"I did not exclude you from the command," he said to Tagart and Brand, adding only slightly to his volume. "You will calm yourselves and sit."

Both men leveled narrowed gazes on him. He arched a harsh brow and motioned with his fingers a gesture that clearly said "Come and get me. Just don't expect to live afterward."

Minutes passed in suspended silence until finally, the panting warriors assumed human form. Their wings recoiled, tucking tightly into the slits on their backs; their scales faded, leaving naked skin. Because Darius kept spare clothing in each room of the palace, they were able to grab a pair of pants from the wall hooks. Partially dressed now, they righted their chairs and eased down.

"I will not have discord in my palace," Darius told them.

Brand wiped the blood from his cheek and flicked Tagart a narrowed glare. In return, Tagart bared his sharp teeth and released a cutting growl.

They were already on the verge of morphing again, Darius realized.

He worked a finger over his stubbled chin. Never had he been more thankful that he was a man of great patience, yet never had he been more displeased with the system he had fashioned. His dragons were divided into four units. One unit patrolled the Outer City, while another patrolled the Inner. The third was allowed to roam free, pleasuring women, losing themselves in wine or whatever other vice they desired. The last had to stay here, training. Every four weeks, the units rotated.

These men had been here two days-a mere two days-and already they were restless. If he did not think of something to distract them, they might very well kill each other before their required time elapsed.

"What think you of a tournament of sword skill?" he asked determinedly.