Midday had arrived. King Aldrik Valmore sat idly in his throne room, conversing with his

  eldest son, Maelor, on matters that he should have decided himself; however,

  the King was far too occupied with whores and wine to pay them any mind. In

  Velmar, the issues deemed worthy of the King's attention could be counted on

  one hand.

  “Maelor, my

  son, a small unrest has stirred in the city, as you well know. I have greater

  matters to attend to—more significant, requiring deeper reflection,” the father

  said to the son, knowing full well he had nothing to do. The son listened,

  realizing perfectly that his father was lying, but what could he do? He agreed

  to everything and carried out his father's commands, no matter how difficult or

  tedious.

  “Of course,

  Father. Tell me the problem, and Lord Koren and I will resolve it. You already

  have so much on your plate; you shouldn't overburden yourself with trifles,”

  Maelor replied.

  “Splendid,”

  the King began. “In the village outside the city—what is it called, by the

  gods... Nokilakis—there are bandit raids. Some bandit lord named Meros has

  plundered it and now acts as if he rules the folk there. Foolish bastard, he

  has no idea who he’s dealing with.” The King spoke with such blatant arrogance

  and pride that one would think nothing more powerful walked the earth, and no

  one would dare such a thing against him.

  “That is no

  problem, Father. I will take a hundred of our finest knights, our Tigers, and

  I'll make that Meros wish he had never touched our lands. Who is he, anyway?

  What is his lineage?” the boy asked.

  “That, I do

  not know, son. None of the scouts we sent returned alive. But from the way the

  locals speak of him, he is a true devil,” the father replied.

  “We shall

  see about that,” Maelor said as he left the throne room. He strode through the

  long hall and collided with a short, thin boy. Without a word, Maelor shoved

  him aside with a single thrust of his hand, muttering to himself, wondering how

  such a creature could possibly be related to him.

  The boy was

  the younger prince of Velmar, Prince Robert, who had been severely disfigured

  during a sparring incident in his childhood. His entire face was covered in

  scars; his nose had been broken so many times it had become hooked and slanted

  slightly to the left. Yet, despite it all, his eyes still radiated warmth and

  love.

  Robert hated

  everyone around his mother, his father, and especially his older brother,

  Maelor, who always treated him not as a brother, but as a dog. In truth, a

  master would not treat a dog as cruelly as Maelor treated him. He loved only

  his sisters, Melisandra and Elena, who always treated him with kindness despite

  his appearance. They were the only ones with whom Robert felt truly at peace.

  Other than them, he had no one who didn't look at him as if he were an animal,

  someone to whom a scrap of bread might be tossed occasionally but never worthy

  of a second glance.

  The boy

  stepped out into the garden. No one was there except for a few servants moving

  here and there. The servants were kind to Prince Robert because he was kind to

  them. Robert never treated them as servants, and never as slaves. He walked

  through the garden and descended the stairs leading to the training grounds.

  He reached

  the sparring area where he went often, for there he found the only friend who

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  would never betray or reject him: his blade, and Sir Nikos, who was always

  lenient toward the young prince and never made him feel different. Sir Nikos

  was already waiting for him—straight-backed, broad-shouldered, and strong, the

  Captain of the King’s Guard.

  “Are you

  ready for training, my Prince?” Nikos asked respectfully. “Of course, Sir

  Nikos,” the boy replied boldly, removing his head-cover and cloak.

  Sir Nikos

  acted as if he didn't even notice the boy’s scary face and the many deformities

  he possessed. In reality, four main scars "adorned" Robert's face.

  One was over his right eye, received when his older brother had heated a

  sparring sword in the fire before their match and pressed it directly to his

  disarmed brother's face, not pulling it away until Sir Nikos forced Maelor off

  him. The second scar was from a tournament where Kael, the King’s Hand's son,

  had slashed him so that the mark ran from his forehead down to his left

  nostril. The third scar had been inflicted by Maelor again, this time on the

  other eye, with a knife.

  Robert was

  only eleven then; Maelor was fourteen. Maelor had been gifted his first sword

  that day and cherished it like a child, letting no one touch it. Once, while

  walking with Princess Maria Tanires of Helmfall, the Prince showed off the

  sword to impress her, unaware that Maria had no interest in weapons; her

  passions were horses and flowers. The prince left the sword on a bench. Robert

  found it and drew it from its sheath; as he gazed at the blade, he felt

  something he had never felt before.

  Maelor saw

  him with the sword in hand and flew into a rage. Thinking Robert intended to

  steal it, he rushed him, knocked him down, and wrenched the sword away. Robert

  tried to explain, but Maelor wouldn't let him speak. He pulled out his small

  knife and lunged for Robert’s right eye. He would have gouged it out if

  Melisandra hadn't shoved him away, followed by Sir Nikos's intervention. Robert

  survived that day with his eye intact, but a deep scar remained permanent

  reminder of Maelor’s “heroism.”

  Robert

  unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Sir Nikos. He had become well-versed in

  the Eighth Style of swordsmanship and was a worthy opponent for many.

  Sir Nikos circled the prince, who had flawless technique and timing, yet one

  great flaw remained. With a single sweep of his hand, the knight shoved the

  prince, sending him face-first into the dirt.

  “You are too

  weak, my Prince. You must grow stronger physically to become a truly dangerous

  opponent,” the knight told him. Robert stood up and brushed off his clothes. “I

  am trying, Sir Nikos. I have only been training for a few months, but I see no

  progress yet,” the prince replied, his voice tinged with disappointment. “It

  will come, my Prince. Everything will come if you are determined,” the knight

  comforted him.

  Robert said

  no more. He turned and headed toward his room, exhausted, thinking that one day

  he would become a knight and show everyone he was not weak. He reached his room

  and entered. It was dark; Robert had covered every window, and only a few stray

  sunbeams could be seen peeking through. Robert pulled back the curtains,

  letting the sunlight in. Then, weary, he sat on his bed and began to undress.

  He moved to

  the bathing area he had built in his room, which poured warm water continuously

  like a waterfall. This had been his own invention. He had the servants divert a

  spring to his room and arranged it, so the water passed over a specially

  commissioned iron box. In this box, they would light a fire, and when the water

  gathered over the iron structure, it would heat up. With the pull of a lever, warm

  water would flow.

  After

  bathing, the boy looked at his body in the mirror and praised himself briefly.

  He dressed as befitted a prince and headed to the library. Robert was a

  frequent visitor there, unlike his brother, who had never touched a book in his

  life and showed no sign of ever doing so.

  The library

  was a massive three-story wing housing century of knowledge. Robert’s heart

  always drew him to the second floor, where the histories of past kings and the

  chronicles of great knights were kept. He had read hundreds of books and knew

  the heroic tales of many rulers. He especially loved King Reginald the Strong—a

  magnificent king and an even greater warrior.

  Robert searched

  for an unfamiliar section he had never looked at before: Myths of Light and

  Dark. The section consisted of only three books. The prince took the first

  one, titled "Ombre Tenebrae." He placed it on a small table

  and wiped away the dust, which was so thick it looked as if no one had touched it

  a hundred years. This was likely true; no one cared for these books, as they

  were regarded as mere myths.

  Robert

  brought the book down to the first floor, where the reading area was—furnished

  with expensive chairs, a large oak table, and many candles. He sat down and was

  about to open the book when a voice reached him. “Brother, can you help me?”

  Robert

  looked up and saw his sister, Melisandra, staring at a book in the Alvar

  language with the expression she only wore when she was completely lost. “Of

  course, Meli. How can I help?” Robert sat beside her. “I can't figure out the

  meanings of these words,” she said. Robert looked at the book, glanced over it,

  and chuckled quietly. He had studied this book four years ago; now it seemed

  almost laughable. Melisandra noticed his smile and smirked back—but unlike

  Robert’s, her smile was mischievous.

  “Is

  something funny, Robert?” she asked, leaning in like a tigress preparing to

  pounce. “Nothing,” Robert said without looking up. “It’s just that these words

  are too simple. A person with a good mind should understand them. But that’s

  the problem, isn't it? That’s why you’re struggling.” He was about to burst

  into laughter when Melisandra pinched his arm hard. Robert turned red, barely

  suppressing a yelp as he instinctively pulled his arm away.

  Melisandra

  whispered in his ear: “What were you saying? I didn't quite hear you.” Robert

  took a deep breath and replied, “I said, these words are too much for you, you

  silly girl.” Melisandra reached to pinch him again, but Robert caught her hand

  and restrained her. They tumbled, and both ended up on the floor. They looked

  at each other and burst into laughter.

  Robert stood

  up and helped his sister up. “I’ll help you, Meli. These words are simple;

  you’ll understand them easily.” Melisandra hugged her brother. “I’m glad I have

  you. Unlike that useless Maelor, you’re actually good for something. All he

  wants is to drink, hunt, and chase whores.”

  Hearing this

  warmed Robert’s heart. He rarely heard kind words; his parents never graced him

  with any. His brother never spoke to him, only raised a hand against him,

  constantly bullying him. “Thank you, Meli. I’ve always been grateful to you.

  You’re the only one who understands me and doesn't treat me like a monster.”

  “Why only me? Have you forgotten you have another sister? She loves you no less

  than I do, if not more.” “No, I haven't forgotten, but she isn't like you.” “I

  know, but she loves you dearly. I don't see what difference you find?”

  Robert

  looked at his sister in shock, as if she had asked something absurd. “What

  difference do I see? Your words are like a balm to a man; they heal every wound

  and sore. Honey and sugar flow from your mouth. But Elena... every word of

  Elena’s burns and hurts more. She stings like a serpent in every sentence. But

  you’re right. She loves me too. The way she treats me is mild compared to what

  she does to others.

  The girl

  smiled. “What can we do? You have two sisters of different natures. I am words

  and tenderness; Elena is the sword and the steel.” “So it is,” Robert agreed.

  “Along with a devilish brother, the Sun Goddess gave me two angelic sisters—it’s just

  that one has a devilish temper, and the other does not.” Melisandra lowered her

  green eyes, as if embarrassed, though she had no reason to be Robert was her

  brother, not a stranger. She quickly recovered, met his eyes, and asked:

  “Speaking of Elena, where is that little witch?”

  “Training,

  probably,” Robert began. “Or out riding. You know how she loves horses.” “I

  know, I know,” Melisandra rolled her eyes. “That girl is Maelor reincarnated,

  only much more beautiful and a woman.” Robert laughed, and Melisandra joined

  him. “I don't know where she is now, but she’s not here for the moment, so it’s

  quiet. Let’s use this time to do our work, because once she returns, you won't

  even be able to think, let alone read.” “I agree. Let’s use the time before the

  Queen of Chaos returns.” They sat on the sofa and began deciphering Melisandre’s

  words. They finished quickly, and Melisandra picked up a book on the history of

  Ael’Tharyn. Robert took his myths, opened the page, and began to read.