Loneliness was something Jaren had unfortunately grown accustomed to over the years. That, however, didn't mean he enjoyed it.

Being the youngest of the twelve Leander-Waitsfield brothers, a family which was not only known for its long line of magic users, but their golden hair, was supposed to be an honor.

If you were any of his brothers.

If you were like Jaren, and were born with not only brown hair, but also colorblindness, you'd essentially become another one of the statues in their obnoxiously enormous garden.

Color was important in the use of magic. You had to draw runes to cast it, and the color of the ink you used affected the result a lot. It wasn't the same drawing a shard rune with blue ink than with red. He'd learnt it when he was ten.

He was a disgrace, and he knew it. But he was good at pretending. Pretending he was as good as them. Pretending his father's cold glare didn't make his hands shake.

Pretending that the fact his brothers had been ignoring him for three months didn't hurt.

He was desperate, in all honesty, for contact. Any kind. He would've rather have them hit him than ignore him. But they didn't care, not really. So he went to the second best option: the stable.

His horse, Lani, was one of the biggest in his family's collection. And his only friend, as pathetic as that was. So he found himself pressing his forehead against her snout, silently letting his tears fall from his eyes.

He didn't even notice the way the princess Who was coming over, you, was staring at him from behind the open door.