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Scars- Leona

Leona Kingscholar had grown up alone. 

It was not his fault, no. It was not his fault when he was first born and taken away by servants to be pampered and bathed while his mother recovered; His father was nowhere to be seen- away on a diplomatic trip with his elder brother in who-knows-where. He had spent his first night in a bassinet beside his mother, who held her soft hand atop his stomach that rose and fell with sharp breaths as he stirred in his sleep.

It was not his fault that those who saw his first steps were servants, and not his parents, nor Farena. He would learn over time to accept this fact- the fact that they would not be there for many of his milestones. Royal life was busy, and royal life did not fit the bill for normal family life.

His mother's assassination was not his fault. 

Leona thought otherwise, bearing the scar that had been carved atop his eye since he was young- proof of the attack, and his survival. His scar sent a warning, a message, a cruel reminder of what he had witnessed on that day and what he had lost. It carved his soft, round face and highlighted the angry, hurt green glow of his sharp eyes, sunken in and rounded with dark circles. 

Nobody could blame the young boy, the second-born prince who had just lost his mother with his father soon on his way to join the late Queen in the stars. His brother had been quickly taken in by councilmen, nobles, and advisors alike- his lessons being sped up in time for him to take the throne with now both the King and Queen absent. Leona had watched as Farena had been pulled from lesson to lesson, pampered by the members of the court as they fussed over whether or not he'd been eating well enough, or if he had been sleeping well. 

Nobody asked Leona. 

Nobody saw the heartbreak in his eyes and the way his heart sank when those same people would walk right past the small boy, rough bandages still patched over his eye to hide the injuries from the attack. The councilmen didn't stop, didn't ask him how his eye was (terrible, he would have told them. He spent nights in quiet panic over never being able to see again, or wondering if the injury would ever get better as every movement tore at the soft skin of his cheek and sent stabs of pain through his skull). They did not offer to help him, offer him any lessons so he could help his brother after his coronation. 

They would not see him as he hid under his mother's blanket in his room, weeping silently with only the soft moonlight that shone through the large windows to comfort him. 

The Afterglow Savannah royal family had seen it's fair share of injuries brutal injuries- accident or not. Leona remembered the one time his mother had told him about her father- his grandfather- and how he had fought in one of the wars all those years ago, the pictures of the beastman decorated with scars and maims alike always sent shivers down Leona's spine. The picture hung in the grand hall.

The servants saw it all the time so why, Leona wondered, why do they not look at him with the same awe? Did he not earn his scar? Did he not suffer enough to lose his parents and parts of his vision? Was he not heroic enough?

They would not listen to his cries for help, they would turn their heads when he would scream and cry and stomp his feet. 

Leona shouted, pulling at his hair as the servants sneered, trying to hide their annoyed expressions as he slammed his hand on a table, the firm wood giving away to specks of sand that cascaded to the floor. He would look up just in time to see, through his blurred, tear-filled vision, Farena's horrified expression and the way the man took a tentative step back. 

They finally listened. 

They no longer listened to the young boy for his imagination and wit, they no longer listened for the sake of playing nice to a child who was excited about a small thing he'd seen or heard that day.