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When I was about nine, my father began telling me something he made sure was ingrained into my mind for the rest of my life, 'No matter how hard you try, no matter how just of a ruler you are, there will always be someone who will stop at nothing to kill you.' Knowing this has influenced many decisions I've made throughout my life, and no doubt it has influenced his as well. My only question is, why did he put me in the line of fire by sending me to a school for mages. I am a noble, and I am the one who is to inherit his title. What purpose does forcing me to study serve? The one reason I could maybe see is some form of humiliation to make me a more noble duke once father dies. Or maybe this was entirely fate, something that was set in stone eons ago, some force of nature that twisted my father's arm until he yielded and sent me off to mingle with the less folk. He has said that as a half fey its unjust for me not to at least try to use a gift that was bestowed upon my family. Never the less, it is inevitable now. I awoke from bed, trying wearily to remember what had happened last night. Its true, what they say about power having privileges. One of those privileges happens to be sixty year old wine. I surveyed my surroundings, noting that there was a body shaped mound next to me in bed, as well as my coat and breeches strewn across the floor of my chamber, a dress next to it. Clearly I was spreading the many joys of life last night in my drunken stupor. The mound next to me stirred, revealing itself as the chefs daughter. she drearily opened her eyes, then shooting up in shock, causing her ebony hair to fall in her face. "Your grace I uh-" she began, but I raised my hand to cut her off. " Be quite, like deathly quite." I said, my head splitting. she almost started speaking again but just nodded instead, holding her hands meekly over her heart. " And I'm no duke yet, so cut the 'your grace stuff' capice?" she nodded again, picking up her dress and slipping back into it. I began looking for a bottle with something left in it, though to no avail. Giving up on that as quickly as I started, I put my breeches back on, as well as my coat. I stumble through my doorway, to be greeted by my dear brother. " Have fun last night?" he said, smirking. His remark startled me and fell into my doorway. He extended a hand, smirking like he'd just won something. He dragged me into the dinning hall, a lavish breakfast with various plates of pastries scattered across the table. the food looked delectable, but m eyes were immediately dragged to a bottle of alcohol, I never checked and didn't care for that matter, all that mattered was that the bitter drink was going to get this damn headache to stop pounding my skull from the inside. The bitter drink burned as it slipped down my throat, and my brother looked down, jokingly shaking his head. " Your gonna kill yourself Ishmael, drinking like a devil." he said, biting down on a powdery pastry, the sugar caked on top puffing up like a smoky cloud. " Shut it." I bluntly said, whipping the excess off my lips. I sat down in a nearby chair, taking a sweet pastry and biting down, its flakey crust cutting through into a sweet orange filling. I looked back to my chamber, catching the tail end of the Chef's dear Maria escaping just before the maids entered to clean the room.

When I finished, I started to walk back to my chamber to change out of yesterdays clothes. I walked into the newly cleaned room, not a spec of dust in sight. Once again, power most certainly does have its privileges. I opened my wardrobe, a colorful array of tailor made coats and shirts, and drawers stacked high with breeches, though these are all black. I fixed my hair, as it was still tangled and knotted from last night. Afterwards, I ran into Maria. She was still wearing the same dress, a plain looking piece of gray cloth that barely counted as a garment. " Your-." I held my finger up, cutting her off." Are you going to say your grace?" I rhetorically asked her, though she shook her head timidly. My god, this one isn't very bright, is she? She turned around and began swiftly walking away, her steps echoing in the, frankly, overly large hallway. I assume she was going to avoid telling her father about our little fling, likely terrified of my father. She disappeared behind a corner, and I decided to head out to the city center to feel the stirring rush of a street musician. Maybe I could get Maria a new dress, tell her to consider it a parting gift. Who knows, maybe she could actually snag a husband if she had something nicer. She definitely had most of the other bachelorettes beaten out in the looks department, that's just about undeniable. Even my dearest brother Isaac, a man so dead set on the idea of love being more powerful than lust couldn't help but sneak a look at her on occasion. She simply radiated a tantalizing aura. But alas, even someone like her is intimidated by someone who could snap their fingers and have her entire family vanish without a trace, no one would even know they existed. Such is the life of someone so powerful ,but I would never do that, her fathers food is more intoxicating than my beloved liquor, its flavor like no other. And he can bake too, my god can he bake. There's one other person who can out do that man, and that is the royal chef himself. My father hit the jackpot with this one, but he does seem to always get the best of the best. I couldn't even begin imagine the amount of back breaking effort one would need to go through to master such a craft. Then again, that seems to be my fate by tomorrow. That's still such a strange decision. Why would I need to learn magic? If I wanted to see sparkly displays of pseudo power protecting me from assassins with essentially toy knives, I could just hire a garrison of mages with the flick of my wrist. Now I'm going to be living with people who barely are above my subjects, I'll practically be farming pigs. God I really do need to get my mind off of this, maybe i could get a drink while I'm out on the town.