For Kerii-tan,
who spurred me into writing by telling me of the sad few Saralegui stories.
Thank you very much for doing it right after I had woken up and ate some pancakes.

Small Shimaron was always most well-known for its becoming independent from Big Shimaron. That was something no one could deny. But what many, but not most, fail to remember is that there were several good reasons for this, and that the country should never be underestimated.

For one, their trade was of the most successful kind. The country produced and exported so much that, if ever they were put into isolation, they would survive quite comfortably. Several kinds of individuals, peasants and nobles alike, have also come to visit the onsen baths that the country was also popular for.

Small Shimaron's current King, Gilbert, had only one child. A son, his retainers were relieved to say. Interaction between father and son was rare, but it was a male heir nonetheless (surely the offspring of one of the greatest rulers of Small Shimaron could not become a tyrant like Belal). They rarely saw the boy and assumed he was off playing with those his age.

But as valid as this idea was, it was incorrect.

Little Prince Saralegui was rarely ever with other children. It always alternated between his nanny, Larissa, and some of his other maids and solitude. In fact, if any of King Gilbert's advisers had stepped out from the cool interior of the palace and into the warmth of the gardens, then they would have spotted a child kneeling on the flagstone ground, gazing at the flowers, but never reaching out a hand to touch them.

Tawny eyes would gaze at the soft petals, the soft arc of each little leaf of grass, the common butterfly that would come to rest on the plants. He could not see them properly – the way that others saw them – with the tinted glasses that the king himself made him wear. Saralegui never understood why he had to do so, but put them on every morning nonetheless. After all, if his father had actually deemed the matter important enough for him to talk to his son, then surely there was a good enough reason.

The Prince normally did not mind wearing them. Not anymore, at least.

When King Gilbert had first presented the glasses to him – once he was old enough to be able to know the right times to put them on and take them off – they had been too much too big for him. Not wanting to disappoint his father, he had tied scraps of cloth to the tips and hid them beneath his long hair. Gilbert had not stuck around to see Saralegui put them on, so he never knew and never bothered to ask.

He did not even remark upon it when he saw Saralegui next.

But seeing the world in lavender had been a new experience. Everything he saw seemed to be sharper and more defined (his eyesight had always been a little blurry). Larissa had said that it looked well on him, and he could tell that she was sincere with him.

Another reason he could have had for liking them was because it was his father – not his nanny or any other of the palace staff – who had presented it to him.

So he actually accepted the glasses happily and only took them off when going to sleep and taking baths (and sometimes, not even then).

However, every time he had come to the gardens, a small desire to take them off always surfaced. He was so much younger when he had last seen the garden the way that others saw it. It had been so long since he had felt the enchantment of seeing real colours and not the blasted colour of royalty before his eyes.

And because of this, Saralegui tended to try to avoid the gardens. He knew he had to.

So he stayed inside the mundane corridors and rooms of the palace, reading. At one point, he had had a tutor to teach him things. However, he had gone through all six of them at an alarming rate. As a result, he had been deemed a genius and had just been given topics to read about, which suited him just fine.

He never found reading all that boring, anyway.

But after a year of successfully staying inside the palace, for some very strange reason, he had found himself kneeling by a bed of flowers – almost as if he had just woken from a dream. And even after realizing where he was, Saralegui had just stayed there, deep in thought.

If you asked him what he was thinking about, he would not have been able to tell you.

Of course, there came the fateful day when he discovered why he wore the lavender tinted glasses.

As nearly everything begins, it was all an accident.

Saralegui was in the garden once more. He had abandoned the library in favour of the warmth of the sun and the smell of fresh grass and the type of small blossoms that he could never find the name of in any of his books.

This time, his thoughts were tangible and, however much we would like to know of them, private. All I can say was that the Prince's face bore an eerie likeness to a starving man in solitary confinement.

As you can probably imagine, an expression such as this did not become such a young face – let alone that of royalty.

And it was his thoughts that probably led him to taking both hands up to his face and removing the glasses. He held them in his hands, but his eyes remained closed.

I can still put them back on, thought Saralegui. But an almost alien anger had invaded his mind then. Why should he have to wear them? It was just for a little bit anyway. Even if he did take them off, would anyone even care? Would his father care?

No.

He knew it deep down.

Not at all.

Absorbed by this new anger – one that he could say that he never actually experienced before – Saralegui opened his two amber eyes.

The light hurt, at first. But he defiantly gazed at where he recalled the small blossoms were and let his eyes adjust.

And everything was beautiful.

He saw the normally lilac blossoms he had often admired become a pure and clean white. A vast multitude of colours crowded behind it; cheerful yellows, devilish reds, and serene blues. And the grass! Even the grass seemed to glitter like emeralds.

"Your highness," a crisp voice interrupted.

Prince Saralegui froze, more exasperated than he had ever been in his life, and turned to Larissa, his nanny. She was a trim young woman, with straight brown hair down to her shoulders.

"We're to go back inside." His nanny told him, with her smile that was not quite a smile. It seemed to be a bit of both a frown and a grin, most of the time; even when she was happy.

"No, thank you," Saralegui said quietly to her – almost shyly, "I'd like to stay out here for just a while longer."

"But His Majesty wishes to speak to you." She pressed, although slightly surprised. Her charge normally went along with whatever she said.

The Prince seemed to harden when she mentioned his father. And for the first time, she noticed that the omnipresent lavender glasses were absent from his face and were, instead, clutched in his small hands, which were now clenched into fists.

"Larissa." His voice seemed to have a more permanent quality to it. It was high and young, but carried itself to places in her mind that she had never discovered before and branded itself onto her.

Her eyes snapped back to his face, and Larissa could not find it in herself to look away.

An electric blue, as transfixing and as blistering as the brightest and hottest flame, seared into her eyes, into her mind.

"I shall stay outside for just a while longer," said Prince Saralegui coldly, "and will come back inside to see my father later. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, your highness."

Without a word, the Prince's nanny had left the little boy alone in the gardens. She had walked a few meters through the corridors and stopped just outside King Gilbert's office.

Larissa stared at the door a few moments before promptly collapsing.

I got tired of waiting for the good Sara stories to update (which most haven't done since last year) and decided to see if I'd get lucky with writing one more of my own. I certainly did get luck with Affable, my Sara drabblet (as no one's told me it was horrible just yet). However, I have a sinking feeling that I didn't do so well this time.

Tell me what you think.

-Wayward's Passenger