Page 2 of Cruelly Fated (Princes of Avari #1)

Two

KYON

H ow many guards did it take to escort a prisoner to the visitation center?

I swiveled my head to recount, six guards maintained a tight circle an arm’s length away like a school of sharks circling blood in the water, with another six positioned along the outer perimeter. Twelve in total.

The count depended on the color-coded band each prisoner wore on their arm, the prison’s rainbow of risk.

Green bands—typically, one leash sufficed. Still, the protocol mandated a backup, so two guards accompanied each green-banded prisoner beyond the high-voltage barriers.

Yellows with their yowling tempers in waiting drew four wardens.

Avari Penitentiary reserved red bands for the most dangerous criminals—those who acted first and asked questions later; their escorts ranged from six to eight guards.

And then there was me, red with a black X across it.

I rolled my eyes. Even with twelve guards, they wouldn’t be able to stop me if they removed the bracelet from my ankle. With the shifter-blocking manacle in place, escaping would be challenging but not impossible if I genuinely desired freedom. But then what? Flee the city and abandon my people?

That was out of the question. My father, the reigning king of Avari’s dragon clans, needed me as his enforcer and spare heir, despite our recent falling-out.

And when he decided to end my banishment, I’d prove I had nothing to do with the attack on our home.

I’d track the low-life gargoyles behind it and scorch the skin of their backs.

The heavy metal door with its small, reinforced windows creaked open, and the guards ushered me into the visitation center’s holding room.

“You know the drill, Prince. Arms out,” the center’s security officer barked in command.

I complied with a grunt, my standard response to the guards over the past few months, raising my arms and widening my stance as the officer swept his handheld scanner over me. It was a routine check that verged on the absurd. What contraband did they think I would smuggle in here? A plastic knife?

He signaled to someone behind another door marked by a tiny window, and the lock on door number four clicked open—ironically, my lucky number.

“You have twenty minutes, princeling,” the guard drawled. Technically, that wasn’t entirely accurate; if my high-profile visitor had demanded a longer session, the rules could have been bent. But this guard either didn’t know that or was sticking to his script rigorously.

Curious about who awaited me, I strolled toward the unlocked door.

Since my arrest, no one from the dragon clans had visited—my father’s orders.

And since Valor and Rhylan, the only fae I trusted and who had both stood by me through this ordeal, had visited yesterday, the person on the other side was someone new.

I hoped, perhaps foolishly, that my visitor was family.

My eyes widened in recognition.

“The prison food isn’t doing you any favors, brother. You’re looking more like a scrawny hatchling than a fearsome dragon.” Torian grinned from the other side of the glass in the cubicle.

“Fuck off,” I retorted, grinning back at him. I had missed the pretty boy. Younger than me by a decade, we didn’t always see eye to eye, but our brotherly bond ran deep. “What took you so long? ”

“Father…” He swept a hand through his long blond ringlets—not waves, but ringlets.

Torian had inherited our mother’s goddess-like beauty.

I remembered teasing him about his girly hair when we were kids, but now he was the epitome of masculine refinement.

The perfect poster boy for a dragon ruler—handsome and physically imposing, though still shorter and lighter than me.

With his striking appearance, level head, and political savvy, he was arguably better suited to inherit the throne. And the ladies adored his hair.

“Mother finally convinced him to let me see you,” Torian said, his fingers idly drumming on the chipped tabletop.

“How is she?”

He shrugged. “You know… One minute she’s grieving over losing you, her firstborn; the next she’s planning another masquerade ball.”

I grunted in acknowledgment. That was just like her. Our mother, the quintessential social butterfly, elegant yet unpredictable. Her fondness—rather, her overindulgence—in certain dragon herbs had dulled her judgment, frequently plunging her into bouts of deep depression and highest high.

I leaned closer to the sturdy, diamond-infused glass that separated us.

“I didn’t do it,” I said, my gaze locked with his blue eyes.

He frowned. “I never doubted your innocence,” he said, his words soothing some of the turmoil within me.

Those fucking gargoyles…

“But father…” I paused .

“The king believes you’ve tarnished our family name, no question about it.

He will exact his justice, but he won’t act publicly.

Doing so would cast him in a merciless light.

I overheard him confiding in his advisors about removing you…

It’s the reason I came, to warn you. Watch your back in here, brother,” Torian said.

I recoiled as if struck. My father, the man I had revered all my life and for whom I had committed reprehensible acts in the crown’s name, now wished me gone.

He wouldn’t even allow me the chance to vindicate myself.

I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold realization settling in that my life’s servitude to the crown had been for nothing.

Torian studied me. “It’s not hopeless—”

I gave a sand-dry snort. “Our father never deviates from his plans. If he wants me dead, so be it. I can’t prove my innocence sitting in this hellhole.”

“What about Valor and Rhylan? Have they uncovered anything after all these months?”

I shook my head. “They’re working their contacts, but you know how secretive the gargoyles are…” My frustration bubbled over, and I pounded my fists against the table. “Maybe if you could buy me more time…” I peered at him.

“Of course, brother. I plan to meet with the king later today and address your situation. He’s given me a place on the clans’ council and will soon announce my engagement to Catalina…” Torian trailed off, studying my reaction .

I grinned. “Lucky bastard. I never understood why our father thought I’d want to marry or settle down at all.”

In the weeks before the gargoyle attack and my incarceration, he’d announced my engagement to the stunning dragon shifter from a prominent clan.

Arranged marriages were common among the high fae, but as an enforcer, I’d hoped to be spared this fate.

Besides, Torian had been clearly interested in Catalina for many months now.

And she blushed profusely under his rapt gaze.

Torian flashed a perfect row of white teeth. “Father is a mystery, even to me sometimes. I fear his advancing age and Mother’s erratic moods are wearing on him. The clans may not tolerate it much longer…” he said, his thoughts always with the well-being of our people.

“When the time comes, you will make an excellent leader,” I said, meaning every word.

“I hope you’ll celebrate by my side.” A rare intensity flickered in his eyes.

I straightened and pushed my chest forward, making my sentiment and stance clear. I’d always support him, blood or no blood. Torian would lead dragon clans out of our father’s clenched-fist rule and weed out our enemies. The gargoyle mafia at the top of his list.

I gazed directly into his eyes.

“Me too, brother, me too…”