There was a dark storm the night he was born.
The midwives in the castle would have told her that these were dark omens, displaying the future of her new-born son for all to see. For the midwife in the small village, however, this was just any other night, and in the dark, for no one to see except for the tired mother, the baby's eyes turned molten gold.
Many leagues away, a prince sat in his room, the rain falling in great rushing waterfalls on the window. Whether the windows were his eyes or the actual literal windows, I cannot tell you. That is up to you to decide dear reader, for eyes are truly the windows of the soul, are they not?