Draken.
*Merisbeth, The Demon Clan*
Draken walked into his veranda, a goblet of wine in his hand. He’d been drinking like he always did. Even while in the courtroom, in a meeting with the Oldborns, Draken was drinking. He never loved running short of wine or ale.
He could vaguely remember the Oldborns telling him to quit whatever agenda he had in toppling the lord of Abbator over occupying the Ice Throne. The demons were never born to rule Bloomington. Only the Throne family according to what the Ice pact dictated.
Yet all the words of the Oldborns had fallen on deaf ears like they always did for the past fifty years.
Hell’s c**k, I’d never give up the claim. To hell with Dracolian Throne. Seven hells to the Oldborns, Draken grunted under his breath. He walked further into the brigh
