My mother had always doted on me. Unfortunately, she died when I was only nine years old.

I was left behind in a draughty castle with five siblings and a father who would have preferred not to have had me as the eldest.

My three sisters were perfect princesses, and my brothers were strong as goberns but utterly brainless.

It didn't particularly help my position that I was always found buried in one of the library's leather-bound tomes, instead of playing Werball with the other boys.

At age thirteen, I had progressed from reading stories to actually writing them. My tales still had infantile plots, but I was determined to teach myself how to compose a proper narrative.

Father had offered a tutor to educate me in the ways of refined prose if I promised to join sword practice with my brothers. I refused outright, not because I was afraid of the blade, but a member of the clergy would surely not appreciate the kind of stories I wrote.

To appease my father, I joined the weapon training anyway. Needless to say, I was not a natural-born soldier but two of my sisters applauded my efforts.

***

A week before my sixteenth birthday, I witnessed a man being strung up in the Market Square. It was hardly the first time that I had seen a person die but I shuddered when I heard the villagers gossip.

The man's crime was being caught in the bed of another man, most likely the person hanging beside him. I desperately wished that I could save him and then to my utter astonishment, I watched the rope around his neck snap.

The villagers stared in shocked silence as the man gasped for breath. The Maker clearly did not approve of his death and according to custom, they would not try to hang him again.

Perhaps there was hope after all.

***

It was the day of my sixteenth birthday.

Today, I would be celebrated for becoming a man. My father could then finally marry me off for his personal gain.

He already had his eye on a noble girl in the Duchy to the north. Her family was frighteningly wealthy from all the goods traded through their port.

I had decided not to resist. I could always live my inner truth through the stories I wrote for an audience of one.

My birthday celebrations would last from dawn until midnight. The staff knew to grant me any wish throughout the day, no matter how absurd or even indecent.

One of the biggest advantages of turning sixteen was that I was allowed to drink runi wine without water. I planned to get inebriated enough to avoid thinking of the future but not so drunk as to make a fool of myself and by association, my father.

It was during the evening banquet that it happened.

A black-robed man appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the dining hall. The royal guard was swift to act and surrounded, what was clearly a mage, in the blink of an eye.

"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" my father boomed as he stood up to his towering height.

The Magi were strictly prohibited from Bending into any edifice directly. The stranger posed an obvious security risk, an affront to my father's power as king.

The hooded man said, "I have come for the boy."

"What boy? This is sovereign ground; you have no right..." my father barked till he was suddenly cut off.

The mage was holding up a single finger in my father's direction. Was he the one that had silenced him?

"I invoke the right of the Magi and demand that the boy come with us immediately!" he said with steely authority.

I had never seen anyone pull rank on my father and despite the insane situation, I was enjoying it a bit too much. Up until the mage indicated which boy he meant.

Holy qarah! It was me!

"That tradition has not been in use for over a century," my father protested.

I stared in disbelief as everyone in the dining hall suddenly stopped moving, except for my father and myself.

For some bizarre reason, the only thing that my mind could think of was the fact that the mage's actions clearly violated the Yulin Treaty. Would this make his request null and void?

The imposing figure walked towards us, and I watched my father slowly lift up off the ground. He tried struggling against it, but it was useless.

"Do you deny me the right of the Magi?" the mage muttered menacingly.

He was clearly not planning on taking "no" for an answer. The mighty king slowly shook his head, like a chastised child.

The stranger walked up to me and grabbed my shoulder. I felt my stomach lurch as motion returned to the dining hall. Then, the very fabric of reality started to fold in front of me. I quickly closed my eyes to stop myself from vomiting.

When I opened them again, I found myself at the edge of a beautiful corneel blue lake. At the center stood a black fortress with a long wooden bridge reaching towards it.

"Welcome to Fy'ren," the mage said quietly.

Everyone knew that the Circle of Magi's seat of power was in Ullu. So where the qorah was this place?

***

At least, I had my own room. It was hardly fit for a prince but I had the space completely to myself.

There was a wardrobe in the corner in which hung three black robes, as well as a thick cord to tie around my waist. I had also been given two pairs of newly made leather sandals that smelled odd.

My bed was basic but comfortable and there was a desk with a drawer full of writing materials. Behind a solid door, there was a privy and a wash basin with a pitcher of ice-cold water.

Without a doubt, the best feature of my room was the large window with the most spectacular view of the lake and forest below. The window was barred with thick iron rods, which I assumed were for my safety. It was quite a long fall down.

The windowsill was wide enough for me to sit on, and I could picture myself curled up there, writing my stories on a rainy day.

My only problem with the room was the fact that the door was locked. What was I doing here? Why did they have me incarcerated?

The right of the Magi was an ancient law that allowed the Circle to recruit an individual into their ranks without an obligation to explain themselves.

But this meant that I should be a student, not a prisoner. Perhaps this was a test of some sort, an initiation ritual for new recruits.

Yes, that must be it!

***

It was just after dark when I heard a key turn in the lock. A brown-robed man stepped into my room holding a tray of food.

He put it on my desk without a word and was about to leave when I whispered, "thank you."

He turned towards me, giving me a glimpse of his face.

A young man, likely a few years older than I was, looked back at me with spelcur green eyes. Underneath a perfect nose were lips that reminded of those on statues from times long past. I couldn't see the hair on his head, but I assumed that it was the same color as the blond stubble that decorated his regal chin.

He was breathtakingly beautiful.

"At your service, Magus," he said carefully and quickly slid back out through the door and locked it.

I had been brought a simple dinner of soup, bread, and a slice of kili breast meat. I was ravenously hungry and devoured my meal a bit too fast.

Was it unsavory that I had a sudden compulsion to write about my erstwhile visitor? 

***

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