It had taken weeks for my eyes to clear. The dark lord, my uncle, had burned red into my eyes, all three of them, when he had killed Marga, the mother of my best (and only) friend.
Once I had been just another sixteen year old, although I can’t say I had a normal childhood – instead of school, I had a tutor, and my parents locked me up in my room to study for long periods of time. The only good thing back then was the time I spent with my blademaster, swinging a staff, and with his wife, Ana, a witch who had taken care of me when I was little. Then I was sixteen, and Giancarlo, the blademaster, had let me pick out a wooden sword. And I’d picked a magical sword, and then everything had gone crazy. First my sword sang to me, making me do this crazy dance, which helped me beat my blademaster in a sparring match. Then later trying to concentrate in my locked room I formed a gateway instead, and pulled Kara, a kriek princess, out through a hole in the wall.
Kara had been at my bedside almost every day, and my face got warm, thinking about her. We had escaped the castle with the help of Kalle, another kriek, escaped narrowly from a powerful wizard, Gerard, escaped only to be attacked by giant wild boars, keiler, talking beasts who stood on their hind legs when they wished and who served the dark lord. And they had called me herr, or master. And in the battle against them I had killed, for the first time.
I didn’t like to remember what that was like, but it still kept coming back to me, whether I liked it or not.
We had stumbled our way into the ancient city, and somehow my blood had told me what runes to touch so we could enter … And the gates had opened, to more trouble.
I had been tested, and found to be the three-blooded prince, born to unite the three bloodlines and to fight against the dark lord. But if the dark lord was my uncle, where did that leave me?