Syphon

2. Rowe

He ran a finger down the sharp crease in his slacks, utterly uninterested in the discussion taking place before him.

Rowe knew they'd go back and forth for hours before finally turning to him, ordering him to shed blood, so they could remain the most feared Kingdom on the planet.

The time it took to reach this conclusion was an utter waste of his time, but Roddic, the Prince playing pretend at King, was all about the dance.

"They've raised their Armies without our permission, this is an act of war against the Etherial Isles." Stass, King Rossow's royal advisor spluttered, his chins wobbling at his every word. "This cannot be allowed! We must act!"

Stass' eyes traveled across the large war table in Rowe's direction.

Rowe paid him no mind, continuing to pick non-existant lint from his immaculate pants.

"The question is why," Roddic added, lifting large fingers to rest on each temple. Like all this thinking was physically making his head hurt. "I would prefer answers before making potentially catastrophic acts of war against our allies"

"Allies!" Stass exclaimed."Where were these allies when we requested aid in the battle of Vyn? Even now, your brother is fighting, our men are dying, and Sholh is nowhere to be seen. they do not offer us aid and instead fortify their Armies against us."

"We can not act irrationally in this, Stass," Roddic fired back.

Rowe could see the acting King's patience beginning to wear thin with his adviser.

Rowe's body began to thrum at the rising tension, his power reacting to the threat of chaos and destruction.

He began to c***k each of his knuckles methodically, trying to stave off the rush of power that was beginning to flood his fingertips.

"You propose instead to sit idle? Doing nothing?!" Stass all but roared.

"ENOUGH!"

Power visibly erupted from Rowe's fingertips as Roddic bellowed at the King's quickly shrinking adviser.

Silence rippled throughout the room, and it did nothing to settle Rowe's volatile power.

It wanted out.

It wanted to destroy.

Rowe flexed his ignited fingers and made to rise, needing to leave before his power leveled the entire Isle.

"Brother"

The word hung in the air like.

Wrong.

Rowe held in the snarl and mustered every ounce of his well-honed self control to be able to meet Roddic's eye.

Rowe tilted his head to the left incrementally, a question.

Roddic adjusted himself, sitting straighter and clearing his throat, no doubt attempting to steel his spine under Rowe's icy stare.

"It is the Prince of Stohl's coming of age celebration tonight,"

Rowe arched a singular scarred brow, waiting for his brothers next words.

Admittedly, Rowe found his interest piqued.

A birthday s*******r, this was savage, even for Roddic.

"You will go. You will show them that making an enemy of the Etherial Isles is not a wise decision" Roddic's words were strong, and no one would ever notice the faint hint of a tremor that shook his voice at addressing Rowe.

Rowe allowed a small s***h a vicious smirk tilt his lips.

"And how do you propose I do that, brother?" He threw the word back in Roddic's face and watched as the King's figure head visibly flinched.

He didn't want to say it, Rowe thought to himself.

Roddic gave the order and then slept soundly at night. He didn't have to see the blood his order had shed. Have it coat his hands and haunt his dreams.

"Would you like me to kill the Kings young pup?

Another flinch.

"No" Roddic said quickly. "As I've said, we do not want to make an enemy out of a Kingdom that has been an ally for many years-"

"What exactly is it that you want then?" Rowe snapped and blue streaks of electricity crackled out of his fingertips.

Stass jumped back, knocking his heavy wooden chair to the side with a screech of stone.

Rowe understood that his power was beginning to leach out, suffocating the room with its intensity and he could smell the fear seeping from their pores.

Even Roddic reeked of fear.

Rowe smirked

"Your presence, I believe, will be enough to convey the message" Roddic snapped, rising from his own seat at the head of the long wooden table.

"You understand that using my power to get there will weaken me considerably" Rowe said, halting Roddic's exit. "I could be left vulnerable."

Roddic paused and silence hung in the air for a beat, his pale red brow furrowed.

"The risk is worth the reward"

And with that, Roddic swept from the room, Stass following closely behind, afraid to be left alone with Rowe.

Sparks fell to the floor and thunder rumbled overhead.

Anger.

Vicious, raw anger flooded through Rowe, making the blood hot in his veins.

The door slammed behind his brother just as another clap of thunder sounded, making the entire castle shake.

Rowe tried to settle himself, tried to convince himself that that lash did not tear flesh from his bones.

From brother to sacrifice in mere moments.

Maybe he would just decimate the Kingdom of Stohl and take the Etherial Isles with it.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, rubbing his face and feeling the aching raw scar on his face against his calloused hands.

He wanted to sleep.

Not even five hours ago he'd returned to the Etherial Isles for the first time in over a year.

The battle of Vyn had raged for years. He'd ended it in minutes, then spent the rest of the year ensuring the Rebels of Vyn never got back up.

And now, his other brother, Roman, was there, ensuring the battered people of Vyn saw the forgiving, generous Prince of the Etherial Isles. He was there to inspire loyalty in them, and to remind them that Rowe was the consequence of insubordination.

He'd killed so many.

Rowe buried his hands deep into his pockets, feeling the comforting, cool metal of his mothers pendant against his skin and letting it sooth him.

He missed her and would've appreciated her strength right now.

Hell, Halisa Ro would have told Roddic to fall on his own sword, then set him on fire to add to the fun.

He swiped at the thought mentally, ushering it away. Thoughts of his mother bought him nothing but pain in the end. They only served to remind him of his loss and the shackle his father kept at his throat to keep him obedient.

Exiting the room himself, he made the short journey to his home on the canals of the southern tip of the Isle to freshen himself up. He'd cleaned himself up several times already since he'd arrived back from Vyn, but somehow he still felt unclean.

His three shadow hounds lazed on what seemed every inch of his furniture, looking nothing like the ferocious beasts from the very depths of Deamanis, and the image filled him with peace.

If his hounds could find time to be still, surely, so could he.

They would accompany him to Stohl of course. Even if Rowe hadn't wanted them to, they would have followed him.

The bond between a Shadow Hound and their chosen was something that could not be tamed, and they would likely kill many if he ordered them away for too long.

The people of Stohl would love them.

The thought gave him great pleasure, and he could not deny how much it elated him to know people despised and feared Shadow Hounds as much as they despised and feared him also. True kindred spirits were Rowe and his hounds.

Rowe dressed himself in a regal midnight black tunic and leather pants. The tunic boasted a high collar with decorative vines with real silver thorns threatening to pierce the delicate skin at his throat.

And soon it had, his blood running down to his partially exposed chest in long ribbons of violence.

A Prince of Demons and Fear. Of blood and pain. Of destruction.