A small glimpse into the events before Chapter 1.

Prelude

It was a cold winter in Albion. That's something I definitely remember. The rain became sleet and frost, chilling over the water with a sheet of black ice and the walkways with a slippery crunch. While I curled my body up in a tight ball against the wind, I saw the warm lights of the castle peak of from the fog in the distance. They did not care. Why would they? The Queen had rejoiced at the gift of a baby daughter that previous autumn, loving her in memory of the late king who had fallen in battle due to old age. I heard that they were both kind. A young prince, slightly younger than me was probably bundled up, warm and dry inside his abode.

Some people just had all the luck didn't they? The orphanage had all but kicked me out. I had caused enough trouble for them, bringing back coin purses and soldiers in my wake. But I felt like it would be my weakness to give in to their thoughtfulness. Not that there was much of a difference between the cold halls and ragged beds inside, except for maybe cutting the wind. They would light small candles if they could afford it. We were given bread and a cider ale that was produced cheaply, for we could not afford the fresh water.

I would not cry. Crying was for children. I could not call myself a child any longer. I had to be responsible now. I could not rely on anyone, that was for sure. It was made apparent when I was stabbed in the back by those who I thought were friends. They had led me to the guards and let me take all the punishment, while they took reward for bringing me. I looked down at my hands, a bluish tint among the fair flesh. I was too cold to even shiver. I watched the carriages pass, and stared across the river, not sure if I should wish for death.

It seemed, for what I was taught by the mothers in the orphanage, that it would be more peaceful. It would not be an eternal struggle, here in the cold wind, my belly too empty to even complain. All of my body was numb, it seemed. Not that I could not feel the chill. I definitely could. I just did not care. My breath fogged as I breathed through the small wool blanket that I had tightly wrapped around myself. I had tried to find a spot with minimal wind, to perhaps stay until the morning light made the air slightly more bearable.

I closed my eyes and thought of what I imagined heaven to be. I would not be hungry. I would not be thirsty. I would not need to worry about money. It would not be cold. It would not be hot. It would be perfect.

Yes.

Perfect.

I was ruffled from my sleep by strong hands pulling at me. I had to clutch at my blanket to keep it from falling away, exposing my thin cloth clothes to the winter air. I shoved, trying to get away from whatever was attempting to stop my meager attempt at warmth. A couple soldiers and a man I did not recognize. He was slimy, even in the light rain. His hair was slick, facial hair oily. I shivered and muffled a whimper as I was dragged through the street, the man in tow. He was paying off one of the guards, murmuring a thanks under his breath as the twinkle of coin softly found my ears.

I grimaced, but had no energy to protest further. I would have growled and tried to shake them away. I would have called them corrupt. But in the end, were they really doing anyone else a disservice? Cleaning the streets of me? Probably not as much as I would hope. I was led to a small hovel, pushed inside the door as it opened. I suppose it was a little warmer, a fire going in the corner. My eyes glazed over, wanting to just walk over and fall into the flames, I was so cold.

The man nodded to the guards and they left. I sat there, rather broken on his wooden floor, shivering like a wet dog.

" I have saved you from the rain and cold, now you are mine. I pray I will be able to get rid of you soon, perhaps for at least twice the price that you were to me. Not that you are worth it, but perhaps someone might take pity, or maybe something better, like anger, out on you," he said, smiling wickedly.

He pulled me up by a wrist and started to lead me out of the warm room into a dimly lit one. A large, wooden door stood in front of us. I almost felt like I could move my lips now, but I still did not have the energy to speak. He unlatched the heavy door and pulled me in. It was a dry cold. I suppose that was better than the wet cold outside. I saw the heads of teenagers poke out from under heavy blankets. A couple curious eyes followed me down the small hall before I was told to get in the small cell. The small bunk was there on top of the hay that covered the grey stone. A worn, stained blanket and chewed pillow adorned it. The only other thing present was a small jug of water and a bedpan.

It was not even a real bed. It smelled of blood and slightly of urine or vomit that had been badly washed out. Still, I found myself walking, almost crawling toward it and throwing the blanket over myself. A welcome thing. Sleep without the biting cold. I heard the cell close behind me with a metal clang and the turn of a key, but I did not care. I just coiled myself up and let slumber take me.

I could just pretend all of it was just a nightmare.

If the gods were kind...

I would wake up, someday, wouldn't I?