Prince Calah Nabal followed the king everywhere. At ten years and three, the boy was on the cusp of manhood. With matching crimson capes, Calah also wore a sword on his belt, but kept a hand on the hilt at all times. The prince’s golden hair resembled wheat. The scar along the left side of his jaw gave his appearance gravitas the king felt, at least. It was from a fall. The boy had tripped on stone stairs, the cut a product of his face striking the wall as he tumbled. Calah could alter the story when older, making it suit his needs.
“I’ve not seen clouds like that ever before, have you, father?” Prince Calah said. They were in the long room where the knights’ captain reviewed a map of the land with his king.
“Come away from the window. This is far more important than rain.” While the kin
