A smattering of stars twinkled on the night sky, whereas down on the earth, eight tiny orbs of acid-green glowed steady, aligned like a constellation against the endless black expanse of sand.

Another night of dragon training was proceeding smoothly under Coris's supervision, aided by Christopher, Simon and Zier, who took turns patrolling to ensure all dream-gazers weren't being traumatized by their visions.

Zier's hand flew to his tummy as he walked past Heloise, the last stop before the end of his shift. At the sight of her troubled expression and constant fidgeting and sighing, the knot of anxiety in his stomach, ever present since the night he swallowed The Axel—loosened, and he let his hand swing free at his side as he moved on. Coris would rake him over the coals for this had he happen to be watching—it was a dead giveaway. But he couldn't help it; the privacy of his guts depended on the Lady Graye not obtaining dragon powers.

Fortunately, Coris seemed to be distracted for once—he stood propped against a boulder, engrossed in amicable conversation with Christopher.

The Meriton heir glanced up as Zier trudged towards them, dipped his head at Coris to signal his leave, then walked over. He met Zier halfway with a clap on his shoulder, then strode on to take up the patrol.

Coris shot Zier a smile when he settled into Chris's place, then turned away. His eyes roamed the sandy plain as he toyed with his cloak's clasp, but he wasn't actually watching the dragon cadets.

Dozens of seconds shuffled by with no interaction whatsoever between the brothers. Zier was on the verge of fleeing for somewhere else with more breathable air when Coris finally broke the silence,

"Thank you—back there. I was at my wit's end, to be honest."

Zier whipped around. In the dim light, blotches of pink dabbed Coris's pale cheeks, and he still refused to meet his gaze. Zier had never seen this side of his brother before; Coris had always been the commander. The erudite. The priest. Now, he seemed lost and embarrassed—perhaps even afraid.

Zier caught himself smiling, and quickly turned away to share it with the stars. Coris was a clam—spook him and the doors to his insides would slam shut faster than a blink. A strip of weed fluttered over to his foot. He bent down to catch it before the sudden gust of wind could tug it away.

"Well—feelings—have never been your forte, big brother." He huffed as he straightened up, spinning the grass stem before his eyes. It was still green, and there was a tiny flower at its tip. He turned around and found melancholic gray eyes staring at him, and shrugged with a wry smirk.

"I've always known, but when you said you drank poison in my place just to win me over, when all you had to do was muster up the guts to apologize, I realized you're utterly hopeless."

Coris said not a word. His gawking eyes followed Zier as he knelt down and erect the flower in the earth under the boulder's shade, then rose up again. Dumb surprise didn't look good on the Hadrian heir, and Zier couldn't help chuckling.

"You see—me, Arinel, Meya—we're humans. Creatures of emotion." He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets then cocked his head, concluding with a dry jab, "You're a golem."

Coris frowned as he considered it.

"Under normal circumstances, I'd consider that a compliment, but I must admit this is starting to concern me." He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, seeming to shrink a few inches as he did so.

"Because it's Meya?" Zier raised his eyebrows, struggling with all his might to hide his knowing smile. Coris's whole face burned magenta in the bluish-white starlight.

"No—because I'm the Hadrian heir!" He snapped. He spun away and began pacing, arms crossed at his back, as Zier watched in amusement,

"I was born to lead, but whenever my subordinates look to me for guidance, I'm useless at best and harmful at worst. Whenever I'm faced with their emotions, I'm flummoxed."

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Coris panting. Zier no longer needed to fight back a grin as he watched his brother. Coris had always been sick and frail, but he had never seemed this—vulnerable. In the dark he stood, narrow shoulders heaving, back crooked and head bowed—and, for the first time, Zier noticed how alone and lost he was. Despite the retinue he commanded, the network of allies he'd forged. Despite his intellect and his responsibilities. Or perhaps because of them.

Zier walked over to his brother; timid, toddling footsteps sinking and sliding on the sand. Coris didn't turn around, but he whispered as Zier drew level to him,

"Am I a bad leader, Zier?"

Zier pursed his lips in distaste; even as he craved affection, Coris still wouldn't connect with everyone else as equals. His world had no place for family, friend nor mate.

He was improving, however—where there was once solely power, and where everyone belonged on that food chain in relation to him—love was poking in through the cracks, and he was scared of the chaotic breath of fresh air it brought. Zier could almost see the battle raging under his pained profile.

"Depends on what you mean by bad, I guess." He commented with a shrug. Looking ahead into the desert night, he saw his brother's receding backside, his billowing crimson cloak, his thunderous command ringing in the air in his wake, "You're always walking ahead, blazing trails, having people running after your back. But you never once turned around to see if they're stumbling—and help them up."

Coris trembled, reeling in the face of the truth. He pressed a hand to his forehead.

"I can't continue like this." He confessed, his voice growing ever louder and more desperate, "I put off telling Meya the truth to the last second possible. The last time Meya had a breakdown, Arinel brought her back, not me. Now that Arinel's not here, it's you she turns to."

Zier sorely wished Simon was here to share a stifled roar of laughter. Hadrian heir, my arse—Coris's every second word was his dragon maiden's name.

"You're jealous, aren't you? You're supposed to be her knight in shining armor." He braved another poke. Coris started then whipped around, eyes blazing.

"Doesn't matter who did it. She's on her way to a full recovery. That's good enough for me." He shrugged, defiant. Zier rolled his eyes.

"Weren't you listening? She said she might never get over it for the rest of her life. And that's fine. Some things aren't meant to be solved. That's just how it is." Zier shrugged, then leaned close with a raised eyebrow, not to be sidetracked, "That aside, would it kill you to admit you have feelings for once?"

Coris burst out a barking laugh at the sky, exasperated.

"I'm not jealous." He pinned Zier with a menacing glare as he hammered out each word, "I'm just frustrated with my ineptitude."

Zier hid a sigh as Coris whirled away and resumed pacing. He was tempted to return to patrolling, leave the pompous idiot to stew in his obstinate ego—but then, Coris's footsteps slowed to a stop. He stood rooted, staring at nothingness, as if seized by a sudden notion.

"Perhaps—we aren't suited to be partners for life." He blurted out. His hands trembled; he stuffed them down his pockets as he looked up to the Heights, shrugging, "Just allies with a shared dream. We're incompatible, and this incident's just proved that beyond doubt. She'd be better paired with a man of her nature."

"Wanna say that again? Without the lies?" Zier cut in, his voice dry in annoyance. Coris froze, then blew out a breathy, mocking chuckle,

"I doubt it would come out any different."

His brother's nonchalance hid a bitter undertone. Zier's patience ran dry, and he strode up to block Coris's way.

"Despite the odds and your good judgment, you love Meya." He declared, blunt but not harshly so. Staring hard into his brother's dilated eyes, he shook his head slowly, "You can't imagine a life without her. You want to change because you're scared you'll lose her, but you're too ashamed to act on your feelings."

Coris had turned pale as the light laying on his face. For a moment, he stood staring back, wide-eyed and wordless. Then, he dipped his head in surrender. Zier was torn between gratification and heartache at the sight.

"You're not incompatible. You're just unworthy." He grasped his brother's bony shoulder, whispering in encouragement, "There's a difference there; if you're unworthy, all you have to do is make yourself worthy."

Coris turned and met his gaze, the lights in his eyes wavering.

"How do I start?" The rasping words barely clawed through his lips. Zier cocked his head in approval,

"By acknowledging your feelings." He nudged his brother's arm, "Say it aloud. Everything I just said. In your words."

Coris gawked at him, incredulous, but Zier stood by his advice. Coris broke the gaze and stared as his boots. Over and over, he parted his lips then pursed them, gulping then mouthing. After what must have been minutes, he mustered up his voice,

"I...I love her—Meya."

Zier had never heard Coris speak so soft, nor utter a name with this much care and awe. Despair clouded his once sharp gray eyes as he gaped, unseeing, picturing what he believed was the inevitable,

"And I'm terrified of the thought—of her leaving me."

Zier gave his shoulder a squeeze. He, too, suffered the same fear.

"She told me you two are back to courting?" He whispered as they slumped down on the sand together. Coris nodded, soulless.

"She feels betrayed. Not surprisingly. And she has doubts about the point of our relationship. She asked me what I want out of this."

"And what did you tell her?" Zier prodded. Coris shrugged in that same listless manner.

"It doesn't matter what I want, because we could never have more than what we have now—Ow!"

Coris whipped around with a petulant glare—Zier had socked him on his sore spot, but much harder than its creator—then recoiled at Zier's glowering look,

"That's not the point, idiot!" Zier snapped, exasperated beyond words, "She knows your circumstances, she just wants to know what you really want!"

Coris shivered, then turned away. Zier nudged him in the ribs—literally, wincing at the impact of bone on bone as he growled,

"Well?"

Coris seized up. For an excruciating moment, it seemed as if he had shut himself in for the day, or forever—but then, he picked up a stray branch and began dragging lazy, wobbling lines in the sand. A stick figure. A second one with long hair, wearing a long gown. A third in the middle, small but with the biggest smile of the three, supported by his parents' loving hands.

The stick had barely left the babe's smile when Coris smote it against the scene and plopped his head onto his knees, hiding his face behind his arms. Zier squeezed his shoulder with a trembling hand, eyes still glued to the simple, heart-wrenching secret.

"You should let her know." He shook his shoulder, whispering urgently. Coris resurfaced, his eyes empty and lost,

"What good would it bring? It's not going to happen. And I won't allow it to happen." His eyebrows lowered and creased over his now blazing eyes, "I won't bring a life into this world for my own gain, the way Father did to us."

"Why d'you always have to be so darned pessimistic?" Zier argued, gesturing in frustration, "You never know with the future. Just live in the present for once and do what you want to do! See how it turns out!"

Coris closed his eyes, sagging as a long sigh petered out of him.

"I can't take any chances with Meya's future." He shook his head, a final note in his exhausted voice even as his hands trembled.

"I'm pursuing her. Even as I know nothing would come out of it but pain for her. That's as far as I'm willing to go. I don't dare bring a child into this."

Coris rested his forehead on his knees and spoke no more, no matter how hard Zier nudged and poked and rattled him. In the end, Zier resigned himself to squeezing Coris's shoulder as he trembled with suppressed grief.

Zier watched the wind smooth away the remnants of his brother's ruined dream. And, for the first time in six years, he wondered if Coris's looming death really wasn't his fault, as he'd always insisted.