The king rose so quickly his crown tilted.

“That boy is nobody,” he shouted. “A beggar dragged in from the street!”

Rowan heard the words, but all he could see was the black lion lowering itself beside him, its enormous body trembling with a grief he somehow understood.

His scar burned beneath the animal’s warm breath.

At the arena gate, an old woman pushed through the guards.

“Rowan!”

He turned instantly.

“Grandmother?”

She was not truly his grandmother. She was the temple healer who had found him as an infant, wrapped in a bloodstained royal cloak, and raised him on scraps and prayers.

Now she walked into the coliseum with tears running freely down her weathered face.

“I promised your father I would never let the king find you,” she cried. “Forgive me, child. I could not hide you forever.”

Rowan’s chest tightened.

“My father?”

The old woman pointed toward the black lion.

“His name was Cassian. He was the only man that beast ever obeyed.”

At the sound of the name, the lion released a low, broken rumble and pressed its head against Rowan’s shoulder.

The crowd began whispering.

The High Priest slowly descended from the platform.

“Prince Cassian defeated the Shadow Dragon,” he said, staring at the boy’s wound. “He saved this kingdom.”

The old woman’s voice shook with anger.

“And the king repaid him by ordering his death.”

A gasp swept through the arena.

Rowan looked up at the purple-robed man on the throne.

“No,” he whispered. “A king would not kill his own son.”

The king’s face twisted.

“Your father was going to take my crown!”

“He was your heir!” the priest cried.

“He was loved more than I was!” the king shouted back.

The confession echoed through the stone arena.

Rowan felt something collapse inside him.

All his life, he had thought he was unwanted because he was poor. Because he was dirty. Because he had no name anyone cared to remember.

But he had been left in the dirt because a king was afraid of a baby carrying his father’s blood.

“My mother?” Rowan asked, barely able to speak. “What happened to her?”

The old healer covered her mouth.

“She ran with you after Cassian was attacked. The king’s soldiers caught her outside the temple.” Her eyes fell. “She made me promise to take you before they took her away.”

Rowan stared at the sand beneath his bare feet.

“She died because of me?”

“No,” the healer sobbed. “She died making sure you lived.”

The lion nudged Rowan’s hand, and the boy buried his fingers in the thick black mane as tears rolled down his dusty face.

The king pointed toward him.

“Kill the boy! Now!”

No guard moved.

Then the High Priest lowered himself to one knee before Rowan.

“Cassian’s son stands before us,” he said. “The rightful heir lives.”

One by one, voices rose from the crowd.

Not cheers for a death this time.

A name.

“Rowan.”

“Rowan.”

“Rowan.”

The king backed away from the throne, his face pale with fury.

“You are nothing!” he screamed. “You were raised in filth!”

Rowan looked at his ragged clothing, his scarred arm, and the lion who had shown him more tenderness in one moment than the palace had in his whole life.

“I was raised in filth,” he said softly, “because you were too afraid to let me be loved.”

The king went silent.

Suddenly, the scar on Rowan’s arm flared with searing black-gold light.

The lion threw back its head and roared toward the sky.

Above the coliseum, the blazing sun dimmed.

A vast shadow passed over the crowd.

Wingbeats thundered from beyond the arena walls.

The High Priest stared upward, trembling.

“The Shadow Dragon,” he whispered. “Cassian did not destroy it. He sealed it inside his bloodline.”

Rowan looked down at the burning scar on his arm.

His father had not left him a throne.

He had left him a war.

The black lion knelt before him.

Rowan climbed onto its back, tears still wet on his face, and looked once at the king who had tried to feed him to a beast.

The lion had remembered him.

Now the darkness his father died fighting had found him too.