Doria recalled the first time he had laid eyes upon the Prince of Yarzat. The heir to the future had been a mere slip of a boy on the cusp of adulthood, sporting an easy, charming smile that still held the lingering soft contours of baby fat. Looking at him then, one could scarcely believe that such an angelic facade concealed the malice of a demon.
But the world had learned. Herculia, Oizen, Habadia, Romelia, Ezvania, Kakunia, and even the devil's own wife's sworn lord had come to understand the true nature of the man, each at their own staggering expense and deep displeasure. The dust of two princedom walked on boots of the legions.
The Prince was not a force to be stopped. He was not a man to be fought. That was the primary rule of survival when dealing with the court of Yarzat.
