6. Draknir

My feet drag as I trudge wearily back to the base, my gaze is caught by the sight of the captain sprinting towards me. His boots pound against the ground, with every rushed step.

"Draknir!" he calls me. He appears hurried and flustered.

The captain comes to a stop in front of me, his face flushed with urgency. "We have a situation," he says.

My heart quickens as he speaks.

"What kind of situation?" I ask.

He pauses to catch his breath.

"I have been looking for you all over, someone is here to see you. He says he"s your family"s head servant, a butler."

I scoff. Family? What family? Does my father really think that he can just undo years of neglect with a damned letter?

"Tell him I'm busy," I snap, then, catching the look in the captain's eyes, add, "Please. Sir."

"I'm not your messenger, boy." The captain has a lot of leniency for me, but the trace of irritation in his eyes warns me not to push him. "Tell him yourself."

The captain leads me to where my father's hired help is waiting.

As we approach the butler, I can hear his voice getting louder and more agitated. It"s clear he"s upset about something. The captain stands aside, allowing me to come face-to-face with the man.

He"s dressed in fine attire, not unlike what one would expect of a butler, but there"s an air of nobility about him that speaks volumes. His silver hair is impeccably styled and his posture is perfect.

I hate him.

"Jori, this is Draknir as requested," the captain says addressing the servant.

"I bring you a message of great news Draknir."

"I read the letter my father sent," I scoff. "I burned it."

The butler – Jori – keeps his face impassive. It makes me want to scream, to shake him by his fine silk lapels. To do anything that might make my father's man flinch.

"You should be happy, Draknir," the butler says, his voice sharper than I would have expected from someone of his station. "The noble dark elf clan of Hora has recognized you." He pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. "As you may have read, they wish to acknowledge you as their own." he says with a noticeably forced smile.

I roll my eyes, but before I can respond, the butler launches into a tirade that I don"t have the patience to listen to. I grit my teeth, allowing him to finish his high and mighty speech. as my mind races to try and make sense of it all.

What use am I to my father now, just because his firstborn died? If he needs an heir so badly, he could just find some wretch on the street and pass him off as an unclaimed son. The man would hate him less.

Jori the butler is still rambling on about blood and honor and all that taura shit. The captain smothers a yawn. "Your father has granted you the opportunity to raise your caste, to join centuries of–"

"Are you finished?" I bite out, my blood rising with warmth beneath my skin.

The butler balks, offended.

"You need to leave from here. I"m not interested." My patience is wearing thin for such pretentious conversation.

The butler"s eyes widen in disbelief, his face reddening with anger and frustration. "You dare to disregard your heritage? Your duty?" he asks incredulously.

I can feel my anger rising again. "I don"t know what game you"re playing, but I have no family and certainly no noble lineage," I growl, unable to hide my frustration. "None that I claim. If it was so important to my father, he might have raised me and my mother out of the gutter years before now."

"You are a dark elf of the Hora clan! Don"t you understand the significance of that?" the butler says and throws up his hands in exasperation.

"No. You can take my place for all I care!" I roar, unable to abate the rise of frustration.

The butler simply responds by narrowing his eyes in a condescending glare.

The captain clears his throat nervously, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In private, he's not a fan of the strict caste system, but criticizing it in public is a different matter.

I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the leather armor straps digging into my skin slightly. "I don"t see anything special about being a part of some high-and-mighty clan who thinks they"re better than everyone else just because they have money and power," I spit angrily.

"It is an honor!" he barks.

"You need to leave now before I drag you out myself." I say through gritted teeth. "A servant like you has no position in a soldier"s camp," I spit at him in disgust.

"It"s not about money or power," the butler says, his voice raised now.

Without hesitation, I grab him by his flashy robes and begin to drag him to the gates.

"It"s about tradition! Duty! You should be honored to be recognized by your own kind! You are most ungrateful" he yells, attracting a crowd of eyes I could do without. His heels dig into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust as I drag him forth.

"I am the servant of a noble, and it is an affront to my master"s dignity to be treated this way," the butler yells as I drag him through the dirt. His feet scramble for purchase, slipping and sliding as the grip I have on his robes leaves no room for support.

I yank the butler through the camp, hearing the scuff of shoes and his grunts in protest. The soldiers part ways to avoid being trampled by the two of us, glancing at each other in confusion and amusement. Some chuckle under their breaths; others shake their heads in disbelief.

The captain tries to keep up with our pace but eventually gives up, leaving me to forcibly escort the butler away from the camp. His protests grow louder as we reach the gates, becoming more desperate as he realizes he won"t be able to sway me from my decision.

We reach the gate and I push him roughly out of the large looming entrance to the camp.

He lays in the dirt defeated, his robes a crumpled mess around him. His once polished demeanor has been reduced to dirt scuffed and tattered. I feel no remorse, his pompous outbursts and pretentious berating has left me with little sympathy for his situation.

He looks up at me with an arrogant glare.

His smug expression falters at my lack of reaction. Good. Time to put him in his place. "I hold no ties or debts to your employer. Return to him and say I have refused this supposed "honor". Now leave, before you overstay your welcome further."

The butler kneels before me, desperation written on his face. I have dragged him out to rid him of his purpose but see only a man at his wit"s end.

Despite my desire to be done with this interaction, something within me has been slightly enticed to hear what he has to say. I can"t shake the pull, much like the one I felt with the slave woman in the woods.

With an exasperated sigh, I meet his defeated eyes.

"Speak, servant, before my patience ends," I say sternly.

He takes a shuddering breath. "House Horas" young master has fled before fulfilling a crucial marriage contract to a more powerful and most ruthless clan."

"Fled? I thought he died."

"He said he would die before marrying his intended. And we've tried to find him, but we can't."

I stiffen at the news. "That doesn't sound like my problem."

"You carry Horas blood, you must take the master"s place – wed per the contract"s terms, become noble and secure the alliance." His voice breaks with fear. "If I cannot present a new groom by the given deadline, if the contract is not upheld, House Horas will be slaughtered, and even you will not be spared."