Prologue
 
	“M-my lord” came a trebling voice from behind a slightly ajar door. The new king turned his head ever so slightly to see a set of terrified eyes and a small trembling figure through the doorway. 
	
	“Come in, and close the door you fool” The man did as instructed.

	The King stood there silently, over a small cradle containing a sleeping infant. With his shoulders slightly hunched, his joints ached and his breath was labored from rage. But that rage was gone now, all that remained was emptiness. The king had felt this many times before, this unbearable numbness. For a moment he longed for pain, or anguish, or anything that would remind him he was indeed still a mortal man. He gripped a knife tight in his hand as if his life depended on it. Funny how a little piece of metal can do so much he pondered to himself, as he stared at the sleeping infant. Two dead bodies lay about the bed chamber, he dare not look at them for he knew his brothers eyes still remained open, staring on in death, judging, condemning.

	“You've really done it sir!” said the trembling man in the doorway.

	 “I have.”

	“What n-now.” he stammered. 
	
	The King drew in a long breath but said nothing. Just stood there. “Now I only have one last loose end...” the King drew his knife and approached the cradle. Just as he began to draw back his blade the trembling man found his strength and rushed forward to grab his arm.

	“Wait sir please!” the dagger cut across the child's chest but failed to pierce its heart. The king howled in rage and flung the small man off his arm as the child began to wail in pain.

	“Damn you Smatt!” The King spun around towering over Smatt with his dagger. Smatt recoiled in fear.

	“P-please reconsider sir, I think it would be most unwise.”

	“How so?” the King mused drawing back though not entirely satisfied. He eyed Smatt much like a snake before it strikes.

	“It's just that, Y-you have no heir sir” Smatt stammered as he desperately searched for an excuse to spare the infants life. 

	“And you think I couldn't sire a son of my own?!” the King hissed.

	“N-no sir I meant no disrespect. It's only you're growing advanced in your years and in such poor health...”

	“I'm not dead yet Smatt.” the King retorted as he turned his attention back to the wailing infant, “In fact for the first time in years I feel alive.” he said. His eyes grew wide and hungry as he drew back his knife once more before the wailing child. Smatt looked away and braced himself, he waited for the crying to stop... but it continued. The King held the dagger above his head, staring down wild eyed at the wailing infant. He tried once or twice to bring the dagger down but could not. This small child held him frozen in place. He looked so like his brother, so helpless, bleeding, sobbing.
	“S-sir.” Smatt whispered as he placed a hand on the King's shoulder. The King spun around in fury with his eyes wet and red.

	“Take him!” he screamed, “Take the boy and leave him in the woods for the wolfs, drown him, I don't care just make sure he never darkens my doorway again for as long as I live!”

	Smatt hurriedly bundled the wounded child and drew him up from his cradle.

	“S-sir?”

	“GO! OUT! Leave my home! Leave my kingdom! Go! And never return!”

	Smatt did as instructed and fled the palace with the child in his arms. Atop a chestnut stallion he rode off taking one last look at the castle, his home, before riding off in to the night, never to been seen within his home countries borders again. 

	The king stood alone, blood soaked, eyes burning. He turned to see his brother staring up at him.