15 Death and Domain - Chapter 15

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I stepped into the hallway to find that Flavius had already bypassed the kitchen. He turned when he heard me walk in behind him, and you could almost see disappointment oozing out of his body in waves when he set his eyes on me. Daddy dearest clearly wasn't a fan of his kid.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns from Hogwarts. How delightful," Flavius said, voice thick with scorn.

To my surprise, that was the only thing in his voice too. He wasn't slurring his words or calling me by other names, and that sour stench of cheap alcohol didn't cling to him as it usually did.

Was the man sober, for once?

At my stunned lack of response, Flavius only sneered at me before turning away again, dismissing me completely. "Forley!" He snapped a finger and the elf popped into the hallway between us.

"Yes, Master Prince sir?" the creature's voice came out dull and emotionless.

"I'll have my dinner in the study tonight," he said without looking back, then dismissed the elf with a wave. "Get to it."

The elf bowed at the waist low enough that his dangling ears scraped against the floor before he disappeared with a quiet crack. Forley had gotten in trouble before for lack of deference, or so Flavius claimed.

The little creature had been punted across the room head over heels like a football when he forgot to ask if Flavius wanted his dinner, and that was the day after he'd been whipped for supposedly bothering his master by popping into his room to see if Flavius wanted dinner.

That's how men like Flavius worked. Always looking for excuses to punish those under them since they can't take out their frustrations for being such pathetic losers on anyone else. Not on those above them, no, and most certainly not on themselves. Self-reflection wasn't a trait easily found in bullies.

Flavius had nearly gotten to the door to his study at the end of the hallway when I realized I had not spoken up like I wanted to. Both because of my surprise at seeing him sober and because Octavian would have been glad to be spared Flavius' attention whenever he could get away with it.

I couldn't keep letting myself be frozen by that instinct.

So I made sure to be especially loud when I spoke. "You seem awfully chipper today, father. And coherent."

Flavius paused with one hand on the doorknob. He turned, frowning. "What did you say?"

Funny thing was, the man didn't even look mad, despite having the temper of a roided up bull. Flavius looked confused, as if he couldn't fathom his wimp of a son ever speaking up to him, much less in that tone.

"Not a single stumble thus far and you're already halfway into the house." I brought both hands together, and my clapping echoed in the sparsely decorated hall. "That's a cause for celebration, I suppose."

And for a moment, the echo of the last clap was the only sound in the house. Flavius just stood there, slack-jawed. No, I don't suppose he would ever imagine Octavian acting like I did. He must have thought the boy to be broken beyond return.

"You—" he barely started before cutting himself off, and to my surprise he barked out a laugh. "What's this, boy? Finally got some hair on your balls or something?" Flavius turned to me fully this time, and I was swiftly reminded of our difference in size.

Flavius was a big man all around, naturally tall and barrel-chested. I might have gotten my height from him, but Octavian was all his mother in everything else, sharp and slim like an arrow. I was glad for it too. Flavius' square jaw had meshed well with Ophelia's more delicate lines.

"Let me guess, you read a book about standing up for yourself, no? Some idiotic fairy tale hero fighting against the unjust." His ham-sized hands balled up into fists beside him, and he took two long steps toward me. "You want to know how the story ends in the real world, boy?

I fought down a smile, even as my feet shifted into a subtle stance.

Flavius had been quite the specimen once, standing out in a world of wizards who disdained anything physical beyond flying around in a broom. But he'd let himself go more than a decade ago. He still might be a truck of a man, but the muscle was all fat and flab now.

Difference in size or not, I doubted Flavius had ever thrown a punch against anyone else but children and house elves. Octavian might be skinny as they come, but I could have this man crying on his knees in ten seconds flat.

Then Flavius stopped, and a perverse glint flashed into his eyes. I had seen it plenty of times before. He had found something new to torment me with, and over the years, Octavian had realized his fists were never the thing that hurt the most.

Pulling aside the front of his robe, he fished for something inside and came out holding a heavy coin purse. One of those extended, official-looking Gringott ones too.

"Well, no matter, my dearest son. I hope you gave that book a nice long read." He bounced the purse in his hand, coins clinking against each other. "You won't be doing much of that in my house again."

Then he laughed again, terribly amused by his own wit.

Caught off guard by his sudden change of attitude, I stayed still in palace as Flavius turned around and stomped off toward his office, no doubt satisfied with his daily dose of emotional child abuse.

That's when I realized what he'd done. What does an alcoholic father do when the last valuable items he can sell to fuel his addiction coincide with the only thing the son he abuses cares about?

As if shocked out of my stupor, I took off in a sprint, heart thundering against my ribs. "No, no, no!" My voice came desperate even to my ears.

I didn't bother going after Flavius in his study, instead turning at the end of the hallway and dashing toward the Prince family library on the other side of the house.

He didn't. Flavius wouldn't dare. Surely, that idiot had more sense than this. Any head of a pureblood family, no matter how minor, would rather die than destroy their ancestor's legacy.

I ran past the three bed-less rooms in the small guest wing, then cut through the empty parlor where shadows and cobwebs filled the spots once occupied by fancy sofas and reclining armchairs around a hearth. The house never looked so dim as it did now.

I blundered through the wide double-doors of the library and found rows upon rows of empty shelves and racks deprived of their occupants. A familiar turmoil twisted up my stomach at the sight. The same feeling I got seeing Celeste, if not as strong. As if whatever was left of Octavian grieved for the loss of his last refuge in his own home.

I ignored that feeling—just how I ignored the empty shelves surrounding me. They might have meant the world for Octavian, but it was more sentiment than rationality. The majority of the books here could be found in the Hogwarts' library or in any big enough bookstore.

Instead, I made my way toward the backside of the library. Octavian had never come this way much. Like most things outside his comfort zone, the Prince's soul magic scared him. He'd never had much interest in reading the dozens of books and journals passed down from generation to generation of Princes.

I, on the other hand, had been counting on them. Beyond the system, soul magic was the only easily available ticket to power if I could master it.

All that knowledge was stored on a tall cabinet that rested against the stone wall on the library's rear. I stood before it with my hands on my knees, fighting against my feeble respiratory system. As it was, the cabinet didn't look like much, just a few slabs of dark european wood pieced together.

But if anything, I was surprised Flavius hadn't sold it too. If I remembered Forley's lessons correctly, a violent storm of magical power could assault the cabinet and it wouldn't manage to budge it open. A magical artifact like that could sell for a pretty penny.

"Not sold it yet, at least," I muttered.

Then again, maybe there was a reason he hadn't bothered selling it. You needed a pinch of Prince blood to unlock it. Whatever Flavius might be, a magical genius he was not. He likely had no idea how to reset the cabinet, and even he wouldn't sell his blood seeing what wizards could do with such a singularly unique essence of someone else.

Breathing out, I stepped toward the cabinet and pressed my hand against the door. Maybe he had just sold the normal books. Maybe he just did it to spite me, and kept the family books.

I felt something prick the pad of my thumb, and my light grunt was followed by the cabinet doors clicking open.

I grit my teeth at what was inside. "That son of a bitch!"