“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

― Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

Voices accompanied most of his nightmares.

“Your mother is a disgrace.”

“You are lucky that she died before she could drag you down further.”

“She is a foreigner what can you expect. There is snake blood in their line.”

"I wonder if he is really the son of the king, if not for the hair signifying his lineage I would have serious doubts. It's surprising that she is capable of giving birth at all."

The five-year-old Carl pushed the large book into the middle of the floor and laboriously opened it. The bright illustrations made with gold leaf and brilliant colors shone in the dim light falling through shuttered windows as if illuminated from within. Motes of dust danced in the rays of the late afternoon sun. Asander Brightblade and his trusty dragon mount Cyrus fought the giant of Gorms Klamm. His fingers traced the flaming blade and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“This is the start of the journey, did you know that Asander was the son of a poor fisherman from Pareus?” His mother looked at him gently. “He was poor and weak and not very intelligent but he had a good heart. When he found Tyrmalion the son of Gesserach who had tried to spy on Thyomena the Wavemother he saved the golden fish from the net and was blessed with divine luck.”

When he thought of his mother he always thought of her pale, gentle face. She had been sickly from birth and all the magics and alchemy had not done much in this regard. She used to say that for having such a good boy and being so beautiful she had to pay some price. Her hair was the color of freshly cut wheat but her days lived in dark rooms drinking the potions made by the royal alchemist had made her thin and her complexion sallow. She was the third daughter of the king of Rivenlorn and it had been a purely political move to pull the nations closer together with an arranged marriage.

Vilander missed his first wife and never warmed to her. After giving her a son he never visited her again.

When the rumors about the king's mistress began to circulate Carl heard his mother cry for the first time. She sent him to the coast with his nanny to learn to swim and visit his distant relatives the von Saltmarsh where he met Minette.

Blow came after blow- news of another illegitimate child after the ill-fated affair in the north resulting in one Tervellin Gold sapped her of will as well as strength and she died in the winter of the same year.

The great mourning hall in the mountain was icy in December and the flames flaring in the braziers with the gusts of wind coming from the high window slits did nothing to alleviate this. Carl kneeled with his siblings before the sarcophagus and looked at the broad back of his father.

“I am sorry.” Vilander looked at the stone carving depicting his late wife's face. “I told you that I would not be faithful.” He shook his head and left. The wind that followed his passing seemed to be exceptionally cold.

The young Carl traced the flaming blade and looked up as someone shifted the door with great effort. A small face looked at him golden curls hung to her shoulders and a cute button nose wrinkled as the dust made her sneeze.

“Caaaarl!” The little girl squeezed through the small gap she had opened and ran up to him stumbling a bit. “I don’t want to eat carrots!”

She was only a bit younger than him and he should have hated her as she had hurt his mother, but she was so innocent, lovely, and cute- and he was not a vengeful child.

Not yet.

There were rumors that the von Saltmarsh wanted to betroth their eldest daughter Minette to the second prince.

Irene former mistress and now queen of Margrinar brushed the curtains aside and looked at a boy training in the yard with a wooden sword. The corner of her mouth lifted in a sarcastic smile. “Diligent little beast. Can’t have Theresa’s child marry into the richest family in the south.”

A whisper here, a word there, and such thoughts were buried in small considerations.

The siblings were much older than him and had not much use for the serious boy. Lieseleta played with him and kept him company but as they grew, they grew apart.

He knew all the voices in his dreams, he had heard them so often.

“Did you hear? King Vilander missed Carl Askanders birthday- again.”

“What do you expect? Did you see his mother? She looked like a ghost.”

"He looks a lot like her. Perhaps he feels a bit guilty?"

The laughter was like the tinkling of nails on glass.

Vilander looked at Carl and cleared his throat. He sat on the throne in the small audience hall and regarded his son critically. “Mh. You will do. The keshian ambassador reminded us that we still have to honor the pact made by my father. The last time they asked I refused as Thomas was my only heir. Now I don’t have the same excuse.” He rubbed his chin. Carl lowered his gaze so that his ‘father’ did not see the anger in his eyes.

“Father, was not Lieseleta chosen for this duty?”

“You think you know better?” The king seemed amused. “You will pack your things and be on your way as soon as the spring storms cease. Take some guards and your tutor. I expect your stay to be about two to three years so plan accordingly. You can go.”

Irene kissed the cheek of her king who watched the boy go and whispered, "It's better for him to broaden his horizons he is always holed up in the library. It will do him good you will see."

Vilander looked at her and shook his head as he grinned wryly, "Sometimes I don't know if you are not some sort of viper too."

The beautiful woman pouted prettily licked his cheek and said, "The most poisonous reptiles are always the most stunning."

The tears of Minette, his childhood friend, accompanied his departure. As he left, there were already whispers telling of plans regarding another engagement for her.

Not two months into his stay his tutor who his mother had once selected died of a poison that was probably not even meant for him or his entourage. The old man that had accompanied him nearly since birth was hastily buried in a cemetery specializing in foreigners.

The cold reptilian eyes, the intrigues, and the lies, the humiliation and the pain, hissing laughter. All gilded and jeweled soft and sharp.

The light that killed him reminded him of the pitiless sun that hung over the endless desert and the night that claimed him brought with it a hint of relief.