He hated him.

He hated the way the King smiled at him and he hated the way the courtiers hung on his every word.

He hated his swift, graceful, and constant victories in their war games.

He hated the way the sun lit his hair like spun gold.

He hated the way his hand fit so perfectly on her waist.

And most of all, he hated the way she looked at him.

His hatred was ever with him, and so he clung to it.

And it kept him company in the bitter darkness of the night...when he hated himself.