The academy of nobles in the east of the continent Liliane lay silent behind him.
Prince Lares nearly lost his footing as he stepped into the carriage, his shoe catching on the edge. Without a word, Sebastian knelt beside him and tightened the strap again. It was a movement that had happened so often that it needed no explanation.
Sebastian was only two years older than Lares, yet he was more than a servant. His family had served the royal house for seven generations. These men had never been simple attendants. They were the right hands of rulers, trained in administration, etiquette, and strategy—raised side by side with the princes so they could support them when needed.
His father, Georg, had been the last pillar, together with Lares' grandfather. For a time, they had held the kingdom together while everything around them slowly fell apart.
Then Ritz of Schneeberg had died.
And with him, the last hope that his own son—Lares' father—would ever come back to his senses.
The carriage jolted forward.
Lares had already opened the first documents Sebastian had prepared for him. It was one of the few ways to truly reach him: work, or a good book. Without it, his mind would drift. He would get lost in his thoughts, studying the world as if he were constantly trying to understand it all over again.
As a child, he had stumbled often. Over steps. Over thresholds. Sometimes over his own feet. They had even had him examined, afraid he might have problems with his balance.
But Sebastian knew better.
Lares was not clumsy.
His mind was simply somewhere else most of the time.
To others, he appeared calm, almost dreamy. Friendly. Approachable. Someone who could quickly find harmony with others. Yet beneath that surface lay something different.
Pressure.
A constant overthinking.
And when too many thoughts built up, he would grow quiet. His teeth would clench. And when he finally spoke, the words came out hard and pressed.
Rarely.
But when they did, they carried weight.
The academy had never truly accepted him. The reputation of his father hung over him like a shadow. And his love for craftsmanship did not help. While other princes spoke of politics, hunting, and war, Lares spoke of stone.
Of shapes.
Of structure.
Of what could still be taken from the earth when the ores were long gone.
They had laughed at him.
"Preparing for a life as a commoner already?"
But his thoughts had always been far ahead. If the mines were empty, then one simply had to learn to refine the stone itself. Glass from sand. New ways to build. Workshops. Theaters. A kingdom of art and craftsmanship, born from what others had already dismissed as worthless.
The carriage traveled for many hours through the restless borderlands.
Suddenly, a harsh jolt tore through the wagon. The wheels rattled over uneven ground, the wood groaning as if someone had forced the horses to stop.
A second impact nearly tipped the carriage sideways.
"Bandits!" the driver shouted back, his voice breaking.
Before the word had even faded, Sebastian had already drawn his sword.
With a firm kick, he pushed the carriage door open and jumped out before the wagon had fully come to a halt.
Lares followed a moment later.
Standing on the step, he briefly brushed his medium-length, fire-red hair out of his face. For the first time, his golden eyes were fully visible.
His gaze moved to the left. Then to the right.
Every stance.
Every nervous twitch.
Every hand reaching for a weapon.
It took only seconds.
No soldiers.
No trained men.
Just common people who had strayed from the right path.
Bandits.
His hair glowed like fire in the evening light. But the aura around him was cool. Calm. Calculating.
And something about it made the men hesitate.
Lares did not care for pride. But he would not allow himself to be threatened.
Once before, a neighboring prince had underestimated him. Back then, he had allowed himself to be pushed too far. Since then, he had held himself back even more.
But this time…
This time was different.
The anger inside him began to boil.
Not because of the men in front of him.
But because of what they represented.
So this was how far it had come.
His father had not only driven the kingdom to the edge of ruin. He had died of a disease he had caught in the cheapest pleasure houses. While the people starved, he had drunk and lost himself.
Lares felt his jaw tighten.
His first thought was not of battle.
But of something else.
How can I keep them alive?
He needed workers. Many workers.
The ground beneath his feet vibrated slightly. Barely noticeable. The earth reacted to him, as it always had. An inheritance from his grandfather.
And deep within him, the fire of his mother still glowed.
He took a step forward.
Calm.
Silent.
And in that moment, everyone understood that the figure before them was not a helpless young prince.
But a king.