The black-haired dragon looked at him without a change in expression, and Morpheus could not understand what that annoyingly indifferent look meant. Was that a yes? A no? Probably a 'no', for if Myra had truly returned, then this Black Dragon would not be wasting time like this. His excitement was then replaced with disappointment and annoyance.
"You are wasting my time," he scowled as he turned away from him. "Get your royal self back to your palace."
But Draven spoke again, as if not minding Morpheus' reaction. "A guest arrived today from one of the kingdoms from the other side of the continent."
Morpheus rolled his eyes. "Doesn't concern me—"
"He is a young golden eagle around a century old."
Morpheus stiffened. He felt like he heard something wrong. He quickly looked at Draven with his gray eyes filled with questions.
"That golden eagle is your nephew," Draven added. "He is Myra's son."
