He was young, barely eight years old, and shorter than the average boy his age, but he already learned how to navigate most of his castle by memory. Counting steps, feeling what kind of floor was under his slippers, and listening for certain noises in the castle helped guide him, such as the ever-present bustle of the kitchen or the rustling of the trees outside.

But at the moment, the sound that guided him was different from the usual noises. It was the cries of a wounded man, brimming with fury and pain which overflowed from him like a fountain.

“Bastards! How dare they? Do they think they can do this to me? To their king? Do they think I’m weak? Merciful? I’ll show them mercy! I’ll carve their innards out and let them watch as I burn their castles! I’ll command them to murder their own bloody children with their bare hands! I’ll… I will…” And the voice broke down, sobbing. “How could they do this… How could he take her from me…?”

The boy recognised the voice, it was his father’s.

Not that it was an exactly familiar voice. He barely saw him anymore, ever since his mother died and his father had married the new woman. The new queen. Damien did not like her, even though it seemed most of the adults around him did. She barely spoke to him and always stole the attention of whoever was in the room when she did speak, making him feel insignificant. He missed his mother, her touch, light as a butterfly as she traced his features with her gentle hand. She had apparently been blind from birth, like him, and he had always been her favourite. But now she was nothing but a fuzzy memory.

He got closer to the voice, and heard someone else speaking in low, cautious tones.

“... I understand, Your Majesty. But please remember that House Sofkos and House Eryus are both already against you, and the Meton family has already refused your summons. That’s at least three noble houses joined against you. If any more - ”

“And what of it? Are you actually suggesting I lie down and take this? Do nothing? Pardon them all, by the grace of Ellora, with my blessings?” His father growled before continuing, bitter venom in every word. “That insane, motherless bastard murdered my wife! And now, when I need them the most, these other bloody traitors dare defy me? And band with him instead? How should I accept this? What kind of king would I be if I accepted this… This betrayal? You might as well ask me to hand over my crown, along with my balls!”

Another voice. Not as loud, but he could hear it better now he was getting closer. “He’s got a point there, Helios. This is not the kind of behaviour we can tolerate -”

“Your Highness, you’re not supposed to be here,” said a different voice, much closer. Damien heard the hurried steps on the stone floor, and felt the man approach him. No leather in his shoes, or sound of armour as he walked. A servant, maybe?

“They said father is leaving,” said Damien. “I want to talk to him.”

“That is for him to decide. But he is with his counsel right now and should not be disturbed!”

And the man picked Damien up and started carrying him back down the hallway he had come from. Damien hated being picked up and carried like that, legs dangling in the air. It made him feel useless and worthless, underlining this weakness he had been born with and making it worse, as if he was incapable of walking as well as seeing.

“Take me to my father, right now,” he said, using the Royal Voice. He was careful not to be too loud and affect someone else. But as the servant carrying him turned on his heels and immediately started carrying him closer to his father’s voice, he also heard another person’s steps following them. He hadn’t realised they were there, an unexpected victim of his commands.

“Your father told us all to -” said the one carrying him, only for Damien to interrupt him.

“Shush! No talking from you,” he said. The one carrying him went quiet.

They approached the room his father was in, and were stopped by a gruff voice.

“What are you bringing him here for? Didn’t you hear-?”

“Shh! Look at his eyes!”

Guards, most likely. They went quiet, and Damien took this opportunity.

“Open the door and let me into the room my father is in,” he said.

The sound of a door being opened, and then Damien was carried into a room where the shouting was only getting more intense.

“- I’ll kill them all if I have to!” Said his father. “I’ll wipe their miserable bloodlines off the face of the earth! They will never…”

The room went quiet, and even though Damien couldn’t see, he felt the attention of those powerful men and women directed at him. His father too. Was he looking at him now? Was he happy to see him?

“Damien? What are you doing here?” His father approached him. “Guards. Return to your posts and close the door behind you. After that, you may do as you please. You’re not supposed to be here.” The last remark was directed at his son, who was now frowning and clinging to the servant carrying him.

“You didn’t visit me,” he said, his voice small and trembling slightly. Ellora help him, he could not cry now! Not in front of all these people. He was a prince, goddamnit! He had the Gift of the Vyrion bloodline. He was already eight years old. If he cried and looked weak now…

“I arrived yesterday!” Said his father, King Xander ex Vyrion, sovereign king of Viridia and most exalted among the Gifted. “And there’s a lot going on. Daddy does not have the time to -”

“Is it true that my stepmother was killed?” Interrupted Damien. “And is it true that there’s going to be a war?”

The room was plunged into absolute silence by his words. After an awkward cough King Xander was the first to recover.

“Yes, it is true,” he said. “Who told you this?”

“They s-said you’re already preparing to leave again,” said Damien, his voice trembling again. “A-and you - ”

“Damien, stop talking,” said his father, and Damien felt his voice immediately falter, ignoring his desperate commands to speak. To tell his father that he missed him, that he was scared of this war. And he was scared that he was going to lose him, like he had lost his mother. His new wife was now dead too. Who was going to be next?

He felt his fathers hands brushing against his hair. “Listen, son. I know things are difficult and you must have a lot of questions… But daddy has work to do right now. Very important work. And he can’t have you coming in here and disturbing everyone, alright? You should know better than to use the Royal Voice to disobey my orders! You don’t want to betray my commands, son, do you?”

And when speaking those last words his grip became tighter, barely containing the anger brimming in his words. It wasn’t strong enough to hurt, but Damien still felt his eyes growing wet and his lips trembled. His father was very angry. This was the angriest he had ever heard him be. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Damien, wou will remain silent until tomorrow, as a punishment,” said the king. “And as a reminder not to do it again, yes? Will you be a good boy and not disrespect your father again?”

He nodded, a tear spilling from his eyes and rolling down his cheek. He blinked, cursing himself for being so weak. His father ran his fingers gently through his hair again.

“I will try to see you if I can. But it might be difficult for the next few years. Daddy has big, big things he needs to focus on. Once we win this war, I will make it up to you. To all of you and your brothers, and your sister too.”

Damien nodded again, then his hand moved towards his father, gingerly offering to have it held in a mute plea.

“Not now, daddy is busy,” said King Xander, moving away. “Take him back to his room and instruct his servants to keep him there. Also warn them that he is without his voice at the moment. After that, you are free to do as you wish.”

Damien felt himself be carried out of the room. His father was already discussing the war with his counsel again. The prince tried, in vain, to cry out to his father. To beg him to stay, promising he would be quieter. His father could even order him to be quiet and stand still if he wanted to, so long as he was with him and paying attention to him. Not even all the time. Just a little.

But his own voice was not his to command. For the rest of the day, it belonged to his father. And so, helpless and voiceless, he was carried back to his room.

Kinari frowned, watching Damien closely. The prince hung his head low and his voice was soft, tentative. He clutched the blanket of the bed he was sitting on, his hands balled into fists.

“You father used the Royal Voice on you?” She asked.

“It was a normal thing in our family,” he replied with a wry smile. “When growing up, I realised I could make people follow what I wanted with my voice when I was six years old. Can you imagine?” He shuddered. “I used it far more often than I should have. But it was normal for us. Accepted, even. And my father, in turn, used the Voice on me and my brother if he wanted to discipline us. If anyone was below you, then using the voice was permitted. Encouraged, even. And I was his son, so…”

“Sounds like you changed, since then,” she said, looking curiously at him.

“Yes. I did change,” he said with a small nod. “And… A lot of things changed in the palace, once my father was gone and the war started in earnest.”

It was a hot summer day, and the heat was like an oppressive blanket, thick as molasses, slowing down the work of the servants working outdoors and the group of soldiers doing drills and training in the castle courtyard, while covering them all in sweat.

But Damien, now thirteen years old, was far removed from such mundane problems as working under the sun. He was in one of the high towers of his palace, where the thick roof and a gentle breeze both kept the heat at bay, and lay in a large couch made of velvet and mahogany, taking a sip from the water in his cup before asking:

“So what happened next?”

The servant standing next to him squinted at the book, mouth half-open in concentration before reading out loud, in a slow and ponderous tone.

“Then Odyseus told the c-captain, umm, ‘I may be a bastard, but no-noble blood still runs in my… vains? Veins. And the gifts I, um… Command are match for an-any true born noble’. He said, while, err… Raising his sword high and chu-challenging the captain to a… Duel?”

“Where is Katalin?” Demanded Damien. “She reads much better than you!”

“Apologies, your Highness,” said the servant, a bead of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool temperature. “Katalin is busy with some of her other duties, and I am still learning how to read. I am so sorry…”

“What’s your name again?” Asked Damien, interrupting him.

“Obiareus, Your Highness,” said the man. “And if you grant me the smallest amount of time and patience, I will improve - ”

“Next time tell them to send someone better,” interrupted Damien again, before taking another sip of water. “But since you’re already here, you can continue reading, I guess.”

There was an awkward pause as Obiareus lowered his head in embarrassment and Damien, oblivious to his servant’s hurt, flopped on the couch and closed his eyes. “Well?”

“Yes, sorry,” said the the servant, quickly returning his attention to the book. “Right. Challenging the captain to a… Duel. But captain Gabor laughed at his thu-threat and raised his mo… His mighty axe above his head. The same axe that had de… Um. De-ca-pi-ta-ted hundreds of rebels who had chu-challenged him.”

The door to the bedroom was opened, and both servant and prince stopped and turned their heads when they heard the sound.

“Katalin, is that you?” Asked Damien, his voice hopeful.

“No talking!” These two words sank into the minds of both prince and servant like a hawk’s claws on a field mouse. Damien tried to speak quickly and override the order, but it was useless. Only a frustrated groan came out when he tried to speak.

“Sush! Be quiet! No talking or making any other noise! As for you, servant? Go out and don’t come back. Leave me alone with my brother. ”

Damien heard the steps moving towards the door, which the servant closed behind him, muffling any other sounds from the other side. He backed away until his back hit against the wall, like a cornered animal, helpless as the predator closed in.

“Hey Dammy. Doing ok?” Asked the voice Damien recognized all too well. His younger brother, Andrew ex Vyrion. And he did not even bother concealing the gloating tone as he spoke: “Oh, yeah. Haha, no voice. You’re not allowed to use the Royal Voice, but you can still speak. There we go. Neat, huh?”

“Why are you here, Andrew?” Asked Damien, angry and scared in equal measure.

“Wow, it’s so nice and cool in here! You picked a really good place to lie down while your servants read you a bedtime story! And you have a pitcher of water too, and are those grapes? Hmm!”

Ignoring his question, Damien heard Andrew walk closer and take a few grapes from his bowl, chewing on them loudly while pacing around the room. Damien attempted to summon within him the Voice, the power to compel others, and found he couldn’t. As expected, a given order could not be disobeyed.

“Go away and leave me alone if you have nothing better to do!” Said Damien. “Seriously, Andrew - ”

“There’s a war going on, if you haven’t noticed, Dammy-dams!” Andrew chuckled and spat some grape seeds on the floor before continuing. “I don’t know if you have noticed, up high in your little cosy tower, but everyone’s doing their part! The soldiers are training or fighting, the nobles are leading everyone and the commoners are… Doing whatever. But what are you doing, huh? Laying down and listening to stories?”

“It’s not like that! Stories teach us stuff too!” Protested Damien.

“Teach stuff? Pfft!” Scoffed Andrew. “Like what? Who died a hundred years ago by fighting some other person that’s also long dead? Yeah, ha ha! Useful stuff when an enemy comes at you with a sword! But while you were here being a baby, I was getting trained by the best swordsmen in the kingdom! They say I have real talent, you know? I mean, sure, I am of the royal family, but it’s good to know I’m not a failure like some people.”

“I’m blind! How could I learn how to fight when I was born blind, you idiot?”

“Good thing you asked,” and with these words Andrew threw a long object at Damien, hitting him in the stomach and making him grunt in pain. He felt around and realised it was long, wooden, and had a handle on one side. A practice sword. “Pick that up and fight a match with me! I want to practice some more.”

“I’m not going to fight you! Go and find someone else, idiot!” Damien threw the sword on the floor, where it tumped on the rug placed there. “Just leave me alone already!”

“Pick up that sword,” said Andrew, and Damien was forced to obey. He crawled off the bed and groped blindly around the floor until he found the sword, grabbing it by the hilt as he gingerly got on his feet.

Damien frowned, trying to concentrate on where his brother’s sound was coming from. He heard his steps and turned in that direction, trying to keep the sword protectively in front of him.

The smack as the wooden sword hit his shins, followed quickly by a burst of pain, still came as a surprise. Damien yelped and fell to his knee, holding his hurt leg and crying in pain.

“Come on! You think the enemy is going to go easy on you because you’re blind? Get back up!” Said Andrew, while swinging his sword at his brother and hitting him in the shoulder.

“Ow! Stop that, you bastard!” Damien swung his sword wildly in the direction he was hit in, feeling his sword clack against the bed or the table and the floor as he swung this way and that. He stopped for a moment to try and figure out where his brother was.

Which is when, of course, Andrew swung again and hit him in the face. Damien’s head exploded in pain as hot as fire, falling down to the floor and stunned by the sudden strike.

“You’re so bad!” Andrew laughed. “Are you sure your mother was a noble? Because you swing that sword as if it was a farming hoe. It’s so pathetic, it’s almost funny!”

“Don’t you talk about my mom!” Shouted Damien, still clutching at his head in pain.

“Your mother was a cripple!” Andrew relished at that word, enunciating every syllable with gusto. “And her sons were also all cripples! Useless, pathetic and good for nothing cripples!”

With an angry shout, Damien threw his sword at where his brother’s voice was coming from, and was rewarded with a yelp of pain.

“Hah!” Celebrated Damien. “I hit you! You’re fighting a blind guy that wasn’t even ready to fight, and you still got hit! So who sucks now, huh?”

“Shut up! Don’t move and don’t speak!” Shouted Andrew, the anger in his voice was felt, even through the strange modulations of the Royal Voice. Damien felt his muscles freeze up, and willed his mouth to move, but to no avail. He could only lie on the ground and listen as his brother walked closer and closer to him.

“You hurt me, the future king,” said Andrew. “And you threw your sword. That wasn’t allowed. You’re just a cripple who happens to be related to me by blood. But you have no right to hurt me! Hear me? No right! And the only way a cripple like you can hit me is because you cheated anyway!”

Damien could not argue back, so he heard Andrew huff angrily.

“So I think a punishment is in order,” he said.

The sword hit Damien square in the groin, causing such intense pain as to knock his breath away. His testicles thumped in eye-watering agony in tune with his own heartbeat and he desperately tried to protect them. To shield them from another blow. Tears flowed down his cheeks and involuntary gasps escaped his lips, despite his body still doing its best to maintain the same pose he was in before and remain still, as his brother commanded.

The second blow hit him square in the stomach , making his breathing even more rapid and ragged. While not as bad as the first blow, the pain still threatened to stagger him, and he was amazed at how, despite wanting nothing but to curl up in a ball and how in pain, his body still remained in the same position, despite himself. The Gift of the Royal Voice was truly amazing and terrifying, he thought.

The third hit was in his face. Dizzy, he felt blood drip from his nose and down his face, mixing with saliva that had escaped in his grunts of pain.The blood made it hard to breathe, but he could not even clean it up.

So Damien lay on the floor, helpless, steeling himself for the next blow.

Kinari was silent while listening to his story, and when he finished she could only mutter:

“Fucking hell…”

“That was… Not the first time something like that had happened,” said Damien. “And it wasn’t the last time either. With my father gone there was no-one to control my brother. And with him being the next in line for the throne, nobody wanted to make him upset or defy him and become his next target. So there was no real punishment when he did anything to me. And as he grew older he only got more bold… and more cruel.”

Kinari looked at Damien, who now crouched on the bed while hugging his knees. It was as if his body was trying to look as small as possible, hiding his face behind his knees and curling his feet inward, and she could see his hands trembling faintly. An awkward laugh slipped from his lips, devoid of any cheer.

“I will spare you the details of every single thing he did. Suffice to say he hurt me… And also made me afraid. I was always scared that at any moment he would approach me and use his voice. If anyone approached me without saying their names, I would be terrified. Some servants even tried to protect me, and lie about where I was, but it was pointless. All he had to do was command them to tell the truth. And also…” Damien hesitated. “As Lukas took control over me, time and time again, I began to realise how horrible it was to be the victim of this power. To have all your autonomy, your free will, forcibly taken from you and leaving you so utterly helpless, watching from behind your eyes as your body moves as the voice compels you. Even through the pain and the fear, the voice still compels you. It’s…”

He swallowed nervously, brushing trembling fingers through his long hair. “I used my Voice on others before, without a second thought, you know? It was normal to me. The same way my brother used it on me. So how could I blame him as a monster, when I had done the same? When I had made others helpless and afraid with my Gift, with my words? But… After what he did to me? After he repeatedly, continuously, kept hounding me and hurting me, making me afraid, I…” He bit down and swallowed a sob before it could come out. His next words were venomous coagulated in bile and bitter, bitter hatred. “I could not do it anymore. Use my voice on others. I hate it, truthfully. The Royal Gift of the Voice, passed down by Ellora to the noblest of bloodlines? What a fucking joke. What an absurd, unfunny jest. There’s nothing noble about it.”

Kinari looked increasingly worried and uncomfortable, listening to him pour his feelings. It was completely unlike the Damien she knew, always composed and with the same polite smile. He was raw as an open wound, pain welling from him like blood as he spilled his words.

“And I understand how much of a hypocrite that makes me,” he said. “You’ve seen me use my voice on others already. When it becomes too scary, I fall back on it. Can’t escape it. But… Even if I deserve all the pain that awaits me and more, I… I don’t…” A sigh. His voice dropped lower, smaller, little more than whispered breath.

“I don’t want to go back home.”

Kinari frowned. “Stop pretending you’re weak,” she said.

He winced. “What?”

“Maybe your brother got you fooled into thinking you’re weak. He’s got inside your head, like a blind spot, and hurt you so much that you can’t think of yourself as strong.” She put her hand on his shoulder, and he jumped at her touch, facing her for the first time since telling his story. “But you ARE strong. Don’t pretend you’re not. It’s insulting.”

“Is… Are you talking about my Gift?” And he turned away again. “... I’d rather not be strong, truth be told. All I want is to be left in peace.”

“We all have to deal with the blood we have,” she replied, giving his shoulder a firm shake. “And it’s not just about your power. Are you forgetting that the two of us killed a noble captain, and a crime boss together, and lived? That we fought nobles? Or have you forgotten how you’ve survived this far, deep in enemy land, while somehow making them all fear for their lives? You’re strong. You’re smart. And you survive. Now you come to me and say you’re weak? That you’re scared, small and afraid?”

He shook his head. “If I return, he will only hurt me more.”

“Then fight back! Make one of those crazy plans of yours! Get him back! Or are you telling me you can plan your way into staying safe while all nobles in the entire kingdom look for you, but can’t fool a fucking prick that happens to share your blood?”

“He is the rightful king…”

“Fuck that!” She interrupted. “You’d make a far better king than him.”

That earned Kinari a moment of surprised silence, before Damien smiled weakly.

“Kinari? Are you suggesting treason…?”

“I’m suggesting you man up and don’t let that bastard that calls himself your brother win,” she huffed. “I know the type. Makes himself big by making everyone around him small. They take and take from you until you have nothing more to give. Not because they need it, even. Just because they can!” She clenched her teeth and glared while looking away from him. “Can’t let these bastards win… When they push your face into the dirt and make you feel weak, that’s when you harden even more, and get ready to hit back as soon as you can. And as hard as you can. If you let them win? If you let them convince you that you’re weak? Then you’ll never have a single other thing for the rest of your life, because whatever you have, they’ll take.”

There was another silence. Kinari huffed angrily, staring at the distance while Damien listened. There was a hint of a smile that wasn’t there before, a playfulness that had been absent during his story.

“Are you trying to give me a pep talk, Kinari?”

“I… I guess?”

He chuckled. “Maybe next time don’t start by calling me weak.”

“Uhm… I mean…” She darted her eyes, looking flustered.

“But… Thank you.”

He smiled at her. A genuine smile, unlike his usual one, catching her by surprise.. She looked away again.

“Hm. Sure. Whatever.” She moved off the bed and grabbed the fur blanket left behind by Wenzel, which she unrolled on the floor beside the bed. “For the record, I still think it’s a stupid idea to stick around here. But if you’re dead set on staying I won’t say anything. And, if things go to shit, I trust you to get us out of here.”

Damien listened as she lied down on the rug and frowned. “If you want the bed…”

“And risk them finding us together? Hah. You’d never hear the end of it, trust me.” She settled on the floor with a grunt, looking sullen. “We all deal with the blood we are born in, right? That means you deal with your psycho brother while I sleep on the floor. Way of the world. Tough titties.”

He rested his head back on the pillow, thinking to himself.

“Is that another one of your famous pep talks?” He suggested.

“Shut up…” She muttered, not quite hiding a small chuckle.

He grabbed another pillow beside him and slowly pushed it off the bed.

“Oops, I dropped a pillow,” he said.

“Hm.”

He heard the rustling of fabric near the floor, as she rested her head on it.

“Good night, Kinari.”

“Night.”