Excerpt from the next book's worth

Prince Razael's frown curved his lips in a smooth manner, barely distinct from his neutral expression. His sky-blue eyes shifted downward, the better to take in the commoner who insisted on delaying him, despite Fenryr's promise of appropriate violence in defense of Razael. The mountain of a man stood by Razael's all-blue clad form, the gold dragon head on his silvery breastplate –proof of his office and standing– gleaming in the sun, his thigh-thickness arms ending in shovel-sized hands, at the ready as ever. His right hand rested on his sword, while his left remained between Prince Razael and the newcomer, acting like a barrier.

The figure on the ground before him shivered, as though feeling the prince's icy glare or merely sensing the vast difference in status between them. His black cloak spread around himself, making the man resemble a splutter of ink against the white stone walkway.

“Back off,” Razael's voice, smooth and almost musical, carried a hint of amusement through its usual emotionless calm, prompting Fenryr to step back, his argument fading into a low hiss of air as he glanced down at Razael's faint smile.

“You, stand up and speak your name,” Razael commanded, turning his attention back to the commoner.

Even as Fenryr returned a step behind the prince, the man hesitated to rise from his knees. “We haven't got all day.” Fenryr gruffed, his rougher, square-jawed features a stark contrast to Razael's boyish, almost androgynous visage.

“Please, your highness, do not go any further. I beg of you...” The man pleaded, still on one knee, not daring to glance up at the prince. “I'll go where I please, nameless commoner.” Razael's icy calm voice regained its weighty, determined quality, leaving no room for questions or doubt. “Especially when someone attempts to deter me without reason. Now, move aside. I'm afraid even my command may not hold Fenryr’s sword arm if you endeavor to oppose our purpose.” Razael's glare remained fixed on the commoner’s curly velvet-haired head, hiding his face from the prince's sight. Yet… His voice rang familiar to Razael, the prince now squinting against the sunlight, “Disowned son of the former high noble, firstborn to the ex-leader of house Edelborn.”

Barely had the words parted Razael's lips when the man before him jolted as though stricken by lightning. “Please, your highness…” he pleaded, to no avail.

Razael's glance back at Fenryr was the only sign before Fenryr nodded toward his men further behind himself and the prince. The guardsmen, decked out in full plate armor brandishing long pikes, marched up to and around Fenryr and Razael, stopping by Fenryr's right side. “Remove this eyesore from the path of our prince.” Fenryr ordered, “Once we're clear of the street, let him go and rejoin us.” The closest soldier nodded in acknowledgment, then wasting no time, the pikemen grabbed hold of the commoner’s arms and pulled him from the walkway.

“Honestly, I can't imagine what that cur had been thinking.” Fenryr stated, glancing around the desolate street leading to the Edelborn's former estates. The area would lead most folk to expect taverns and other disreputable drinking holes, rather than the house of a noble, much less the residence of high nobility. Gray stone walls and tar-blackened, pointy rooftops, some with sizable chunks caved in, and windows missing their glass or even their frames, created a desolate scene. The stench of waste lingered in thick clouds, oozing from the nearby buildings’ openings. Razael's eyes darted this way and that whenever dirty faces under unkempt hair and ragged caps and cowls peered out from the rundown structures. His edgy glare lingered on a man's dirt-blackened face appearing in a window frame on his right. Fenryr could have sworn the pair exchanged a nod, if the man's torn grayed-out rags hadn't been in such dire contrast to the prince's dark blue, gold embroidered attire. He rewarded the observer with his own glare and rested his meaty hand on his sword hilt just the same. “Seems he really did lose a lot of his wealth..” Fenryr noted, following his master like a shadow, his nostrils sniffing after that faint scent of cherry and honey he just now noticed. Realization dawned on his face, his eyes bulged out a moment, mouth opening, but his lips closed once more, thinking better of calling his master on the minor spell he cast to ward off the stench. The thought of Razael's mere aura creating this bubble of clean air darted through his mind just when he felt his master's aura increase once more. A sublime, almost nonexistent little stir of the magical energy surrounding them, like a spectral whisper echoing down the corridor at night…

The iron gates stood open, two massive wings stretching outward like the grasping hand of Death, and the gate house's black roof hosted Prince Razael's flag up top, the dark blue background with a central, golden rendition of a dragon's head, its maw open mid roar, revealing its scimitar-like fangs.

“I still can't figure out why that one tried to…” Fenryr broke the relative silence, underscored by the flapping of the flag riding the chill breeze.

“That's not relevant. We all do what we must for reasons, even if such reasons were trivial to other people.” Razael replied, his pace leisurely but with purpose, taking him closer to the rather underwhelming estates.

The yard boasted no lush green areas, as opposed to the Dragonsbane estates. In fact, the whole property couldn't have been bigger than the main training field tucked away in the far corner of Dragonsbane's backyard, a fact Razael acknowledged with a brief hum and a faint “How quaint..” The entire front yard laid with cobblestone, a single circular dug well in the center, the oily black, triangular rooftops sharp, pointing toward the heavens as though seeking to puncture the sky. The windows, while numerous, left a rather claustrophobic impression with their narrow arches and black window frames. But the prince's gaze lingered on the draped windows, he glanced back at the gate house's guard post, his eyes narrowed a moment before meeting Fenryr's gaze, a chill light glinted in his irises.

“I suppose,” Razael mused, his azure eyes scanning the outlying buildings anew, “Some would find it charming in its rigid, cold sense of order.” Fenryr chuckled, stepping up to his right side, following Razael's gaze with his own.