Rudra knew he should be ashamed. Or at least angry.
But Tish being so angry was kind of... hot.
At some point, he had stopped hearing the insults and curses she had been hurling at him and had started staring at her mouth.
Now, Rudra was no fool. Did he know it was disgustingly pathetic for the Prince of Partha to be thirsting over a woman who was out for his blood? Yes.
But did that mean he would stop? No.
At some point, the black-haired man had crawled around Rudra and come to stand between him and Tish, as if that would stop Rudra from throwing him against the wall again.
Rudra did his best to ignore him, until the man leaned close to Tish and crooned, "He is not worth your anger. Calm down, Teresa."
The Saintess looked at him. "Percy..." Her voice shook with emotions Rudra couldn't name, and her eyes softened in a way he had never witnessed before. "You know I can't... you know that I—"
"It seems I should have arrived earlier."
Rudra looked up to see a tall figure standing in the doorway, his eyes dancing with amusement. "So this is the woman you waged a war for?"
It was Ravaan. The King of Partha. Rudra's father. When his eyes met Rudra's, he didn't smile, but the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled with pure affection and warmth. "What can I say? The only thing bad about you is your taste in women."
"Father?" Rudra gaped. He hadn't expected the King himself to show up to escort him home. "When did you reach Benevia?"
The King of Partha was dressed rather humbly. He wore almost the same attire as Nayan, minus the blood: dark brown leather and thick fabric suited to Benevia's cold weather. Dragons didn't feel cold. Dragons didn't feel heat. But the King of Partha was a queer dragon who liked to feign weakness, as if he were no more than an ordinary man. Rudra called it cowardice. The King called it strategy.
Ravaan stepped into the room. "The moment I heard you had fallen on the battlefield, I had to come." He walked around Tish and the black-haired man and stopped before Rudra, his eyes alight with fierce pride. "After defeating an entire nation by yourself," he rumbled, "you are still standing." He extended a hand and patted the side of Rudra's face. "Good. That's how a dragon should be."
"He injured almost fifteen hundred cavalry and two thousand footmen," said the black-haired man. "Is that how a dragon should be? A genocidal maniac?"
"Now, now," Rudra chided, "I didn't kill anyone, did I? If I wanted to, I could have."
Ravaan looked mildly displeased. "If you could, you should have, Rudra," he scolded softly. "What did I tell you about showing mercy?" He cupped Rudra's face. "Because you spared them, they dare to open their mouths to complain."
"How can you say that!" Tish's voice rose with righteous anger. "All those people... their lives... How can you not care about them when you are the protector and father of your own realm?"
Ravaan didn't look away from Rudra, his focus remained on Rudra, on the thin pink line running down his jaw and neck and ending at the place where his shoulder attached to his chest- a scar left by the deadly arrow yesterday. The wound had long healed. Dragons simply don't bother to stay injured for too long.
In a day, Rudra would be good as new. In a day, he could be burning down Benevia all over again.
"Because we are dragons. We are like..." He finally turned, his dark eyes fixing on the Saintess. "...nature itself. Nature preserves and provides, yes, but it also destroys. Whether we protect, preserve, or destroy, we don't need reasons. We don't need to answer to anyone."
"Someday you will," said the black-haired man. "Someday you will feel what it is to be weak and helpless! To be afraid, angry, and frustrated!" he growled. "And that day, I will slay you. Both of you!"
Rudra looked at him, then back at his father. Ravaan didn't look angry. He looked mildly amused. "And you are?"
"Percy," the man said. "Percival Leonhart. And someday I will end the Parthan royal family."
For some reason, Ravaan didn't scoff, didn't jeer, didn't make fun of him.
"Someday I will slay the dragon."
Ravaan hummed. It almost sounded like approval. "Then I wish you the best."
It was such an odd thing to say that even Tish looked shocked. Her eyes flickered to Rudra, confusion warring with ever-present suspicion. Rudra snorted. He could practically read her mind. The Saintess probably thought this was some mind game Rudra had arranged to confuse and distract her and Benevia.
"Child," Ravaan said, turning away, completely oblivious, or at least pretending to be, to the confusion he had just caused. "Come. Even for you, my time cannot stand still for long."
And Rudra obeyed.
Once they stepped outside, the cool air hit Rudra's skin, making it prickle. He wasn't cold, just uncomfortable. Partha, the land of dragons, was a place of warm weather, sand and sea, humid forests, and grasslands. Even its snowy mountains lay far to the north, a place no Parthan had visited for generations. Rumour had it those lands were cursed because of the greed of their ancestors, who had dared to build weapons beyond even the power of God Himself.
So, technically, Rudra had never been to the North. Not in this life, at least, the one he was supposedly living. But the one in which he had died...
"We are heading home," Ravaan announced, his voice suggesting it was not up for negotiation. "The carriage is here. We will reach Partha by tomorrow. You need to heal. And I need my son by the side of my throne."
"But, Father," Rudra dared, his voice quiet like a scared child's, "that man wasn't bluffing. He can really kill a dragon. He has a weapon for that."
Ravaan didn't stop walking, so Rudra pressed. "He can really kill me."
"I am older than the entire nation of Benevia," Ravaan mused. "And you? Hardly twenty. Nineteen? Not even. What is it to me to spend nineteen more years making another son, hmm?"
He finally stopped and turned. "Do you think you're the first Rudra I have raised and sent off?" he asked. "Do you think you'll be the last?"