Being born to die was a hell of a way to live. Your conception had been nothing more than a plan set in motion by the demands of a prophecy bestowed upon the very first rulers of the kingdom of Frostvale.

You’d been plucked from the proverbial masses and branded a sacrifice from the moment you drew your first breath. A “necessary evil,” your parents told you, their voices devoid of remorse or sorrow. Why would they waste their love, their tears on something they knew would not last?

Despite the blood that coursed through your veins, you weren’t granted the luxuries befitting royalty. No lavish clothes to line your wardrobe; the summation of your jewels existed in the crown that had adorned your head when you were but a babe. On the best of days, the palace staff would spare a fleeting glance in your direction, just brief enough to acknowledge your presence.

Although, there was some reprieve from the lack of warmth in your life. To ensure your safety until your twenty fifth birthday, when your life would inevitably be forfeited to the powers that be, your parents assigned a mercenary from the streets willing to stay by your side for the right amount of coin.

Sepher was a guard only in name, just as you were royalty more so in blood than title.

“I’ve offered you escape before, your highness, just as I do now. Frostvale be damned, you deserve a life more than this…if only you’d be brave enough to take it.” Sepher’s opinions never strayed far behind the hushed insults thrown your way. The most recent offense involved the kitchen staff purposely serving you the remnants of fowl leftover from your family’s dinner.