Their ancient palace stood deep in the forest, on the edge of a vast lake. In the early mornings, wisps of mist hung over the water, and by day, a monstrous catfish splashed in its depths—a beast so large it could drag even a heron beneath the surface. A small boy, without a doubt, would stand no chance against it. So, he kept his distance from the water’s edge.
The boy loved to sit motionless for hours on a clearing, gazing up at the mighty canopies of ancient oaks that arched over him like the dome of some mysterious cathedral. Sometimes, lulled by his silent patience, a hare or a deer would emerge from the thicket and stare at him just as intently, as if pondering whether this strange presence was something to fear. But the moment they heard the nearby voice of the boy’s nanny, Jude, their ears would prick up, and they’d bolt back into the depths of the forest. The boy would let out a frustrated sigh.
Oh, that freckle-faced, teasing Jude—she could be such a nuisance at times. Especially in those moments when her cheerful chatter would suddenly fade, and she’d pull the boy close, pressing him to her chest and breathing in the scent of his hair with a watchful tenderness.
The boy endured her affection, knowing full well the reason behind it. On the very day he was born, Jude had also given birth to a son, but her baby didn’t survive even a day. Heartbroken, the young woman was entrusted with a vital task—to nurse the royal heir. Over time, she stayed on at the palace, becoming, in many ways, a mother to the boy. It was Jude who taught him to speak, who held his hand as he took his first wobbly steps, and who later tucked him in at night, telling bedtime stories and making sure he was warm and snug under his blanket.
He loved her, though he didn’t always admit it to himself. But his real mother, Queen Ada… The boy couldn’t quite figure out what he felt toward this beautiful, fair-haired woman with a sharp, almost predatory profile. At times, he feared her. Other times, he desperately longed for her to hold him close, to embrace him the way Jude did. And sometimes, he felt as though he hated her. Just as, it seemed, she hated him.
Once, slipping unnoticed into a small storeroom behind the kitchen and hiding there, the boy overheard a conversation between two old kitchen maids peeling vegetables for soup. One of them spoke in a slow, deliberate tone, recounting how, when the queen was pregnant with her firstborn, she had a terrifying dream. In it, her late grandmother appeared and foretold that the child she carried would be the cause of her death.
Waking in a cold sweat, Queen Ada immediately summoned every known sorcerer, healer, and seer to interpret the meaning of this nightmarish vision. She trembled with fear, unable to speak of anything but her impending doom, for the birth was only days away.
The wizards and fortune-tellers assured her in unison that it was merely a bad dream, nothing more, with no basis in reality. Only one witch—an old crone with a face as wrinkled and dark as a dried pear—spoke differently: “This child will not kill you at birth, my lady, so set your mind at ease. But mark my words, it will bring you misfortune in the years to come.”
Hearing this, Ada felt a measure of relief. After all, the future was far off. Perhaps she could offer a hefty sum to the priests of higher powers, and they might intercede with the gods to rewrite her son’s fate. Such things were often done in the temples of the Rainlands.
But when the time came to give birth, the labor was excruciating. Poor Ada suffered for two full days, and by the time they showed her the newborn son, she herself had nearly crossed into the afterlife.
The infant struck her as hideously ugly. Its face was red and wrinkled, like that old witch’s, with long, dark hair and an unnervingly mature, piercing gaze in its blue eyes. It looked at her, she thought, with reproach, as if accusing her of something. She had expected to see a cherubic, chubby angel, the kind depicted in paintings and storybooks. Instead, this was some little demon.
“Take it away,” she snapped, turning her face to the wall. “And find a wet nurse to feed… that thing.”
Her feelings toward her son never softened. For a long time, she referred to him as “it” and delayed choosing a name, as if hoping the problem might somehow vanish and leave her in peace.
Only on the eve of the christening, to which the most noble and influential figures of the kingdom and guests from neighboring lands were invited, did her husband, King Matthias, insist that the heir must have a name. He suggested “Leon” himself. Ada nodded indifferently. She didn’t care. This child repulsed her and stirred no maternal warmth. What difference did it make what they called an unloved son?
Later, a year and a half after Leon’s birth, when her second son came into the world, everything changed. Just as she had despised her firstborn without clear reason, she fell deeply in love with her younger child.
Perhaps it was because he was the blond, dimpled angel she had always dreamed of, the kind she’d seen in illustrations of ancient manuscripts. Or maybe it was because no ominous dreams haunted her during this pregnancy, and the birth was swift and easy. For Marcus, she chose a name herself, approaching the task with meticulous care—pedantry being her defining trait, for which her subjects privately nicknamed her “the general in a skirt.”
After the younger son’s birth, the same sorcerers, seers, and astrologers were summoned to the royal court and richly rewarded. They unanimously predicted that little Marcus would grow into a true hero and a wise ruler. As for the fact that he had an older brother, everyone seemed inclined to forget. After all, anything could happen—life was so unpredictable. So many illnesses, accidents, and unexplained deaths could befall a child before reaching adulthood. So Ada decided to let things unfold as they may and devoted her life to nurturing her younger son. She walked with him herself, told him stories, and fed him with a spoon, constantly declaring that one day he would be a great king.
Her husband, King Matthias, was a phlegmatic and quiet man whose greatest passion in life was hunting. He often thought he would have been happier born in a hunter’s cabin rather than a royal palace. There, he would have felt at home. Instead, he was forced to sit through endless, tedious councils and receptions, listen to dull petitioners, and untangle complex diplomatic matters. In his mind, he was always chasing a stag or facing a boar with a spear—and only then did he feel truly alive. As for the boy, Matthias didn’t dislike him—he simply didn’t notice him. Leon was too young to join the hunts, and that was that. Besides, the boy loved animals and wept bitterly when hunters returned to the palace courtyard with the bloodied carcasses of deer or foxes.
“He’s a bit odd,” was all King Matthias could say about his eldest son. And, in a way, he wasn’t wrong.
For the boy grew up strange, a little “not of this world,” as the common folk would say.
Was such a future king what the Rainlands needed?
The handsome, lively, and talkative Marcus seemed a far better fit. As for Leon, perhaps the forest spirits would claim him one day, given how often he slipped away from his nannies and tutors to wander there.
Who knows—maybe this quiet, brooding boy had come from the forest himself, a changeling left by some woodland demons in the royal cradle?
Only Jude, kind and loyal Jude, always stood up for him, doling out sharp reprimands to anyone who dared speak ill of the heir. It was a blessing he had such a guardian angel, clad in a blue woolen dress and a white headscarf.
Even now, that white scarf fluttered between the trees, drawing closer to him.
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Jude said reproachfully, as always wrapping Leon in a tight embrace and kissing the top of his head. “Come along now, it’s time for lunch.”
She took his hand, and the boy followed obediently, stumbling through the tall grass where crickets chirped.
“Guess what news I’ve heard?” Jude said with a sly smile. “You’ll never guess!”
“I won’t,” Leon agreed, shaking his head to confirm the fact.
“Your father, His Majesty Matthias, has decided to move from this old palace to a new one. We won’t be living in this backwoods anymore, where wolves come right up to the courtyard to howl at the moon. No, we’re moving to the Capital! To a grand, splendid estate! Aren’t you thrilled, Your Highness?”
Leon wasn’t thrilled, but he didn’t want to disappoint Jude, so he nodded.
“See, I’m over the moon about it too!” the nanny assured him. “Who knows, maybe there I’ll find a husband and have children of my own!”
“And me?” Leon wanted to ask, opening his mouth, but then thought better of it.
He was already used to the fact that almost nothing in his life depended on him. Would it always be this way? The boy didn’t know...