Devin stared at the vaulted ceiling of his bedchamber, tracing the intricate golden frescoes with his eyes. A heavy, exasperated sigh escaped his lips.
Seventeen Cycles
It had been exactly seventeen cycles since he had opened his eyes in this bizarre, unforgiving world. He vividly remembered the absolute terror of that first day. Waking up expecting the cold embrace of death, only to find himself trapped in the weak, uncoordinated body of a newborn infant. He had tried to scream, to ask what the hell was going on, but all that came out was a pathetic, toothless wail. He couldn't speak. He couldn't walk. He had simply been reborn.
'What a cruel joke,' he thought, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.
He swung his legs over the edge of the velvet-draped bed and walked toward the towering glass window. Below him sprawled the capital of the Kingdom of Trangdar. From up here in the palace, it looked majestic, bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun.
But Devin knew better.
He leaned against the cold glass, watching the tiny figures moving about the city streets. The citizens of Trangdar were neatly divided. There were the normal people, who walked with their heads held high, and then there were the "sub-humans."
Devin hated that word. It sounded like something you'd call a diseased rat.
Regular humans were terrified. People always feared what they couldn't understand. That fear had quickly mutated into systemic oppression. Now, those with the holy gene were the lowest of the low. Denied clean water, barred from any form of education, and strictly forbidden from holding any prominent roles in society.
Yet, ironically, the woman who ruled them all was exactly what they despised.
The heavy oak door of his chamber clicked open, interrupting his thoughts. Devin didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The soft, measured footsteps belonged to only one person.
"You are brooding again, Devin," Queen Eleanor said, her voice smooth and calming.
Devin turned around, offering his mother a faint, cynical smile. "Just mentally preparing myself to smile at people I despise, Mother. It takes effort."
Eleanor shook her head, walking over to adjust the collar of his silk shirt. She didn't look like the monster the nobles whispered about behind closed doors. She was beautiful, with sharp, intelligent eyes. She was a medical anomaly, using her holy gene to perform feats in medicine that baffled the greatest scholars in the land.
Of course, her existence caused endless political friction for King Arthur. Devin's father was a passionate man, a king who loved his wife enough to defy the world, but even a king couldn't completely silence the venomous whispers of his own court.
"Your father is dealing with the council," Eleanor noted, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on his shoulder. "They are restless."
"When are they not?" Devin scoffed. "If a cloud blocks the sun, they blame your bloodline."
He looked at her, reminded of the grim history she carried. Eleanor hadn't been born in a palace. She had been sentenced to execution for stealing medicine. She was just trying to cure her father, Lotjed.
Lotjed had been a sub-human, too, but against all odds, he had served as the royal family's head of security. More importantly, he had been the closest childhood friend of the former ruler, Queen Patrosha—Devin's grandmother.
Patrosha had been a fierce, stubborn woman. Because the law dictated she could never legally marry a sub-human, she simply chose to never marry at all, ruling Trangdar alone with an iron fist. It was Patrosha who had saved Eleanor from the executioner's block. Patrosha had taken the young thief in, trained her, and eventually watched her son, Arthur, fall in love with her.
"They are restless because of tomorrow," Eleanor said quietly, her eyes meeting his. The motherly warmth in her gaze was overshadowed by a flicker of deep, persistent anxiety.
Devin's smile faded. Tomorrow. His eighteenth birthday.
Tomorrow, he would stand before the entire kingdom and be officially announced as the Crown Prince, the rightful successor to the throne of Trangdar.
"I know," Devin muttered, turning back to the window.
"Devin..." Eleanor started, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Are you absolutely certain you can keep it suppressed?"
Devin clenched his fists, feeling the familiar, warm hum of energy rushing through his veins. He had it. The Holy Gene. He was just like his mother, just like his grandfather. It was a secret King Arthur had buried so deep that executing anyone who even breathed a suspicion of it wasn't out of the question.
The laws were absolute: A sub-human could never rule.
If the public, or the council, found out that the Crown Prince harbored the very mutation they despised, it wouldn't just be the end of his succession. It would mean war. It would be a death sentence.
"I've hidden it for seventeen years, haven't I?" Devin said, forcing his tone to remain casual, though his heart beat a little faster. "I just have to stand there and wave at the bigots. Easy."
Eleanor didn't look convinced. She reached out, gently touching his cheek. "It is not a joke, Devin. The world out there... they will not show you mercy if they see what you truly are."
"I know, Mother," Devin said, his eyes darkening as he looked out over the sprawling city. "Don't worry. Tomorrow, I'm just a normal, perfectly useless human. Just like them."