Stone Circle when the laurel grows heavy on your brow

dracarys finds no recognition: at the name of his home, his father or his father's title; though the siren prince had expected it. still, there had been a tiny sliver of hope that he hadn't even realized had been there until it'd been prematurely but honestly extinguished. a small twitch of dracarys' lips is given in amusement as drøgur describes his experience of men like commander monterys. it was fitting and dracarys feels no insult at it.
the world is full of men like him. there was not a parent that dracarys was more close with. easily, the ones he was the closest to had been his younger sisters ... and even then he had left them to their ill-fated marriages to escape the shadows that only a fourthborn son could ever know. he was the spare of the spare, of the spare.
spies? asks dracarys, intrigued by this. the concept of enemies is not unknown to him, but dracarys finds it strange that they are so worried about a pack that is still a fledgling without wings.
my father taught me war, how to fight and how to strategize...while my mother taught me to hone my natural gift. the golden tongue, as you call it. a wiry grin tugs at the edges of his lips, finding the term amusing.