Crown Prince Aegaeon Drasilda. What an extravagant name that was. But to the citizens of the kingdom, he was known as the "Melancholy Moon of Reinland" for his unique magic abilities. He had no desire for power, nor did he wish to have the throne. But without another male heir, the throne of Reinland would inevitably fall to him. And if that were to happen one day, Aegaeon vowed that he would never end up like his father.
King Quinlan Drasilda was everything bad a monarch could be. He ignored his subjects cries for help, instead deciding to take multiple concubines and waste away his days playing with them. The most notable was Sierra Trist, third princess Madeleine's mother and the most powerful out of all the concubines. Then there was Orchid Vermillion, Sierra's right-hand woman and mother of the second princess Nia. And finally, there was Aquamarine Ruine, Aegaeon's mother and the first lover the king ever had.
Each of the young royals were backed by one of the concubines, except for Aegaeon, because his mother was dead. And it had all been his father's fault. He remembered how he had ran to his mother's room when he was seven years old, excited to show her this new trick he had learned. He remembered stopping at the door, hearing his father's voice. He thought it was great that he could show them both together instead of having to hunt his father down. He recalled how he had burst into the room, smile across his face until he realized what was going on. His mother held a knife to her throat. He had run to her, trying to stop her. But it was too late. All Aegaeon could do was watch the knife, now streaked with blood, fall to the floor beside his mother's motionless hand. And through all of this, his father had not moved.
"Aegaeon," his father...no...the king said. "Be a good boy and don't tell anyone about this."
Then the murderer bent down and ruffled the little prince's hair.
Now that Aegaeon was ten years older, he understood why things had progressed as they did. The king had probably wanted the little kid to forget about what happened, he likely expected Aegaeon to simply forget in order to deal with the pain of losing his mother. But he held onto the memory. He pretended like he did not know anything. He pretended that his mother did not die in front of his eyes. He pretended to love his father.
Aegaeon hated everything about the palace. He hated how he smelled the scent of blood wherever he went. He hated how his mother's favorite spot in the garden was no longer hers. But most of all, he hated how his father had simply moved on. He despised each of his father's "lovers" or concubines, as he liked to call it. He disliked them all, except for one.
When Aegaeon was ten years old, a girl only a five years older than him had appeared in the palace. He remembered how the maids had told him that she was to be his father's new bride. He had felt pity for that girl, sent away from her home so young, only to be left to his father, of all people. But the king of Reinland did not lay a hand on the girl. For seven years, she was invisible. Nobody noticed her, nor did anyone notice how much Aegaeon spent time with her. The two of them grew close, but she could never be his friend forever.
Her name was Zenna Lumen, a young princess from the empire. And she had been Aegaeon's only friend. Until the king forbade him from hanging out with her.
***
Aegaeon walked through the halls of the palace. He spun a pen between his fingers. One day he was going to take down everything his father had built, and today was going to be that day.
He stepped out into the palace gardens, sitting down on a small bench where his beloved mother had sat many times and many years before. A light breeze rustled through the flowers, blowing through his cobalt blue hair. His azure blue eyes gleamed with the light of rebellion, no longer the docile, forgiving eyes of the crown prince. Now these were the eyes of a king.
He stood up, pocketing his pen. He snapped his fingers gracefully, and the sun was replaced by a huge, glowing moon. The sky went dark. Gasps and screams of terror could be heard from the citizens. Satisfied, the young king stood up, flicking his pristine, white robes behind him. He looked away, his calm face, somehow paler than his clothes, shrouded by his long blue locks. It was time to stir the pot a little.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance, father."