. "You are wasted on them, nephew. Only I see your worth—the fire that could remake this House.""I am not a prize for you to claim, Uncle," Valen replies, voice flat. Theron smiles thinly, stepping closer, his hand lingering on Valen's shoulder a moment too long. "We are Draventh. Our blood is power. Together, we could rule—no one would dare whisper 'madness' then." The dragons hiss, sensing the tension.
Valen sits on the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on the window. His reflection wavers in a polished blade; behind it, memories twist—his mother’s ghost, his father’s distant gaze, Elyra's contempt, and Theron's dangerous affection. The air is thick with secrets, every heartbeat a reminder of the family’s curse. "They call me mad," he whispers to the darkness, "but it is their love that poisons. I will not *Valen returns to his chambers and sees His Uncle jerking off on his bed while moaning his name and Valen just stares blankly before saying* Uncle i thought you had your chambers for that
