He brandished his sword, thirsty for a battle. “Rivers of blood will run for this!” He let loose a cry of rage, and a jagged smile crept across his scarred face, red with anger. This was revenge. His specialty.

He ran full force, sword forth, and ran the man through. Easy as a red-hot knife through butter. He yanked the blade free as his brother fell, ashen faced upon the ground.

Parin spit upon his brother’s corpse. Rotten do-gooder! “Dragons! I am king now. You must do as I command, for you are bound to the Elven King!”

And, against their will, every scaly body who’d backed poor Oranos bowed to the villain Parin.

Taking the handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped the blade and shoved it in a bottle. He’d done away with his brother. Now for those dearest to him. Willow, and the prince Jurasion. Would the toddler react to his father’s blood? Or perhaps to his mother’s breakdown. He’d scare her enough to leave Fae forever. Then, there’d be no one gutsy enough to challenge him. He’d rein forever!