Vlad’s brows lifted. The mildest surprise, that was really more censure than anything. “It’s the name Father gave you.”
Val breathed raggedly through his mouth. He brought his hands up to push his hair from his face, and his chains rattled and clinked together. “I had more than one parent,” he snapped. “We both did.” And Mother had called him Valerian, because she thought it sounded like a pretty name for a Romanian prince; for old Roman royalty: the son of a king’s brother. Second in line to a throne that no longer existed.
Vlad sighed. “Do what you will. Valerian.” It was a concession, and not a small one by Vlad’s standards. “But don’t interfere.” He tipped his chin down, eyes wide and dark, driving the point home.
I will hurt you, his steady gaze stead.Do not test me.
Val sketched the most elaborate bow he could manage given his present position. “Of course, Vlad Dracula. Your majesty.”
Vlad snorted and pushed off the wall. “Do not test me, brother,” he said aloud. You know how that always goes.”
“Yes.” Val rotated his wrists, cuffs clinking softly. “I know.”
Vlad had nearly reached the first door when Val called after him. “Are you glad to be awake?” He said it nastily, bitterly. Mocking. But hewascurious.
Vlad paused a moment, hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. “No,” he said, without artifice. “I am not.”
And he left.
The door shut with a heavy thump, and Val was alone again.
“My brother, ladies and gentleman,” he said to the empty space around him. “What a fucker.”
