Chapter 1

Rhinella’s sky was always light, and brilliant, brilliant red. Except for two minutes, at the end of each day, when the two suns would hide behind their opposite horizons, and darkness would descend. In those two minutes, the only two minutes of darkness in the 30 hour day of Rhinella, you could guarantee Prince Zeine was nowhere to be found.

He had a habit, much to the annoyance of his maidstaff, of climbing over the Palace walls, somehow unnoticed by everyone, no matter how many extra guards they hired, and running up to the nearby mountain, to watch the suns set and rise. No matter how many times he got beaten, how many times he was told no, Zeine did this every day. No-one ever knew where he’d gone until he was back, twenty minutes after the sunrise, and by the time he’d turned seven, his mother, Lady Lavinie, told the maidstaff to give up stopping him. After all, her son was going to sneak whatever they did, and he’d never been hurt sneaking out, so where was the harm.

So Zeine crept out every night, to sit on the rocks and watch the darkness, rapt as the first sun’s rays burst across the skies, the Palace in all its shining glory becoming visible once more. The white stone it was built from reflected the light out and beyond the Citadel a few miles away, making the royal family’s home look ethereal in its splendour, and Zeine had no intention of missing it, ever. He lived for those two minutes, the two minutes where he could watch the glory of the life before him from the outside, hiding in the darkness from the overwhelming path his future laid out for him long before he was born.

There had never been a bad Emperor or Empress, in all of Rhinnela’s history. Not ever. There had been 652, and all of them had brought something special to their reign, guided their people through the good and bad times, been an rock of sturdy assurance through plagues and wars and famine.

Zeine just wasn’t sure he could live up to it. He was scared. His Mama told him that that was natural, that every Prince who’d ever lived had been scared when they were his age. He’d tried to ask his father if he’d been scared when he was Prince, when he was a boy, but he’d been laughed at, and he still hadn’t lived it down. Apparently it made quite the anecdote for his dinners with the Mayor of the Citadel and his staff.

The Prince didn’t like his father very much. He knew that was wrong, he knew he should love his father, not even just because he was his father, but he was also the Emperor. Everyone loved the Emperor. Just… Not him. And, he suspected, neither did his Mama. Not really. 

The Emperor was a magnificent leader, inspiring to his people in the recent famine; he’d gone out to help the worker families in the East, to bring back food for the people.  He spent all his energy on the people. But that was just the problem. Zeine knew it was selfish, but he wished, more than anything, that his father would spend some energy on him, too.

No, it wasn’t that the Emperor didn’t have any time for him, Zeine knew, it was just that he didn’t have any time to be nice to him the way Mama always had been. He was hard on his son, often forgetting he was still a child, often having him beaten by one of the butlers if he spoke without being spoken to first. A Prince, he’d told Zeine one afternoon, must know what it is to be weak before he becomes powerful. And by the Gods, did he make sure his son felt weak.

I had learned the entirety of the Chronicles by heart when I was your age, and you haven’t even mastered the story of the Twin Sun Gods yet! What do you do all day, climb trees and snivel to your mother? You are a sad excuse for a Rhinellan Prince!

And then he’d order another beating. Zeine knew they were necessary. He didn’t like it, but he had to deal with it. He had to learn what it was to be weak.

One afternoon in late summer, when the second sun was just starting to dip towards the horizon, he limped into his chambers, supported by the very butler who’d beaten him that day. His back was in agony; the pain only seemed to increase with each punishment he got. His Mama was waiting for him next to the bed, looking pale but devastatingly beautiful. The butler bowed briefly to her once he’d set the young Prince on his bed, before hastily taking his leave.

“It hurts, Mama.” Zeine squirmed slightly, crossing his short little legs, innocent blue eyes gazing up at her. She shushed him, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“I know, little Prince. I know.” Lavinie perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to stroke his hair softly. “He will be away on business tomorrow, and you and I will be left alone for a little while.” She smiled reassuringly.

“Why does father hate me, Mama?” The boy asked, laying his head in her lap sadly. “I tried my best with the song, I swear I did. But my tutor’s wife is sick, and I let him go visit her in the Citadel hospital instead of having him teach me yesterday. I thought that was the right thing to do.”

Lavinie swallowed heavily, shaking her head slightly as she continued to soothe the young Prince. “You did the right thing, Zeine. It was exactly what an Emperor would do. It was very compassionate of you, I’m proud of you.”

“Father wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain.” He replied glumly, letting his eyes close. Beatings always made him sleepy, and it was getting late. He liked to nap before the suns set and rose.

“I know, darling, I know. He’ll be gone by morning. I’ll have the healers brought in as soon as you wake up.” She promised, gently manoeuvring him so his head was on the mountain of pillows near the headboard.

“I love you, Mama.” Zeine murmured as he burrowed into the blankets, tucking his nose under the hem and awaiting her reply, looking up at her expectantly.

“I love you too, Zeine.” Lavinie smiled, bending over to kiss her only son’s forehead. “Make sure you don’t miss the darkness.” She teased, knowing full well of his fascination with his daily outing.

“I never miss the darkness.” He insisted, pulling down the blankets to poke his tongue out at her, before hiding under them once more, a childish giggle escaping him as his mother mirrored his action, albeit a little more elegantly than he.

“Go to sleep, little Prince.” She laughed, switching out the light, and Zeine nodded, closing his eyes and curling his legs up, making himself as small as possible as he fell asleep.

 

…

 

He always knew when to wake up, because the phoenixes living in the trees inside the Palace grounds always started singing when the sun started shining in their eyes, low on the horizon. As usual, he jumped out of bed, put on his shoes, and edged out the window, sliding down the drainpipe and smirking smugly to himself as he padded across the lawn, climbed up the tree and leapt over to the wall, letting out a light ‘oof’ as he landed on top of the wide brick structure. The wall wasn’t too high, low enough to jump from if he made sure to roll out of it… He’d almost broken his wrist the first time he did that.

And after that, he could run to his heart’s content, right until he got to the top. He always felt like he was running away for good running up the side of the mountain, to his ledge. Like he’d never have to come back and face his stupid father.

He could think things like that on the mountain. If he was in the Palace, he didn’t dare, just in case his father somehow heard him, but out here? Out here he was allowed to be a scallywag. He was allowed to be naughty and reckless and silly on the mountain, without getting beaten for it.

Whenever he made this journey, though, he always wished he had a friend to share it with. Someone he could race, someone he could grumble about his father to, someone who would listen. Being a Prince could get very lonely, he fancied, and when he saw the children from the training centre in the Palace grounds on a school trip, he always felt jealous. He wanted to be training, too. He didn’t like learning the Chronicles. They were boring. He wanted to learn how be a warrior, how to be brave and strong and wield a mighty sword. So, he played pretend. He picked up sticks and swung them around with what he thought was a mighty battle cry, but was more like a high-pitched shriek, and he jumped onto boulders and down again, and did cartwheels and even, once or twice, somersaulted over a bush.

It took him about an hour to reach his ledge, and by the time he did so, he was always red in the face and panting, but feeling utterly pleased with himself. He dropped down onto his bottom, pulled his knees up to his chest, and watched the darkness descend, sighing happily as it did, looking over at the lights blinking on and off in the Citadel. He’d never been in there before. He’d be taken there when he turned twenty, as his introduction to the people, and he couldn’t wait. It was beautiful. It was more beautiful than the Palace in the darkness, all lit up and warm-looking, while the Palace looked scary and shadowy. That all changed when the new day broke, though, and it became grand and dazzling once more.