Stolen by the Crown

months

ut history, art, and literature than he did. That is intolerable. The social arts-bowing, dancing, mincing, this fork, that spoon, flowers, smiles, the Correct Phrase for Every Occasion uttered in the Correct Tone-had also been taught to him. He hated every last bit of it. His eldest sister, Helena had pointed out though that a prince had to bow, dance, mince, eat, and flatter once the war was over and that he needed knowledge of diplomacy. That she was right infuriated him. The girls made his existence passable. That was everything. Barely. His heart hurt for his native country every night, for the untamed Pyrenees mountains. Forced to flee to England and live another day, he thought about his grandfather's austere face. He recalled the reassuring aroma of his mother holding him one more time before mounting the horse and bidding farewell. Every instant he was not busy, he yearned for his house in the woods, crumbling and tumbledown, for the delicious scent of pines, for the wild winter storms and the great summer days, for the vistas that spanned mountains and glaciers. Nobody knew, yet he cried late at night. He, Salem of the Royal and Honoured House de Teritus Chandler.And now he was strolling towards his father, the guy who had produced all this agony. Johnson banged on the tall, black door of the study, then opened it and backed up to let Salem come first. Salem entered the chamber. Closing behind him was the door. He was with his father only. Falmouth sat behind the desk writing on some papers spread before him as usual, but today the drapes were open and the watery English sunlight was shining from over his left shoulder, putting him in shadow. Looking up, he gestured for Salem to stand in front of him. "I received a letter this afternoon. Reading, "My Lord, if you would find it in your heart to convey this news to my beloved son, Salem," he said after lifting the smudged, torn paper off the pile of other smudged, torn papers. He raised his emerald eyes, chilly. She doesn't know your name is now Xavier Anthony. Anxiety coiled in Salem's belly; he did not object to his English name being insisted upon. Right now, the contents of that letter were all he gave any thought. " Please, my lord. What did she say? "His grandfather died in the woods from the Gallum while out foraging. Tell him the nasty thieves used him like prey, pursuing him down, stabbing him with spears-" Salem found it difficult to breathe and to reason. He perceived red. He got lightheaded. Then hung him from a tree and chopped out his e