Page 113 of The Artist and the Dragon

“I have no wish to harm Miss Kinsley.”

“Your dagger implies otherwise.”

Light reflected off the blade as Lord Griffith adjusted his grip. “Surrender yourself to me and I’ll gladly put it away.”

Don’t,Bronwyn mouthed. And her eyes … they begged.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Malik raised his hands but did not drop his weapon.

“Ah, but you’re still very much alive.” The smile that spread across Griffith’s face was pure evil. And to think he’d once thought the lord a decent man. He had never suspected the darkness that lay beneath his skin. “You want her alive? A life for a life. Give yours right here and now.”

“No!” Bronwyn lurched forward, coming preciously close to the blade.

Lord Griffith shoved her back against the sofa’s cushion. The sight of his hands on her, pushing her, had Malik snarling in fury. It was then he noticed the bandage on her wrist. The bastardhadhurt her. He’d pay for that.

“To what end?” Malik asked. “The king will never let you live.”

Lord Griffith quirked a brow. “Disobeyed my orders, did you? Sadly, I’m afraid they won’t be here soon enough to help you.”

So, he did have spells placed nearby to warn him of anyone’s approach. It made sense. It’s what Malik himself would have done.

“Don’t listen to him,” Bronwyn snapped. “No one is here. We’re alone.”

Lord Griffith turned his attention to Bronwyn. “Inside, yes. But outside…” He glanced toward the windows.

Bronwyn did as well, her eyes widening as she stared into the gloom. Suddenly, lightning broke across the sky, and in the brief flash, something moved just beyond the windows—a lanky beast that looked very much like a wolf … a member of the dragons in their monstrous form.

Fuck.

Bronwyn let out a sharp gasp and snapped her attention toward Malik, likely coming to the same conclusion. He nodded once. He understood. The odds had just gotten a little more interesting.

“Why do all this?” Malik addressed Griffith. “What do you possibly hope to gain?”

“The throne, of course,” he replied, as if he sought something as simple as a cup of tea.

A humorless huff of laughter fled Malik’s lungs. “All this for some delusion of grandeur? You think the people will support a random noble claiming the throne?”

“Ah.” Griffith tsked. “But I’m not some random noble,cousin.”

What?He reared back in genuine shock. There was no way. Madness. True madness and delusion.

“Cousin?” Bronwyn echoed, as confused as he.

“You really don’t know?” Lord Griffith’s brows pinched. “Why else do you think my father was granted the title? King Jesstin the wise. King Jesstin the kind and just.” He scoffed. “King Jesstin the concealer, more like. Covering up not only his son’s darkness and misdeeds but also the actions of his late father?” He clicked his tongue over and over. “My father came to him as a brother, or half-brother as it were, but instead of acknowledging their shared lineage, the king granted him a middling title and sent him on his way as if they were not blood at all.”

Malik scowled, but it was Bronwyn who snapped, “And that wasn’t enough for him? To be given an easy life? To be elevated to a station most could only ever dream of along with the wealth and trappings that such a role demands?”

“It was not his due.” Lord Griffith slung an arm around Bronwyn, pulling her roughly into his side. “He was royal, not noble, my dear.” She snarled at him, but he glanced calmly back at Malik. “And firstborn. Did you know that? By right, the throne should have been his.”

“Except he was an unacknowledged bastard,” Malik said plainly. “He really expected the king to put his own crown down for this man he had never met with a claim that would have been near impossible to prove, especially given that their father was dead? What sane person would do such a thing?”

“He believed him enough to grant a title. Does that not speak to my father’s authenticity?”

Or he just wanted the problem to go away.Malik ground his teeth.

“I see your doubt,” Griffith said. “You think because I look like my mother that I tell a falsehood, but you’d have seen the likeness in my father. It was more than blood he shared with his brothers. But the important part is what lies beneath my skin. The magic in his blood was strong, as it is in me.”

“And might makes right?” Malik taunted.

---