My working room was dark, except for the torch at my desk, where I was sitting.

I had undressed, and was completely bare beneath my thick red-and-gold robe,  the attire I preferred when working. I didn't like the feeling of trouser hems on my waist. It bothered me, the same way having a stone in your shoe did. I never longed so much for anything as my hours alone after dinner, when I could take everything off and just be alone.

I pulled my fingers through my hair, which I had loosened and washed for the evening, placing it neatly on my left shoulder, and sighed. Electricity was a new and dangerous thing, but I believed I was starting to get the knack of it. I connected a copper wire from the fan I'd spent all past evening shaping to the lightbulb a traveller had given my father as a gift. I tried spinning the fan a little, and to my great satisfaction, the lightbulb lit up.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock on my door, and it was carefully opened. I didn't even turn around because I knew who it was.

"Can I come in, son?"

"Yes, father."

The same exchange of words every time. I never got tired of it. It felt safe, a routine, a predictable feature of the evening, making all evenings go into the next like pearls on a string. His footsteps were surprisingly soft over my carpet, despite his weight. I felt his looming, heavy yet friendly presence behind me. He always came in the evenings, watching what I was doing, his hands behind his back, always interested.

"What have you got there?" he asked.

I turned.

"A light device. Look!" I turned the fan, and the lightbulb lit up. My father took a step back in fear; he'd never seen a lit lightbulb before, and didn't know what to expect.

"Oh, good gracious me!"

"Today, it's calm out", I said eagerly. "But tomorrow there will be wind, so I'll take it out and see if it works! This way, we can start considering introducing electric lights in the castle! I will also come up with a way to use the energy from the sun when it's not windy. And then to use the energy released when the grounds are freezing for winter. Will your friend come visit again? Can he bring more lightbulbs?"

My father was still recovering from the shock, but upon my question, he pulled himself together. He put a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll give you all the lightbulbs in the world. My son, the inventor!"

I kept working for two more hours, sketching an idea for something to capture solar energy.

The next day, I could hardly sit still at dinner, I was so eager to take my device out to try it. I couldn't stop smiling, and was jumping my foot up and down. I did my best to sort my food as quickly as possible, but kept failing, and the foods kept touching each other which usually caused me great amounts of stress, but I was too happy to make a huge deal out of it.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face!" It was my mother, leaning forwards and hissing at me from my father's other side. "People are staring!"

I didn't take any notice of her. I thought I would go to the patch of grass a bit away from the cliff at the ocean, so I wouldn't get the strongest force of wind. The fan I had built was sturdy and could probably take a lot of force, but I didn't want to risk it. And if that worked, maybe I could-

"At least eat like a normal person, if you're going to draw attention to yourself." The look on my mother's face was one of pure disgust. I didn't understand how you could hate your own child so much.

"Leave your child be", my father said calmly.

"How will he be able to find a woman to marry him? As a part of the royal family, it is about time to get him engaged! Madara is already getting married in the summer, and he's only a year older and has been betrothed for two years! If it wasn't for last year's war, he would've been wed at the age Izuna is now!"

"Mother." It was my brother. "My fiancée isn't even here. She's still in her home country. It's not a big deal. Leave Izuna be, please."

I was grateful for him, and for my father. I hated being compared to Madara. Madara was social, kind, strong and handsome. Everything I was not. Some part of me wished then that some of his traits had been given to me, that I could've been partially handsome, or partially socially sophisticated, just so I could make my family proud and not be a disgrace. I bent over my plate, fighting tears that threatened to escape my eyes, my good mood blown away by a wind as strong as the one I had imagined for my fan. I shuffled my food around my plate, messing it all up in a way I knew meant I wouldn't eat it. I noticed the hall had become dead silent, the people it contained observing me and my exchange with my mother or, rather, her harsh words to me. I wanted to run out of the dining hall, escape the burning looks of everyone, but that would draw even more shame to my family. I tried to put my fork into my pea, but I miscalculated the force I needed to put behind it, and the pea flew away from my plate.

I looked in disdain as it flew away over the floor, rolling for a bit, the friction between the dark floorboards and the pea's uneven, green surface making it stop within a short distance.

A cold sweat broke out all over my body then. I didn't know how to handle this new situation. My food, so carefully assembled and then dishevelled to match my emotional state, so orderly disordered, now disorderly disordered. I put my fork down, pulled my chair back, and was just about to run, when...

One of the guards at the wall took a few steps forwards, his iron-clad feet tapping heavily on the floor. He was ginormous, at least double my size, his size enhanced by the heavy armour. I couldn't see his face through the visor, but he must've seen everything around him, because he stopped right where the pea was laying, and bent down on one knee. He didn't pull off his glove, but used his thick, gloved fingers to pick up the pea before standing up again. Slowly, but with great confidence, he walked towards me. He pulled off his helmet then...

And my breath caught in my throat.

I'd never seen any of the guards' faces before, but it was custom that they showed their faces when approaching anyone in the royal family. He kept his eyes down, as was appropriate, but that didn't hide his striking unusualness. His skin was white as burnt ashes, his hair just as, reaching down his forehead, a bit sticky of sweat after having worn the helmet for so long in the warm, clammy hall. He had a stern expression and a strong face, his brows furrowed. On his cheeks and chin were red stripes he'd painted on, like war-paint.

I had forgotten how to breathe.

When he reached me, he bent down, gave me the pea.

"My prince", he said, and his voice was dark like dark honey oiling the sensory systems in my ears. "You dropped your pea."

I took the pea, and the soldier turned, and as he walked away, he put his helmet on again.

I finished every piece of my dinner that evening, even if I had mixed it all up.