I hate Eldin for hurting Delly.
            I hate this stupid castle and its stupid people.
            I hate Ascocenda, all of it.
            But most of all, I hate father for giving me away!
            Edaran sat with his arms folded, watching the old man talk on and on, those lips like dusty parchment barely moving. It was the Steward he had met several days ago. Every morning he was to have lessons with him just as he had with his Uncle. Afterwards, he would have time to eat before being instructed on combat by this castle’s Sergeant. He was the only young boy here now so he trained alone with the grizzled swordsmaster. He hated them all. Worst of all, in this place, he was nothing special. At Dawnrose, he was the son of the Lord. Here he was the son of a lesser Lord, so everybody looked down on him.
            The old man told him it would be a lesson in humility. He did not want people laughing at him, he’d show them though. In the training yard he would beat anything the man had to throw at him to prove his worth.
            First he would have to get through this lesson however.
            “Tell me, did your father ever speak of the tale of the Princekiller?”
            He was so quiet that Edaran had to strain to listen, yet he could not insult them by not listening, after all he was bearing the name of his parents just as much as Devlin was, and besides, Eldin would be displeased and he did not want that again.
            Edaran touched his shoulder.
            “It wasn’t often told to us, but yes, I know the tale.” It was a black mark on their ancestry.
            “I would imagine so, a cautionary tale and to this day, wet nurses threaten children in their beds with it. Yet this story is crucial to both of our heritages. Pray tell me of it.” He requested.
            It had been many years since he had heard the tale, his father had not spoken of it, nor even Marten, it had been Devlin who first told him the tale. Before he had left, on Edaran had reached his seventh year, Devlin sat on the end of his bed as he tried to sleep, speaking in a most frightful voice and there, spoke of the tale so dramatically it had given Edaran vivid night terrors for several days. He could remember it even now, though many other things were lost to him.
            “It was nearly four hundred years ago. The Prince was at play when men fell upon the Capital of Victum and threatened to bring the King down. He ran home as fast as he could to his father’s arms. That was when the King’s sworn man turned on him and the pair fought.
            “The  Prince could but watch as the two men hacked and slashed. Soon, at the bottom of the tower where they had been fighting down, the two sides met. Loyalists and Revolutionists. In the wildness of the fight, an arrow flew passed the heads of the many and took the boy Prince in the heart.” The steward nodded, his expression frozen into an emotionless mask.

The End

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