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mother, his long hair fine and pale, his eyes a hypnotic pale blue. There was nothing feminine about the boy, though. He might be young still, but he was a man.
    A man with no soul, but still—a man. A man who would one day rule Columbyana and all the land beyond the country's borders. Fynnian would be with him when the time came. The boy would be a puppet emperor, just as he was a puppet now.
    As they had in months past, the two men passed the evening in the study of a vast and well-built house which sat upon an isolated part of the northern mountains of Columbyana. A fire burned in the large stone fireplace. Summer was coming, but here in the mountains the nights remained cool.
    During his lifetime, Fynnian had managed to surround himself with many beautiful things. The furnishings were the finest, and exquisite paintings graced the walls. There were not many windows in this part of the house, and the colors in this study were primarily dim. If not for the interference of his daughter, Rayne, the room might be quite gloomy. Instead, it was brightened by a few colorful vases filled with flowers she had grown in her garden and carefully arranged with her own hands, as well as decorative pillows in shades of red and gold.
    Perhaps it was not the Imperial Palace where Ciro had been born and raised, but it was Fynnian's palace… smaller but certainly adequate for any man, prince or not.
    From the short sofa where he sat, near the fire where he might take in some warmth, Ciro lifted his head and looked Fynnian in the eye. "I'm hungry." His voice was lifeless. Dead. Hollow, just as the man was hollow.
    "You will be fed soon enough." The necessary feedings were coming more frequently now, a sign that the boy's power was growing as it should.
    "You know what I want." Ciro cocked his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed. Firelight flickered on long flaxen hair, and on a pale cheek, and for a moment it seemed the lifeless eyes glowed red. Another man might be afraid, but Fynnian was not. The transformation was not yet complete, but Ciro was already his. Fynnian had made himself father, mother, friend, and mentor to the lost prince.
    "You cannot have her," Fynnian responded. "Not yet. Not until we're finished with all we have to do. You cannot have her in the way that you wish, but… would you like to have a look?"
    "Yes, please," Ciro whispered.
    Evidence that Ciro's transformation was not yet complete was clear in that spontaneously spoken "please." A true beast did not use such a polite word. A soulless fiend took what he wanted without the word "please" passing his lips.
    Fynnian lifted the silver bell which sat on his side table, and rang it briefly. In moments, Rayne appeared.
    "Yes, Father?"
    "My guest and I would like some tea."
    Rayne glanced nervously at Ciro, who grinned at her like a man who did not have
tea
on his mind. "Of course, Father." She fled from the room as quickly as she could, her skirts swishing, her breath held.
    "More," Ciro muttered when she was gone.
    "Rayne will soon return with the tea. She'll stay longer next time."
    Fynnian was not blind to his daughter's beauty. The girl looked very much like her mother. Dark hair, dark eyes, innocently beautiful face, body ripe and still untouched. She would make a fine empress when the time came.
    Rayne was as much a prisoner here as Ciro. Neither of them realized they were being held captive. It was an art, one at which Fynnian was quite adept—and well practiced.
    Rayne returned quickly with the tea. As was expected, she served Ciro first, since he was their guest. She did not know he was the Prince of Columbyana, or that he'd been officially missing for months. How could she know? Rayne had been sequestered here in this fine house for her entire life. If she had been given to wandering, she would not have gotten far. They were a long way from any village, and the closest neighbor they'd had in her nineteen years had met with an untimely accident—as did