He brandished his sword, thirsty for a battle. “Rivers of blood will run for this!â€? He let loose a cry of rage, and a jagged smile crept across his scarred face, red with animosity.
His jealousy propelled him forward, sword forth, and he ran the elf through. Easy as a red-hot knife through butter. He yanked the blade free as his brother fell, ashen-faced on the grass.
Parin spit upon the prone corpse. “Not so noble now, are we,
Oranos? Broken, vulnerable, like the child you are! You weren’t fit to rule!”

He’d done away with his brother. Now for those dearest to him. Willow, and Prince Jurasion. Would the baby react to his father’s death? Or perhaps to his mother’s tears. He’d scare her enough to leave Fae forever. Then, there’d be no one to end his rein. King Parin. Forever!
Taking the handkerchief out of his pocket, he wiped the blade and shoved it in a bottle.
And, against their will, every dragon who’d backed Oranos bowed to the villain Parin. They were bound to righteous blood. Even in a bottle.