Ice and Fire: Reign of the Dragon.

Chapter 422: The Course of the Heir
The afternoon sun shone through the glass, casting mottled shadows on the floor of the library. Hoffa's ice-blue eyes were fixed on the serpentine characters on the parchment, and his tongue unconsciously pressed against his upper teeth, trying to imitate the pronunciation that Sebastian had just demonstrated.

“Rytsas, uha dārys. Kesy tubis, tolvie ossēnātās.” (Greetings, my king. With your permission, I request an audience with you.)
His childish voice still had a childish shrillness, and the guttural sounds of High Valyrian were pronounced by him like a bird being strangled. Sebastian's silver-gray eyebrows did not move, but the rhythm of his knuckles tapping lightly on the table revealed his evaluation of Hoffa's learning results.

"The stress on the second syllable of the seventh word," he tapped the parchment with his slender fingers, "is not 'tubis', it's 'tubis'. Imagine you have a fish bone stuck in your throat."

Hoffa frowned and tried again, this time making a sound like a cat whose tail was stepped on. Sebastian was about to correct him when the door of the library was suddenly pushed open.

Little Valar Vareses leaned against the door frame, the sunlight gilded his short silver hair. He was already half a head taller than his father, and the dragon knight's leather armor outlined the tall silhouette of the young man. In his hand was a tin plate piled with steaming honey bread and iced milk.

"It was sent from the kitchen," Little Valar grinned, revealing his iconic canine teeth. "The head chef said that if the little prince doesn't eat something, he will be blown away by the morning wind because of hunger."

The sleeves of Sebastian's white robe trembled slightly. "I remember that you should be learning to fly with Osiris in the Dragon Cave and recording the data?"

"It's all recorded, father." Little Valar pulled out a roll of parchment from his belt like a magic trick. It was densely covered with numbers and charts, and there was a yawning dragon in the lower right corner. "And I checked it three times."

Hoffa's stomach protested loudly at the right moment. Sebastian looked at his nephew's eager eyes, then glanced at his son's expression of pretending to be calm, and finally sighed: "Ten minutes."

Little Valar placed the tin plate on the table in triumph, and Hoffa immediately grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. Honey dripped from his fingers onto the precious "Book of Valyrian Freehold Orders", and a vein faintly popped out on Sebastian's white forehead.

"Eat slowly," Little Valar smiled and ruffled his cousin's silver hair, "No one is going to snatch it from you."

Hoffa puffed out his cheeks and suddenly spoke in a slurred Valyrian tongue: "Rytsas, uha lēkia. Kesy tubis, tolvie jorrāelātās." (Greetings, my brother. I ask to play, if you will.)
Sebastian was about to rebuke this clumsy tampering, but little Valar burst into laughter: "Good boy! But 'jorrāelātās' means 'request for mating', what do you want to play with me?"

Hoffa's face turned red from choking. Sebastian's white robe moved automatically without wind: "Shut up!"

"My fault, my fault," the boy raised his hands in surrender, still trying not to laugh. "But seriously, Father, didn't you make mistakes when you were learning High Valyrian?"

Sebastian's expression suddenly became subtle. He turned around and took down a dusty notebook from the top of the bookshelf, flipped to a certain page and pushed it in front of the two young men. On the yellowed page, the young Sebastian had mistakenly written "dracarys" (dragon flame) as "drakaery" (dragon butt).

Little Valar burst into earth-shaking laughter, and Horfa's eyes widened.

"Now," Sebastian closed his notebook gracefully, "copy the correct sentence twenty times. Little Valar, go and check the scales of Hovenders. If I go to the dragon's lair tonight and see that the iridescence on Hovenders is even a little tainted, you know the consequences."

When the two young men were about to leave dejectedly, Sebastian suddenly added: "There should be some lemon cake in the kitchen if you can finish your homework before dinner."

The silver-haired boy dragged the silver-haired boy towards the door, almost knocking over a pile of ancient books. Sebastian looked at their receding backs and gently wiped the honey off the "Dragon King's Decree". The sun shone on his silver beard, where a small amount of icing sugar had been stained without knowing when.

The evening Dragon's Lair training was the most rigorous course - for Hoffa Jr.

The shadows of the dragon's lair moved like living things, and the breath of sulfur burned Hoffa's throat. The boy stood in the open space in the middle of the dragon's lair, his toes curling quietly in his boots, not because of the cold, but because of the dragon's eyes.

In the dim light, the vertical pupils of Centroros glowed with a venomous green. It slowly turned its neck and lowered its scaly head until the heat from its breath stirred Hoffa's silver hair. The boy did not retreat, even though his knees were shaking. "Kostilus (Don't move)" Dan Varese's voice came from the dragon's back. The dark green dragon immediately stopped, but its eyes were still fixed on Hoffa, as if evaluating the value of a piece of fresh meat.

"It hates children." Little Valar muttered in the background, "It almost bit off a servant's arm last month."

"Quiet." Igor's voice was cold and stern. In the largest lair of the dragon's lair, Womisoer also growled.

Hoffa took a deep breath and took a step forward. A thunderous sound came from deep in the throat of Centrolos, and the bone armor on the dragon's neck opened and closed with his breathing.

"Now, recite it." Igor looked at his son expressionlessly, "The dragon taming skills I taught you yesterday."

Hoffa's tongue was dry: "Dragons hate cowards. Riding a dragon and keeping balance requires courage and skill from the rider. The rider needs to maintain his balance without the use of a saddle strap and resist the impact of the airflow." His eyes involuntarily drifted to Sendroth's open mouth, where a faint glow of lava-like fire could be seen.

"Look at me!" Igor suddenly shouted, "Don't let the dragon feel your fear! Centrolos is the most ferocious dragon in the family. In the future, whether you inherit Xingge or Centrolos, don't show fear in front of the dragon."

The boy swallowed hard and tried to focus his eyes on his father. "Yes!"

Cendros suddenly snorted, and sparks flew at Hoffa's feet. Dan laughed and patted the dragon's neck: "Rytsas, lōgor (Okay, old man)"

When the dragon lazily lay down, Hoffa realized that his shirt was soaked. Igor's big hand suddenly pressed on his shoulder: "Not bad. But remember to be brave next time." The father bent down and looked at him at eye level. The boy's ice-blue eyes reflected the afterglow of the dragon flame. "Remember, a true dragon rider cannot do without courage and skill."

Late at night, Hoffa slipped into the courtyard holding his little lute. His daytime classes were too full, and only then could he practice music, which was an essential part of aristocratic education, especially in peaceful years.

The strings were suddenly pressed by a hand.

"You played it wrong!" Little Valar emerged from the shadows, his hair still covered with grass. "The third measure should be played two beats faster!"

Hoffa's eyes widened: "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

"Hovenders is snoring!" Little Valar made an exaggerated face, "louder than thunder!"

Hoffa looked at his cousin suspiciously. "Tell the truth."

Little Valar looked at his impish cousin, shrugged, and then grabbed his cousin's clothes in a standard posture.

"I came to you to help clean the scales of Hovenders. Hoffa, help me, I can't finish it."

Little Valar said with a sad face.

(End of this chapter)