Grey Eyes, Green Eyes

Aldar's stomach churned for a moment at the goat-like lechery so obvious on the prince's face.

"Ah," he said softly, "the Prince is most perceptive." He let his words trail off, as if considering how much he might dare ask.

The prince smiled, leaned in.

"How about a knighthood?" he asked. "'Sir  Arwen' has a nice ring to it, surely?"

Aldar closed his eyes for a moment, looked down at the man.

"You are most gracious, sire, but ribbons and titles buy no warmth, satisfy no lender."

"Ah, a true businessman." The pudgy nobleman made little effort to hide the scorn in his voice.

"One does as one must, sire."

"Indeed, which brings us back to my original question, man. How much?"

Aldar thought for a moment.

"Perhaps some information, sire."

"Eh?"

"In the right places, information can be worth a fortune, sire." Aldar allowed himself a thin smile.

The greed on the prince's face was suddenly tempered with caution.

"What information?"

Aldar leaned in close, whispered.

"Where is Jamry's head, Reigen?"

He pulled back, removed his mask, allowed the shallow cloaking spell to fall.

"Remember me, Prince?" he hissed.

Horrified, Reigen stumbled backwards as Aldar's body began to change into its real form. The pudgy figure tripped, fell, scuttled backwards into a corner, terror on his face.

Ambrose darted for the door, a shout building in his lungs. He had scarcely taken a step when a scything blow from Aldar's forearm caught him across the throat, silencing any cry he might have been contemplating.

Aldar's hand caught the gagging Ambrose by the neck and lifted his feet off the floor before shaking him like a cat with a mouse. The soft crack of the man's neck breaking was scarcely audible over the sound of the fire and Ambrose' face went blank. Ignoring the corpse as it fell, Aldar shrugged off his gown and stood in his naked glory.

He crouched before the quivering man. Scaled hands reached out, seized the man by his jaw, turned his face to stare directly into burning yellow eyes.

"Remember me, faithless prince?" he repeated.

"Aldar? I... I thought... I mean, you're dead! They said you were dead!"

"Liar," whispered the dragon. "Oh, sad, sad little man. You can't even lie well, can you?"

He stood, his head now almost touching the ceiling of the apartment.

"This is not about the money, Reigen. You know that."

The prince simply stared, not comprehending. What else could it be about?

"This, pathetic worm, this is for Jamry, my servant."

A look of puzzlement crossed the prince's face, then his jaw dropped.

Now he knows.  Aldar thought. Good. Understanding the reason for one's doom is important.

From below, the sound of the orchestra continued, drums and swirling music audible throughout the palace.

The dragon spun on his heels, overcoming the burning bloodlust within him. Instead, Aldar looked down at Eldrin and Darla.

"Change," he commanded. "This one is yours."

"But... Lord, what of the Convention?" The hesitancy in Darla's voice was ill-suited to the clear hunger in her voice as the women stared at the cowering nobleman. "Did you not say...?"

"It is a shame," the dragon said, his eyes running over the apartment, "a true shame that the prince's furnishings should have been made of such inflammable stuff."

A slight puff of flame rolled off his thin lips. His eyes locked onto Reigen as he spoke.

"That he, his seneschal and his guests should have perished in an unfortunate sudden blaze will be believed. Go ahead."

The room suddenly filled with the stench of death. Needle-sharp talons grated on the floor.

Reigen moaned at the transformation -- the two winsome girls he had thought to bed tonight had become living nightmares. The two crouched, tight as wound springs.

Aldar's eyes flicked back to the figure in the corner. His voice rose above the sound of the music below.

"Feed!"