Peter could scarcely recognise himself when he looked in the mirror now.
Gone were his pink curls in favour of closely cropped blond hair. His skin had paled, cheeks had hollowed out, and his light blue eyes appeared to have sunken into his skull. If Peter didn't know better, he would consider himself a reanimated corpse. After all, his heart was dead.
Yet another princess was to visit that afternoon. Peter couldn't remember which one, he had lost count and quite frankly no longer cared. Not that it mattered what he thought anyway. Once his father found a suitable match for him, Peter doubted he would have much choice in the matter. He would be wed before the evening sun had sunk beneath the horizon. It was only a matter of time.
With a sigh, Peter tugged on a freshly pressed ebony shirt and matching jacket. He ran a hand through his hair before heading out into the hallway and beginning to make his way to the breakfast hall.
He supposed that in the end, none of it really mattered. His siblings hated him, and Max...well, the less Peter thought about him the better. Peter had nothing but himself and his future throne. He needed to ignore the past and look to the future, focus on finding a wife and producing a heir. Those were the only things that mattered now.
Peter was used to playing the part of a rule abiding pretty little princeling, the only person left to fool was himself.
