The Heart Of A Prince
The heart of a prince, is not a thing easily won. Nor is it a thing that is easily forgotten. To truly learn such a lesson, one must travel far from the kingdoms seen on most maps, to a land encased in snow, with its heart encased in ice.
Here, high among the mountains, there are many tribes and clans that often clash amongst themselves. They are violent, and often seen as barbaric in their practices, with men claiming the hands of other men.
However, this within itself, though strange to some, makes sense here, where the strong survive, and the men are constantly at war. And for all their unusual practices, they hold fast to the idea that love is love, and should be cherished no matter whom it is shared between, especially in a place where the cold seeks to destroy everything in its path.
And so it is here that our story begins, with a young prince standing tall and proud, violet eyes scanning the ridges of the mountain, searching for defenses around the small village in the valley, silver hair being whipped by the cold north wind that was threatening to storm. His warriors drew close, weapons positioned by their sides, horses stamping impatiently beneath them. The prince smirked, and mounted his own stead, a huge black mare that tossed her head into the wind.
His grin morphed into a devilous sneer as he raised his gloved hand high. His warriors tensed, eagerly awaiting the signal. The silver haired prince narrowed his eyes, and dropped his hand.