Page 47 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

Septimus snorted. “Right then. I’ll take the first watch. With Sirrax. The rest of you can set up camp and try not to murder each other in your sleep.” He grabbed his spear and stalked to the edge of the outcropping, leaving us in a silence thick with tension.

We divided the work without further argument, though the process revealed more about our group dynamics than I was comfortable acknowledging.

Marcus took charge of our defensive arrangements with the unconscious authority of a man accustomed to keeping soldiers alive.

Tarshi began scouting the immediate area, moving through the shadows with the silent grace that made him invaluable in hostile territory.

I found myself managing our supplies and planning our route, drawing on the organizational skills that had been drilled into me from birth.

Jalend tried to insert himself into every task, offering suggestions and corrections that nobody asked for. The others began working around him rather than with him, a subtle but damning shift that left him increasingly isolated.

"Pack dynamics are inefficient," Sirrax observed as I attempted to distribute our remaining rations fairly. "Too much energy wasted on hierarchy negotiations."

"It's not that simple," I said, though I was beginning to wonder if perhaps it was. "Humans need structure, clear lines of authority. Without it, groups fall apart."

"Dragons establish dominance once," Sirrax replied with characteristic bluntness. "You complicate basic survival with imaginary rules."

The dragon had a point. I was still puzzling over that observation when Marcus returned from his perimeter check, muttering a creative string of profanity under his breath. He had cut his hand on a sharp rock, I realized, watching him examine the shallow wound.

"Fucking stones," he grumbled, then caught sight of Sirrax's suddenly alert expression. "What?"

"Translate," the dragon demanded, his massive head tilting with curiosity. "This 'fucking'—what does it mean?"

Marcus went very still, the way a man does when he realizes he has stepped into something unpleasant. I tried not to smile as I watched him struggle with how to explain profanity to a creature that had no concept of linguistic taboos.

"It's... a strong expression of displeasure," I offered diplomatically. "Humans use certain words to emphasize emotion."

"Ah," Sirrax said with the satisfaction of someone solving a puzzle. "Emphasis-words. I understand."

I had a sinking feeling that he understood rather too well.

My fears were confirmed over the next several hours as Sirrax began enthusiastically incorporating his new vocabulary into every conversation.

When Tarshi successfully lit our small fire, the dragon announced that it was "fucking excellent.

" When I passed him water, he thanked me by saying the liquid was "damn refreshing.

" A particularly beautiful sunset was described as "shit-pretty," which sent Marcus into paroxysms of barely contained laughter.

"This is completely inappropriate," Jalend complained after Sirrax cheerfully informed him that his "worried face-making is fucking tiresome." "We're supposed to be maintaining military discipline, not teaching crude language to—"

"To our ally who's risking his life to help us find Livia?" I interrupted, surprised by the sharpness in my own voice. "I think we can overlook some colourful language, don't you?"

The reproach hit home, and Jalend subsided into sullen silence.

But I noticed that Tarshi was grinning as he settled down beside the fire, and when he thought no one was looking, I saw him lean over to whisper something in Sirrax's ear.

The dragon's rumbling laugh suggested that our ranger was enthusiastically expanding the vocabulary lesson in directions that would probably horrify our former commander even more.

In fact, the more time Sirrax spend in human form, the more fluent his language became.

As the days wore on, I found myself studying the subtle ways our group was reshaping itself.

Marcus and I had fallen into an easy partnership, our long friendship and similar backgrounds causing few problems. I handled the practical aspects of survival while he managed the logistics and planning, and neither of us felt the need to assert dominance over the other.

Tarshi’s easy familiarity with Sirrax suggested a relationship that went deeper than the few days since we'd all been thrown together - there was an understanding between them that spoke of shared secrets and longer acquaintance.

And his obvious closeness with Septimus, the quiet intimacy of their glances and subtle touches, created its own small circle of warmth within our larger group.

Jalend was increasingly the odd man out, his attempts to reclaim authority falling flat as the rest of us instinctively began operating as a unit that didn't include him. I felt sorry for him, but as the newcomer to the group, he had to find his place and he wasn’t making it any easier for us to accept him as one of us.

Livia would have known what to say, what to do.

She had this ability to make anyone feel wanted, needed. Loved. Gods, I missed our woman.

Sirrax observed everything with the detached fascination of a scholar studying an alien culture, offering commentary that was often brutally accurate despite his lack of understanding about human social niceties.

It was during one of Sirrax's more perceptive observations in camp one evening that the tension finally began to lift a little.

"When do Marcus and Antonius mate?" the dragon asked with the casual interest of someone inquiring about the weather. "They display clear bonding behaviours."

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the wind moving through the trees above us.

Marcus made a sound like a man choking on his own tongue, his face turning a remarkable shade of red in the firelight.

Tarshi looked like he was trying very hard not to burst into laughter.

Even Jalend was staring with obvious shock.

"We... what?" Marcus managed to croak.

"Mate," Sirrax repeated patiently. "Reproduce. Your pack behaviours indicate strong pair-bonding. Shared tasks, protective instincts, synchronized movement patterns. When does the physical coupling occur?"

"We're friends," I said quickly, trying to salvage what remained of Marcus's dignity. "Humans form different types of bonds. Not all close relationships are... sexual."

Sirrax's golden eyes blinked slowly, processing this information. "But Tarshi and the one called Septimus touch frequently at night. How is this different?"

I glanced over at the two men in question, who were sitting close together on the other side of the fire.

Septimus had his hand resting casually on Tarshi's knee, while Tarshi leaned slightly into his shoulder.

It was such a natural, unconscious display of intimacy that I hadn't really noticed it before Sirrax pointed it out.

"That's different," Marcus said, his embarrassment forgotten as he tried to explain. "They're... well, they love each other. Romantically. What Antonius and I have is friendship, brotherhood. Just as strong, but not the same thing."

"Ah," Sirrax said with sudden understanding. "Mating bonds versus pack bonds. I remember now - human children form both types, though the mating urges come later."

There was something oddly poignant about that statement, reminding us all that despite his massive draconic form, Sirrax had once been human himself. Trapped in dragon shape for three decades, but still carrying memories of what it meant to be a child among people.

"Exactly," Septimus said with a grin, squeezing Tarshi's knee. "Though Marcus and Antonius do make a pretty good married couple. Always finishing each other's sentences, working together like they've been doing it for years..."

"We do not!" Marcus protested, which only made Septimus's grin wider.

"You organized his pack this morning without him asking," Tarshi observed mildly. "And he automatically saved you the last of the dried meat at breakfast."

"That's just... practical efficiency," I said, feeling heat rise in my cheeks.

"Sure it is," Jalend said unexpectedly, and there was something almost wistful in his voice rather than mocking. "Must be nice, having someone who just... gets how you think."

The comment caught me off guard. There was a loneliness in it that I hadn't expected from our former commander, a hint that his increasingly sharp behaviour might be driven by isolation rather than simple arrogance.

"Dragons choose mates for life but do not complicate it with these... categories," Sirrax said thoughtfully. "Bonds are bonds. Strength is strength. Though I recall human partnerships being more varied in their expressions."

"Yeah, well, humans complicate everything," Marcus said with a rueful smile. "It's what we do best."

"This I have observed," Sirrax replied solemnly. "Your species creates elaborate rituals around the simplest biological functions."

"Like what?" Jalend asked, seeming genuinely curious for the first time in days.

"Eating requires specific implements and arrangements of food. Mating requires lengthy negotiations and ceremonial exchanges. Even elimination must be performed in designated locations with privacy protocols."

"When you put it like that, we do sound pretty ridiculous," Septimus laughed.

"Survival for dragons is more... direct," Sirrax continued. "Hunt when hungry. Mate when the urge strikes. Establish territory through combat. Sleep when tired."

"Sounds peaceful," Jalend said quietly, and again I heard that note of longing. "No politics, no regulations, no trying to figure out what everyone expects from you."

The comment hung in the air, more revealing than I think Jalend had intended. Marcus and I exchanged a glance, and I saw my own surprise reflected in his eyes. Perhaps our former commander wasn't quite the rigid martinets we had taken him for.

"Politics exist even among dragons," Sirrax said with what might have been sympathy. "Dominance hierarchies, territorial disputes, alliance formations. But they are... cleaner. More honest."

"No hidden agendas," Tarshi agreed. "No wondering if someone's friendship is real or if they're just positioning themselves for advantage."

"Exactly." Jalend said. "In the nobility, you never know who you can trust, who's reporting to whom, who's going to throw you under the chariot wheels the moment something goes wrong, who actually likes you for just being you, or for who your parents are..."

He trailed off, perhaps realizing he had revealed more than he intended. But instead of the awkward silence I expected, Marcus leaned forward with interest.

"Is that what it's like?" he asked, his voice losing its hard edge. "All backstabbing and whispers?"

Jalend’s jaw tightened. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," Marcus challenged, his gaze steady. "I understand what it's like to have your choices made for you. To have a collar around your neck, whether it's made of steel or gold."

Jalend looked up, surprised by the genuine curiosity in Marcus’s tone.

He gave a short, humourless laugh. "That's the polite version.

It's a game where the prize is survival and the board is reset every morning.

You make alliances you know will be broken.

You smile at men you'd happily see dead.

You learn to value loyalty as a commodity, because genuine friendship is too expensive a risk. "

His words painted a picture of a gilded cage, a loneliness as profound as any of ours, just better furnished.

I thought of the gladiator barracks, where betrayal was a blade in the dark, not a poisoned word at court.

At least in the arena, you knew who your enemies were. They stood on the sand opposite you.

Looking at Jalend, at the hard lines of tension around his mouth finally starting to soften, I saw not the heir to the Empire, but a man who had been just as trapped by his role as any of us.

Livia, I thought, would have seen this in him from the start. She had always looked past the titles and the uniforms to the person trapped beneath. Maybe, just maybe, we were finally learning to do the same.

"Sounds fucking exhausting," Tarshi said, voicing what we were all thinking. He poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks into the night. "Give me an honest fight over a dishonest truce any day."

"A sentiment I'm beginning to appreciate," Jalend admitted quietly. He looked around the fire, at our small, fractured group of misfits. "Out here... at least you know where you stand."

The fragile truce held. When Septimus's watch ended, Jalend took the next one without being asked, and this time, no one challenged him.

We were still a long way from trusting him, but for the first time, he felt less like our enemy and more like just another man who had everything to lose.

And as I drifted into a restless sleep, I knew that for Livia, that was enough to bind us together. For now.