2

Inside his cave, Scar sat in the shadows. He could hear the muffled sounds of celebration drifting in from outside. The cave shook as the animals paraded around Pride Rock, trumpeting and roaring in excitement over the presentation of beloved little Simba. Scar’s eyes narrowed, and he swiped a paw angrily at the ground in front of him. Was it too much to ask for them to be just a tad quieter? So much fuss for such a tiny cub. It was disgusting and just like his big brother. The mighty king loved a good show.

Trying to tune out the noise, Scar focused on a much more pressing task—his afternoon snack. Lowering himself into a crouch, he shifted farther back into the shadows and waited. Within moments, the cave grew eerily quiet, as though Scar had stopped breathing and moving altogether. Out on the savannah, the skill would have made him a mighty hunter. But the scar on his eye had made him ineffectual to his father, so he had never been brought along on hunts, never shown the way of the hunter. Inside his cave, however, he was the mightiest of warriors. No one judged his weak appearance: his ribs always protruding no matter how much he ate; his mane mangy and thin; his coat mottled and turning prematurely gray; his mismatched eyes—one bright, the other clouded and scarred. No, inside his cave, he was the king.

And he was about to get a meal.

A mouse, lulled into a false sense of security by the quiet, scampered out into the center of the cave. He lifted his nose to the air and his whiskers twitched, his little eyes darting back and forth. Convinced he was well and truly alone, he scurried forward, his nose pressed to the ground as he searched for a crumb. Focused on his task, the little mouse didn’t notice as a shadow rose up on the cave wall behind him.

Slowly, Scar got to his feet, his hackles raising and his eyes narrowing as he fixed on his prey. This was his favorite part. The moment before he pounced—when he was steps ahead of his victim. Mufasa had always been the brawnier of the two, but Scar—he was the brainier. And he loved a good game of cat and mouse. Inching forward, he was soundless, the pads of his giant paws barely touching the cold hard ground of the cave. When he was almost on top of the mouse, he lifted one paw up. It hung in the air above the mouse for a second and then slammed down, trapping the creature against the wall.

A sneer of pleasure came over Scar’s face. Behind his paw he could feel the mouse frantically trying to escape. But there was nowhere to go. Lifting his paw, he brought his nose down right in front of the frightened creature. “Life’s not fair, is it, my little friend?” he said. He was so close to the mouse that his breath made the small animal’s fur move. “While some are born to feast, others spend their lives in the dark—begging for scraps. The way I see it, you and I are exactly the same.” He lowered his head still closer, silently laughing at the irony of comparing himself to a mouse. But it was true. They were the same. They were both stuck in their situations. And while he may have been born into the proudest of families, Scar was seen as no mightier than a mouse. Sighing, he went on. “We both want to find a way out....”

Lifting the mouse up by his tail, Scar let him squirm for a moment. He would never grow tired of the pleasure it gave him to make the weak suffer. And why should he? He was the weak one in his family. And look at what they had done to him: cast him aside, treated him like dirt while they showered Mufasa with praise and attention. Scar would never be king. That much was a given, especially now that the little brat had been born. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t find some source of joy—even if it came in the form of hurting creatures too small to fight back.

With renewed focus, Scar opened his mouth and began to lower the mouse down. He was just about to snap his jaws shut when he heard flapping wings. A moment later, the unmistakable sound of Zazu’s voice echoed throughout the cave.

“The king approaches!” the hornbill cried. “This is NOT a drill!”

At the word king, Scar’s grip on the mouse loosened. It was just for a moment, but it was all the mouse needed. Jumping free of Scar—and away from his still open mouth—the mouse sprinted toward the small hole through which he had come. Before Scar could even let out a growl of frustration, his snack had disappeared.

In its place stood Zazu.

Sitting down, Scar eyed the nervous bird. He hated Zazu—almost as much as he despised Mufasa. The bird felt that just because he was Mufasa’s trusted aide he could go anywhere and say anything. It was irritating. As was his habit of constantly being nervous and in a state of fear—not that anyone could touch the bird without punishment from the king.

Feeling the lion’s gaze on him, Zazu scanned the cave. His nose dipped down as he took in the dirty surroundings, the matted thin bed in the corner, and the remains of Scar’s last snack. Then he looked up at Scar. “His Majesty has requested an audience,” he announced. “Upon his entrance you will rise and genuflect.”

Scar ignored him, looking instead at the spot in the cave wall where the mouse had gone. “Zazu,” he said, dragging out the hornbill’s name and managing to sound completely put off, “you’ve made me lose my lunch.”

Zazu did not seem concerned. “You’ll answer to Mufasa for missing the ceremony this morning!”

Instantly, Scar was on his feet. He began to move toward the bird, his head lowered and his lips pulled back in a snarl. If Zazu thought he could just fly in and command him to bow and act sorry, he was a stupider bird than Scar had believed. As he got closer, he licked his lips hungrily.

“Scar—” Zazu said, beginning to back up. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Are you hungry, Zazu?” Scar asked, not stopping. “Perhaps we could have a bite together?”

Hearing the hunger—and hatred—in Scar’s voice, Zazu lifted up off the floor of the cave. He could wait for Mufasa outside just as easily as inside. But before he could turn and fly away, Scar lunged forward, blocking the entrance to the den. His body shut out the sunshine and cast the entrance into shadow.

Zazu shivered. “You can’t eat me!” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking—and failing.

In answer, Scar snapped his jaws. With a squawk, Zazu lifted into the air, barely avoiding having his beak bitten in half. Below him, Scar snapped again and again, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls of the den.

“SCAR!” Backlit by the sun, Mufasa filled the entire entrance to the den. His massive mane looked the color of fire, but his eyes were cold as they stared down at Scar.

“Well, look who’s come down to mingle with the commoners,” Scar finally said, eyeing his brother and Zazu with disdain. He lifted a paw and began to groom himself.

“Come out here!” Mufasa ordered. He knew exactly what Scar was doing. He was trying to act as though he didn’t have a care in the world. But Mufasa knew different. He knew Scar hadn’t shown because of one reason and one reason alone: jealousy. Stepping back, he waited for the other lion to follow him.

Slowly, Scar slunk out in the sunshine. He squinted, unaccustomed to the bright light. He began to walk around Mufasa, checking to be sure the king hadn’t brought anyone else along with him. But Mufasa was alone.

“Sarabi and I didn’t see you at the presentation of Simba,” Mufasa finally said. He lifted his head toward the top of Pride Rock, high above them. His body was relaxed but his tone made his displeasure clear. He didn’t bother to look at Scar, instead just waiting to hear the excuse.

Pausing in front of a large rock, Scar flicked out a long, sharp talon and began to run it over the hard surface. Zazu grimaced at the painful noise, but Mufasa didn’t flinch. “Was that today?” Scar said. “Must have slipped my mind.” He shrugged. “Of course, I meant no disrespect toward His Majesty. Or Sarabi. As you know, I have tremendous respect for the queen....” His voice trailed off, his omission blatant.

Zazu’s head swiveled back and forth between the two brothers. It was never comfortable being in the same area as them, but now it was downright frightening. He could feel the rage practically boiling off Mufasa, and he could smell the indifference on Scar. Clearing his throat, the hornbill took a step forward. “As the king’s brother, you should have been first in line,” he pointed out, voicing what Mufasa had obviously been thinking.

Scar lifted an eyebrow, the movement pulling at his scar and making him look even meaner than usual. Was Zazu joking? Did he not see the irony in what he’d said? “I was first in line,” he reminded them. “Or don’t you remember. That is, until the precious prince arrived.” Tired of the conversation, Scar turned to walk away. He had more important things to do than be chastised by a bird and his birdbrained brother—like find his runaway lunch.

“Don’t turn your back on me, Scar!”

At the sound of Mufasa’s voice, Scar reeled back around. He had had enough. “Oh, no, Mufasa,” he snarled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t turn your back on me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Mufasa roared. Lifting his head, he puffed out his chest and squared off against Scar. For a long, tense moment, the two lions stood there, eyes locked, until finally, Scar lowered his head and began to back away.

He was small, but he was not foolish. There was no point in fighting. “I wouldn’t dream of challenging you.” He stopped, and then added, “Again.”

Mufasa’s hackles rose and a growl began at the back of his throat. But before he could snap, Zazu flew in between them. “A wise decision!” he said to Scar. “You are no match for His Royalness!”

Scar shrugged. “Well, as far as brains go, I’ve got the lion’s share. But when it comes to brute strength, I’m afraid my big brother will always rule.”

“Not always,” Mufasa said, correcting him. “One day it will be my son who rules. Simba will be your king.”

“Then long live the king,” Scar said. Turning back toward his den, he slunk away, disappearing into the darkness.

Watching him go, Mufasa let out a sigh. That was not how he had wanted things to go. True, he had been angry that Scar had skipped the ceremony, but a piece of him—however small—had hoped that maybe there had been a good reason. That perhaps with a new generation born, they could put aside their past. But clearly that was not going to happen.

“What am I going to do with him?” Mufasa said as he and Zazu began to make their way back to the top of Pride Rock.

“Well, here’s a thought,” Zazu said, not hesitating to offer up his dream solution. “Why not drag him away with your massive teeth and claws?”

Mufasa tried not to laugh. It was no secret that the hornbill despised Scar. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Zazu’s loyalty to his king or the fact that Scar was so messy. Zazu despised disorder.

“What?” Zazu said. “We both know he should have been expelled from the Pride Lands long ago.”

Mufasa’s smile faded. “He’s my brother, Zazu,” he said, shaking his head. “This is his home. As long as I’m king, that will never change.” No matter how difficult Scar makes it for me, he added silently.