He has always been a contradiction of importance and worthlessness, the last prince of the last king - he would never inherit his father's empire, he would never lead their kingdom in battle, or fuel the glorious, terrible trade it was built upon. He was not born to conquer, to rule, to bleed himself on the points of the golden crown, but to be led by iron chains masquerading as golden gossamer. Some princes are born as sacrifices to satiate the appetite of stronger empires, and Azhar never had a say in his fate. The cruelty of his place, the bitter privilege of his manacles, seeped into his bones, diffused into his skin and blood. When opportunity gifted him freedom, he took it with both hands. He cut the throat of fate with gossamer threads and used his own chains to bind others.