As King Jarius's child, Aiden was a prince in name only, for he had never truly experienced the privileges that such a title should afford.
At the tender age of five, he had been led by the hand through the castle's corridors by Grand Magus Mumbleton, brought before the throne where his father and Queen Helena sat in their finery. He was the king's mistake, a living reminder of Jarius's promiscuous past with a woman from the finest establishment in the city at the time.
That day had been particularly cruel, especially for the pregnant Queen Helena. Upon seeing the bastard child, she could not bear the sight of him, this walking testament to her husband's infidelity. She, who was known throughout all of Dragonhold as the most beautiful woman in all nine kingdoms, now faced the bitter truth that one woman would never be enough for any man.
Rising from her throne seat right beside the King's, she had made a single gesture when the king attempted to follow her, a gesture that needed no words to convey her message: leave me alone.
Ironically, it had been Helena's own idea to bring the boy into the palace. She reasoned that keeping him close would reduce the whispers and speculation that might otherwise flourish in the city's taverns and marketplaces.
It was a calculated move to preserve what remained of both her dignity and the royal family's reputation. Yet now, faced with the reality of his presence, she found herself unable to endure it and fled the throne room, fighting back tears until she was safely away from prying eyes.
The decision to house Aiden within the palace walls had not been made lightly, but it seemed the only way to contain the scandal that threatened to engulf the crown.
...
Aiden slowly picked himself up from the cold stone floor where his father had left him writhing in pain. Thankfully, Lysandra kept to her words as one of the palace physicians appeared at his chamber door.
Grandal was an elderly man whose weathered face spoke of decades spent in service to the crown, and he wore the traditional long, dark green robe of his station, adorned with intricate golden embroidery and ornate cuffs that marked his rank among the healers. "Please, sit here, my prince," Grandal said gently, rushing to right one of the overturned chairs from the earlier confrontation. "Princess Lysandra told me everything."
Aiden managed to lower himself onto the seat with a pained groan, his entire body still tensing from the punishment he had received.
"Sorry, sorry," Grandal murmured as he helped the prince settle more comfortably.
"What did you do to anger your father this much?" the healer asked, with genuine concern that etched across his face while greenish magical energy began to glow from his outstretched palms, and within moments, Aiden felt a cool relief wash over him as the healing magic took hold.
His shattered ribs cracked back into place, and the throbbing pain gradually subsided. The only perspiration that remained was born of relief rather than agony, and his breathing steadied as normalcy returned to his battered body.
"Thank you, Grandal," Aiden said, his voice carrying both fury and pity, "but that man is not my father."
Though Grandal's question had been born of concern rather than curiosity, Aiden's response sent a worried look across the healer's weathered face. The old man chose not to dwell on the prince's words, instead surveying the destruction that surrounded them.
Crystal fragments from the shattered chandelier littered the floor, visible cracks spider-webbed across the walls, and pewter plates and cups lay scattered about like the remnants of a battlefield.
"This place is a mess," Grandal observed with a heavy sigh. "I'll have a servant come to clear this up." He then turned back to Aiden with the practiced care of one who had tended to the royal family's wounds and ailments for decades. "Is there anything else you might need, my prince?"
Aiden simply shook his head, dismissing the only other friend he had in this kingdom besides Lysandra. In truth, he needed nothing at all—at least, nothing that could be provided here. A dangerous thought was already taking root in his mind, and if he acted upon it, whether this room was repaired would matter little, for he would not be sleeping in it again.
The healer bowed slightly and spoke with quiet formality. "I'll return soon, my prince." And with that, he departed, leaving Aiden alone with his churning thoughts.
The moment Grandal's footsteps faded down the corridor, Aiden snatched up his black coat from where it had been tossed aside during a time of what felt like the grandest way to lose his virginity. He pulled it over his lean but muscular frame, not bothering with a shirt beneath—such details no longer mattered.
He took one final look around his chambers, this room that had served as a constant reminder of his unwanted status, as it was positioned far from the main royal quarters, practically making him a neighbor to the palace servants and maids rather than his supposed family.
Of course, the maid servants never complained, why would they?. Though Aiden lacked Helena's golden hair and the distinctive white locks of the Crowley bloodline, he had certainly inherited his father's striking looks. This alone gave the serving girls ample reason to lean in closer, lower their necklines a bit more and flash their curves whenever they brought him meals or tended to his needs.
More than once, a maid had "accidentally" dropped a towel or cup, bending over slowly, and deliberately, offering a generous view of cleavage or the curve of her figure, and hoping to catch the young prince's wandering eye.
Drawing a deep breath, Aiden steeled his resolve. He strode from his chambers and made his way through the dimly lit corridors toward the palace's main entrance. His destination was the royal stables, where the finest horses in all of Dragonhold were kept.
The stableman was going about his regular daily duties, distributing hay with a well-worn pitchfork to each of the noble steeds that didn't notice the prince's arrival until Aiden was already among the stalls.
"My prince—" the man began, but Aiden offered no acknowledgment as he passed by. He had that look on his face. The same expression he wore whenever he was about to do something impulsive and rash, and the same look he'd had when he'd stormed away from the academy earlier that day and head towards the pleasure house.
Aiden moved directly to his horse's stall, gently taking the animal by its bridle and leading it out into the main area of the stable. In one fluid motion, he mounted the beast while the stableman watched with growing concern. "My prince, where are you headed?" the man called out.
But Aiden gave no answer. Instead, he pressed his legs against the horse's flanks, urging it into a trot before shouting "Hya!"—the command that sent his mount galloping at full speed from the stables, leaving the confused stableman staring after him.
The horse's hooves thundered along the pathway leading to the gates that separated the royal district from the common quarters. There was no need for Aiden to look back at the castle where no one had ever truly wanted him.
...
The Wyvern's Keep rose like a golden crown from the mountainous landscape, dominating the skyline with its countless soaring spires and towers that seemed to pierce the very heavens. The great keep was a masterwork of architecture, with ornate stonework, flying buttresses, and elaborate pinnacles that caught the light like burnished gold.
Multiple levels of terraced courtyards and grand halls cascaded down from the highest towers, connected by graceful bridges and walkways that spoke of centuries of royal grandeur.
The Crowley family banners fluttered from every spire, and the warm light filtering through the clouds gave the entire structure an almost divine radiance as Aiden rode away from it forever. His path took him through the bustling commercial quarters where multi-story buildings housed workshops and trading posts.
He thundered through markets where exotic goods from across the known world changed hands beneath colorful awnings, startling merchants and customers alike as he passed.
Finally, he reached the main gates set between massive reinforced walls that marked the boundary of main city of Dragonhold proper. The soldiers manning the gates spotted the prince approaching at breakneck speed and, without waiting for orders, pushed open the heavy portals.
Aiden's horse galloped through without slowing down, carrying him out into the vast expanse of wilderness beyond.
...
The familiar hills of Dragonhold faded behind Aiden as his horse carried him deeper into the wilderness. Well-traveled roads gave way to ancient stone paths, cracked and forgotten by time, and the very landscape seemed to recoil from some unseen evil that lay ahead.
Grass turned brittle and yellow beneath his horse's hooves, crunching like dried bones with each step. Trees stood twisted and blackened, their branches reaching skyward like gnarled fingers, bearing the scorch marks of some ancient fire.
His horse began to shy nervously, foam gathering at its mouth as it fought against every instinct to flee. Small bones, whether animal or human, he could not tell, littered the path's edges like macabre decorations.
The path climbed upward through jagged mountain passes that seemed to close in around them. The stone beneath grew smoother here, worn not by countless travelers but by something massive scraping against the rock, as deep grooves scarred the walls on either side, telling a story of something enormous that had passed this way many times before.
Ancient warning markers appeared with increasing frequency. Skulls mounted on iron spikes jutted from the ground at regular intervals, while weathered stone tablets bore dire warnings in multiple languages. Though the scripts varied, the message was always the same: "Turn back."
At last, the passage opened into a vast cavern entrance, and his horse finally began to falter. Its legs trembled with each step, no longer galloping but moving forward only through Aiden's will, breathing in short, panicked gasps. They were approaching something that every living creature was meant to flee from.
The Aiden dismounted and gently patted his horse's neck one final time. The animal had served him faithfully, carrying him to this place of certain death. "Go," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The horse needed no further encouragement, and with a terrified whinny, it turned and bolted back along the path, its hoofbeats echoing frantically through the mountain passes until they faded into nothing.
Aiden stood alone now, facing the yawning darkness that stretched before him like the mouth of some primordial beast. The air itself felt thick and oppressive. This was Thyrak's Lair, and he had come to meet his end.