Chapter Two

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“This is a catastrophe. He’s an abomination. An evil child. We have to do something about him!”

“He’s your child—” Rosen could still hear his mother’s voice pleading.

“He’s a mistake!” His father boomed. “A son. A son carrying the maiden’s mark! Do you know what people are saying? Do you know what the elders think of me now? If the other houses find out our son carries the Rose, we will be the laughingstock of Noctis."

It had been a long time since Rosen had that nightmare. All because of the ancient legend his whole life had been a complete misery.

The old tales said the first dragons were born in volcanic trenches until the earth melted beneath their claws. They ruled the sun and the soil, their wealth dug directly from the burning heart of the world.

The crows were born from darkness. Legend said the first crow spirit emerged in a void and found a single black rose, devouring it petal by petal until the magic settled in its blood. Once every hundred years, a child was born bearing the mark of that rose—a sacred maiden meant to bring fertility, wealth, and absolute power to her bloodline. Maidens were kept pure, untouched, and worshipped.

Until Rosen turned twelve.

The day the black rose bloomed across his hip, his home became a slaughterhouse of screams. A male carrying the sacred mark was an abomination—unheard of in a thousand years of Solis history.

The Solis elders hadn’t killed him only because they were terrified of angering the ancient spirits and bringing a curse upon the house.

They had tossed him away—hidden in the quiet seclusion of Flower City. Close enough to leech off whatever passive good fortune his mark leaked into their family, but far enough that no one would ever have to look at the disgrace.

Rosen had thought that cold, lonely exile was the worst his life could offer.

He had been wrong.

"You said those damned crows had a special treasure, so what the fuck is this?"

The voice dragged Rosen out of the dark haze of unconsciousness. Deep. Male. Dripping with an intense heat that made the air in his lungs feel thick.

Rosen kept his eyes squeezed shut, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs.

The dragons. He’d been captured by the dragons!

"I was shocked as well, my Lord... the Black Rose is not a weapon," an older male voice stammered nervously nearby. "It is... a boy. Lord Solis’s hidden son."

"I should cut off your tongue for wasting my time with this scrawny bird."

"Don’t be so quick to lose your temper, Killian," a third voice drawled, sounding casually amused. "Didn’t you hear the shaman? This boy is the most precious thing the Crows have. Their living good luck charm. You wanted to hurt the Solis family? Congratulations. You’re holding their holiest relic.”

"I don’t give a damn about superstitions," Killian snapped back. "Though... if he belongs to that old bastard, he might still prove useful."

Rosen’s entire body trembled, trying to stay completely still as the dragons debated his fate.

“How about cutting him open and sending his organs to Magnus Solis?” The first male— Killian— spoke again, and Rosen could hear the cruel excitement in his voice.

Rosen couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped his mouth as he heard the sharp clink of metal. A knife?

"Open your eyes, bird. I know you're awake."

Rosen’s eyes flutter open on instinct. The cavernous room was lit only by flickering, eerie candlelight.

Standing above him was a living nightmare. Killian Veyr. Tall, broad-shouldered, and well built. Rosen had only ever caught sight of him on the news.

Long black hair fell around sharp features, and his eyes—molten gold with slitted pupils—burned straight into Rosen's soul.

Rosen’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He knew only pure dragon royalty possessed eyes like that.

"Please—what do you want with me? I don't know anything!" Rosen stammered.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be singing a different tune soon, little bird,” Killian said coldly.

A shiver ran down Rosen’s spine. He tried to gather the faint spark of crow sorcery in his veins, but nothing happened. He looked down at his wrists. Thick, cold iron cuffs were wrapped around his arms, glowing with faint, glowing rune symbols. They were crow suppression chains. They burned against his skin, locking his magic away completely and leaving him totally helpless.

He started to thrash wildly against the stone floor, the chains clanking loudly. “I really don’t know anything! Please!”

His frantic gaze swept around the room. And then Rosen saw them.

Three bodies lay on a low stone altar in the center of the room. Blood—thick, dark, and fresh—soaked the white shrouds beneath them. Two adults, and between them, a tiny, pale shape that hadn't even drawn its first real breath.

Hyperventilation seized Rosen’s chest, his stomach turning over in pure horror.

Were those dead bodies?!

Killian sneered down at him, his slitted eyes narrowing. "Your family butchered them. Why are you acting so terrified?"

"I didn't do it!" Rosen cried, "I don't know anything about this! My family doesn't even care about me!"

Killian moved so fast Rosen didn't even see him step forward.

A massive, claw-tipped hand clamped violently into Rosen's hair, yanking his head back so hard his neck popped. Rosen shrieked, struggling uselessly as Killian dragged him effortlessly across the stone floor, tossing his bound body right onto the bloody altar.

Rosen gasped in pain as his hands slid directly into a warm, sticky puddle of fresh blood.

"Look at them!" Killian roared, his scaled fingers gripping Rosen’s jaw so tightly the bone groaned. He twisted Rosen's face until he was mere inches from the pale, lifeless eyes of the dead woman. "Look at what your family did!"

Rosen sobbed hysterically, trying to pull his hands back, but the slick copper coated his skin. "Please! Stop! I'm sorry! Please!"

“Don't apologize to me, you pathetic little crow.”

Killian pulled a golden pocket knife from his coat.

The freezing point of the blade rested on the soft flesh under Rosen’s lip. He pushed down, Rosen flinched, his blood welling..

"Apologize to them before I start shredding your skin off your bones," Killian ordered.

The blade slid further down, catching the collar of Rosen's shirt. With a sudden, harsh flick of his wrist, Killian sliced straight through the cloth and ripped the fabric apart, exposing Rosen's chest and collarbones to the freezing air.

Killian’s molten eyes inspected his pale skin and delicate frame like he was looking at something rotten.

"Filthy crow," Killian spat out with utter disgust.

He dragged the cold tip back up, pressing it just hard enough against Rosen's neck to score the skin. "Apologize to my brother. Apologize to his wife. Apologize to the child who died in her belly."

"I'm sorry!" Rosen wept desperately, his whole frame shaking as the sharp blade hovered over his neck. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me!"

Killian stared down at him for a second, watching the blood, sweat, and tears mix on Rosen's terrified face. Then, with a look of pure contempt, he shoved Rosen violently off the altar, letting him crash onto the hard stone floor like trash.

Killian wiped his bloody blade on a silk handkerchief and turned toward the two men standing near the exit—a dark-eyed dragon and a stooped elder.

"Lock the hall," Killian ordered coldly, walking away without a single backward glance.

Rosen’s heart stopped. He scrambled up on his bruised knees. "No! Wait! You can't leave me here! Please let me go!”

A dark, psychotic smile touched Killian’s lips.

"It is ancient custom for the enemy’s kin to honor the dead," Killian said mockingly. "To show sincerity and ask the spirits for mercy. Pray they don't haunt you, little bird.”

"No! No! Please—!"

SLAM.

The massive iron doors shut tight, the heavy locks clicking into place with a deafening boom.

A sudden wind extinguished every candle at once.

And the darkness submerged Rosen once again.