Inheritor of Strength (Book one of Alfireán age)

Black Eye

Drakovian's insides felt like a roiling mass about to explode. His entire Empire lay in the hands of a madman, and his only hope of getting it back rested on the shoulders of a bunch of emotionally driven morons.

Slowly, he clenched and unclenched his fists as he trudged along behind the group. Having to make this trip on foot would have been enough to frustrate his ever-patient father, but far worse than that was the piece of paper Cutler had just given Alfonso. It contained information which could greatly help their cause, but Alf had flatly refused to use it—or even let Drake look at it—despite his and Cutler's insistence to the contrary.

A small strand of electricity jumped from one balled fist to the other, and in stark realization, Drakovian noticed he was once again letting his emotions control him. "It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul," Drake quoted to himself in an endeavor to calm down. He had found the quote in an ancient tome of poems written by a man named Henley. He didn't know what the man had been facing when he penned it, but it served to remind Drake that he had put himself in this position, and he needed to make do with it.

With that thought, his gaze fell on the three sisters walking ahead of him. He quickened his pace; the least he could do was make sure he got his end of the bargain, and the sooner the better.

However, as he pulled up even with the maids, Drake realized he still didn't know their names. Which was oddly strange since he had an eidetic memory thanks to one of the Kishron spheres he had implanted in his head at a young age. This meant, despite all of his spying and sneaking around, he had never managed to hear the names of the three most senior maids of the Brockovich estate—something he intended to rectify immediately.

"Good morning madams," he said.

"Good morning," the eldest replied with a slight nod of her head.

"I believe you have something to teach me."

"We do."

"Excellent, but before we get down to business, I would like to ask what I should refer to you as? I don't believe I have ever heard your names."

The shortest of the girls giggled. "Oh, that's because no one knows our names. And...," she said with a sparkle in her large brown eyes, "Neither will you."

The prince's eyes shifted to her, perplexed. "Why not?"

The maid furthest from him tossed her braided auburn hair over her shoulder, and with an eerie grin, whispered, "Because it's a secret."

"A secret?" Drake asked. "But why?"

The eldest sister pulled herself up straight, her violet eyes cold as ice. "No one knows our names and no one ever will, and that's all there is to it."

With that, the three maids stepped up the pace, leaving Drake standing there baffled—he'd never heard of something so ridiculous.

Steepling his hands, he gazed after them. It seemed the Brockovich estate held far more secrets than he had anticipated. That, or the three ladies were toying with him just for spite.

For a moment, Drake contemplated pressing the subject but decided against it. The girls would likely use it to get out of teaching him their abilities. Which, he suspected, may be the real reason they were hiding their names from him in the first place.

He quickened his step once again to catch up as he made a mental note to check the Imperial registries for their names later.

***