Soldier, Poet- King.

Prologue : Prince Evan's Lament

There once lived a boy, born in a broken world. Son to the royal throne, you'd assume he would be overwhelmingly thankful with the life God has brought upon him, but that is where you are wrong. Evan, the prince to one of the highest ranking families in his area, sits here on his bed, his head in his hands and his knees pulled tightly to his chest.

The light seeping in through the tinted glass of his balcony windows would turn the atmosphere of the room a warm yellow as it reflected off of the mirrors and shiny items in the room. The air felt welcoming; the scent of the saltwater tides just below his view mixed with the cold, refreshing breeze.

The boy would look up from the ground, aimlessly staring at his reflection from across the room. He would inhale, holding back any negative thoughts he was capable of. He would close his eyes, holding his breath for a second before slowly exhaling. He took another good look at himself in the mirror before him.

"Today is going to be a good day, Evan. It better be," the boy would mumble, slowing standing up to his feet.

He would walk over to the mirror and pick up a comb conviently placed on the table beside him. Taking the comb, the boy would fix up his dark, sunflower-burnt hair—parting it ever so slightly to the side. He would run his fingers though the short, soft, and structured strands. Slowly, the boy would get ready to make his appearance in the outside world.

He would wear a formal midnight ocean-themed button down with black pants, patting himself down to make sure he looked presentable. As an heir to the throne, there are many duties and responsibilites that are expected of you, including finding a maiden to call your own. Today, Evan was expected to fufill this task, as unrealistic as it may seem. Evan has to find the woman he is going to marry. And today is the day he has to decide.