Prologue

King Charmont smiled down with loving pride at the small misshapen gift residing in the hands of his youngest child. "It's beautiful, Siyah." He said of the slightly dirty and rather lumpy scarf his six-year-old daughter had made for him. With blue eyes that shined out from a tiny face framed by bouncing golden curls, the princess Elena's happy perfection made her gift appear to the eyes of her father as breath-taking.

Kneeling down so he was at eye level, he took the blue scarf and wrapped it around his neck. "Thank you Siyah. Your mother will be pleased to know how well I will be protected against the winter chill." With that he leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

Elena's laughter sparkled throughout the hall as she gently pushed herself away from her father. "Your hairs tickle."

"Oh they do, do they." He replied with a smile as he drew the small child towards himself and rubbed the stubble on his face against her soft cheeks.

"Elena, it's time for your father and me to leave." Ella came into the room and then stopped at the lovely tableau in front of her.

Charmont upon hearing his wife's voice picked up Elena and swung her around. "Say good bye to your mother, Siyah."

The blonde angel stretched out her arms to her mother while she was cradled in her father's arms. "I'll miss you, mummy."

Ella smiled at the serious tone and demeanor of her littlest child. "I'll miss you too, darling." Taking the girl from her father's arms, she then turned to her eldest son, who had just entered. "Matteo, please take your sister."

The tall boy with his mother's dark hair grinned at his little sister. "Come on Siyah, we can't allow mother and father to be late." He said as he gently held her in his arms.

But Elena was not focusing on her brother's words. Instead she was paying attention to her tall, lithe, dark, haired sister, Madeleine; so named after the cook, Mandy. Madeleine, barely reaching her father's shoulder, was laughing at him as her dark curls bounced. "Da, where on earth did you find that scarf?"

Elena shoved herself out of her brother's arms before her father could defend her gift. Running as fast as her short little legs could, she scampered out of the room even as the voices called for her to return. Climbing up to the small cupola in her room, she looked down into the courtyard and watched as her parents' carriage exited through the gate. The oddity in her behavior did not lie in her sad anger but in the fact that her eyes had not even watered. For in fact the Princess, Elena, had never shed a tear in her entire short existence.

Elena felt a hand placed on her shoulder. "I'm sorry Siyah. I didn't know." Madeleine sighed as she brushed her dark curls away from her green orbs that stared at her baby sister with sadness.

"It doesn't matter." Elena replied stonily trying to ignore the sad demeanor of her sister.

"Yes, it does matter." Madeleine stated firmly as she gently yet firmly twisted Elena's body until they were facing each other. "Father was right; it was a beautiful scarf. When I looked closer, I was able to see the hard work you put into it."

Elena glanced up at her sister from behind dry eyelashes.

Madeleine tucked a golden curl behind Elena's ear. "Forgive me?"

And then the sun seemed to shine as Elena smiled up at her sister. There was no need for words as understanding flowed between the two sisters.

Madeleine clasped her sister's hand in her own as they left the cupola. "It is no wonder why Father calls you Siyah. When you smile you truly look like Sunshine."

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Thousands of miles away, a man, who could cry, lay curled up in a corner as racking sobs were torn from his body. Beside him lay the dead bodies of his wife and little girl. "Fathe—."

The man's young son could not finish due to a large arm clobbering him across the head. The boy stumbled back clutching his head as blood began to ooze down the side of his face. However the boy was in more fear due to the angry face of his father looming over him, rather than his cut.

"This is your fault." The man stuttered through painful sobs. He grabbed a bottle sitting on a nearby table and chucked it at his son. "If you had been home where you belonged instead of off playing knights with your friends, this wouldn't have happened."

The boy's arms were thrown up in defense to protect his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." He cried as tears began to streak his dirty face. "I didn't know."

The man kicked the boy in the stomach. "Shut up, you." "Shut up." He then whacked the boy across the face as the lad's arms dropped down to cover his stomach. "Get out." The man screamed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Get out, boy. You're not my son, you're a murder."

The boy gasped not from the pain but rather from the accusation. "I'm not a murder." He bawled as he curled himself up in defense of the further onslaught. "I didn't kill them."

"Get out!" The brawny man screamed as he wrenched open the door and hurled the boy outside. Slamming the door the man returned to the floor where his wife and daughter lay growing colder and stiffer. Scooping up his wife's body the man rocked her back and forth as he continued to weep.

He sat in the middle of his small hut; a broken man, a man broken by his broken family. The house was also broken; broken and destroyed by the men who had robbed it and who had robbed the honest man of his greatest treasures.

Outside the rickety house the boy lay crying on the ground. Picking himself up he stumbled away into the near by wood. Finally as night drew near the child curled up at the bottom of tree and let sleep overcome his pain.

The next morning it was to the sound of singing that he awoke. Opening his eyes he was startled to see a wrinkled face peering right into his own. He jumped in surprise causing the old woman to laugh. "We was wondering how long it would be before yea waked up." Waddling over to a frying pan the woman stirred the smelly contents. "Bruce, come on now and fill your empty stomach."

A large, simple looking man trundled over. Trying to sneak a glance at the boy, and failing Bruce leaned over and whispered in the woman's ear. She threw down her ladle in a huff. "Very well, but he will be your responsibility."

Bruce rubbed his bald pate, grinning as he hobbled over to the boy. Squatting down beside the grey eyed boy, he stuck out his grimy hand. "Me be Bruce. You can stay with us if you like. Slightly abashed Bruce took back his hand when the boy only stared at him. "What be your name?"

The boy looked down at the ground as he lied. "Anton."