•The Garden•

•Book One•

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He'd never meant for this to happen.

He screamed and cried out, but somehow his screams were lost in the slowly erupting battle around him, the Royal Guards themselves, not even realizing that their princes life was draining from his body.

"Lou," He whispered, the boy beneath him in his arms did not reply, could not reply. As his uneven breaths became fainter and the warm crimson liquid on his hands increased, he could think of only one thing.

The Gypsy he'd met in the square, who wore ravishing silk and studded bangles. And what she'd said to him.

"My child, misfortune, I feel it spewing off of you, tis' sorrowful, the mere idea that thou art bearing it, proves you're strength. But the weight of a mountain is unbearable for even the most valiant steed. One day this will prove true. And on that day. You shall call out to me. You'll know where, you're feet will take you there. To where you met you're true love."

To The Garden.

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