"Iza. Iza?" the voice poked at my consciousness like an annoying sparrow. "Iza?" Consistent and no less irritating. "Ariza Cobriana, get out of bed this instant."

Oh gods… Aunt Irene.

I blinked my eyes open slowly, wincing in the bright light.

"Where have you been, young man, and you'd better have a damn good excuse!" Her garnet eyes twittered dangerously. I was in trouble.

Doubly so, as I realized I had not changed out of my dirty clothing from the night before. Even now, I could still smell the strong liquor and feel the incessant pounding of a massive hangover.

"You reek," she spat, through back my covers, "You absolutely reek. What's going on? Why do you feel you must get drunk? This is the sixth time this month, boy!"

I groaned, trying to focus on her face through the haze of pain. It didn't work. Instead of trying again, I rolled over, and off my bed. With a bitten back cry I hit the floor, shivering. The cold stone pressed against my skin, sending unconscious ripples of black feathers across my back, where my shirt had been pulled up. As a dangerous cross, I didn't have as much control over my shift as pure birds or pure snakes. Especially now, when I felt an earthquake rumble through my head.

"Get up." It was a command, and one that would have consequences if not obeyed.

I struggled to my feet, using the bed as a much needed support.

"Upright, young man. Whether you be Crown Prince or court jester, you will treat your elders with respect."

I must be in a hell of a lot of trouble. What had happened?

"You father knows, and your mother is…" she searched for the right word, "absolutely appalled at what you have become. Do you have no respect? For yourself? For your title? I covered for you once, my nephew, and look at where it's gotten you. I thought it was just a stage, that you would see out of it eventually. But you seem to have gotten worse, if possible!"

I forced my eyes to remain open, as I appeared to listen to her lecture. She had. She had been my friend, my ally in my random escapades out of the castles. She had covered for me on my first pub excursion. She hadn't known about the second, the third, the fourth… She would have put a stop to it, and quickly. With all eyes on my parents, there wasn't a single person in either realm who did not watch me, to see how well I would grow up. Anything I did, the world would know about it. Any scandal would bring shame and doubt around my parents, and that was not something they needed more of, not with peace finally around the corner.

"Are you listening to me?" Aunt Irene grabbed my ear heard, jerking me violently into the present. I winced, and smacked her hand away.

"I hear you," the words cracked in my dry throat, and I was reminded of the aftertaste of hard liquor.

I honestly don't know how I appeared, but my face must have been indescribably ignorant, for she stomped her foot and hissed. "That's it! You ungrateful idiot! When are you doing to grow up!? You are the heir to the throne. You need to learn responsibility. This… this prancing about, getting drunk weekly, will not do! You are seventeen. Start acting like it, or you will find consequences that are beyond your worst imaginations!"

That was when the door to my room slammed open. Mother flounced in, followed by a distressed-looking Father. Mother took a look at me and paled, shooting a glance at her husband. He lifted his shoulders wearily in a gesture of defeat.

Mother turned to me, "Iza, what's wrong?"

I kept my face expressionless, as was taught in avian culture. I head Father sigh. Hiding like a bird always disconcerted him, but according to Mother it was normal.

Father moved close to Mother, resting a light hand on her waist and whispering in her ear. She bit back a protest, but nodded to Irene, who swept out of the room. Mother followed shortly after. Alone now, Father shut the door and came to stand beside me, "You may sit. I know you have one hell of a hangover."

Gratefully I dropped onto the plush bed, wondering what he was going to say this time. Last time it had been my inheritance. The time before had been his past, and the war. The time still before that had been some other boring lecture. The talks were beginning to meld and twist in my mind, making it unclear exactly what had been said.

"Iza," he started his Cobriana eyes holding me, "What's gotten into you? Why are you in such despair?"

"Despair?" I echoed, not fully understanding.

He shifted uneasily, "Despair. Only men in despair will drink as you. I do not believe this is some… teenage foolishness. If you are troubled, speak to us about it. You're not being beaten again, are you?" He was referring the first time I had shifted, frightening my playmates into the sky. When they had returned, they had laughed and hurt me for being different. Still young, I had been unable to shift back, and had flown to Father, a trembling chick. Needless to say, those avians never bothered me again… They never bothered to look at me again either.

"No," I ground out between clenched teeth, black feathers racing across my fists only to disappear into tanned skin again.

"My boy," he took my hand into his cool palm, "You have had it very rough. Nobody could ask for better than how you have matured over the years. I am proud of you. You are my son, not the mix of cobra and hawk, but my son. Do not forget that. I love you; your mother is molting with worry over you, please remember this," his gaze had softened, and I could at least fidget, "Your people are depending on you. They need a leader, not some… stoned teenager who cannot control himself."

So it boils down to politics. Again. It was always 'your people' this, 'your people' that. Do what's best for the people; the peace is still very fragile. Forget your own troubles, the people need you. It made me sick to just think about it. Or maybe that was the drink… How was I supposed to support the people when they rejected me as a freak?

"Iza, you're changing." The sharp tone helped me calm, and the black feathers in my hair receded. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I stood, trying to ignore the fierce pounding in my head. I walked to the window and flung it open. "I'll be back eventually," I shifted, and took off, feeling rather than seeing my father's unease at my form. As well as they tried, my parents never would be completely at ease with my build. A black hawk, with deadly cobra's venom. I was a freak, and there was nothing I could do but run.

I flew now, over the familiar territory between avian and serpiente land. My forest. My refuge, and the only place I could find solitude. The animals shied from me, knowing I was of unnatural get. It didn't bother me terribly, else I would have killed myself long ago.

Landing softly, I concentrated hard to shift back into my human skin. It took a few tries, but I finally got it. Then, cursing my lot, I wandered the ground. Walking does remarkable things to one's spirit. As I made my first mile, I already felt better, especially with the effects of the hangover decreasing.

I neared the bottom of a tall cliff, and I heard an odd shrill. I looked up, to see two birds clawing at each other violently. A vulture loomed over a black bird, at least two sizes bigger than the other, and the small fighter already bled form a wing wound. The black bird fluttered in vain, and pitched downwards.

Immediately enraged at the unfairness of the battle, I tried my Demi form- a human body with black wings. Once again, I couldn't control my shift and I was full bird in my desperation to catch the poor thing. We collided mid-air, and while I slowed his fall, I initiated mine. Twisting madly through the air, we finally hit ground hard, a tangled mess of blood and feathers.

Exhausted, I returned to my human shape before the vulture got any ideas. The sound of wings beating the air told me the pest had left, and I turned my attention to the other.

My eyes widened, and I drew my breath sharply. It was a black hawk. Charcoal like my own pelt of feathers. He lay on his side, his wide eyes on me at every move. I reached out to touch his feathers, to ensure he wasn't some illusion, and he whipped his head around and bit down hard on my hand. I jerked back, cursing. The mark turned red rapidly, hinting that the bird was poisonous. It was confirmed as my hand proceeded to go numb.

Normal avians did not bite. They did not have poison. They did not have tiny teeth in their beaks that allowed them to break an enemies' skin. Was it possible I had found another like me?

Without bothering to attempt to halt the flow of poison, I scooped the annoyed bird into my good arm and started at a jog to the castle. The poison wouldn't affect me that badly, I figured, as I was poisonous myself, but it would still hurt.

I managed to get within range of the guards before collapsing, unable to move. I yelled for help, and heard the crashing of footsteps as someone answered.