When I was only fourteen years old, I learned that the world is a terrible place, full of cruelty and suffering. I was too young for such a lesson, and I'm not sure I came out of it with my mind fully intact. At the age of fourteen I lost my ability to speak. It wasn't until many years later, when I thought I was past the point where I could care about anything or anyone, that I found the will to speak again.

I grew up in a small town in the far east of the Kingdom of Vrayna, near the border with the Beastlands. My mother earned money by washing and mending clothes, working from sunrise to sunset to ensure that I never went hungry. I spent my days playing by the river, tending our small vegetable garden, and earning copper coins by running small errands for the townsfolk. If I never knew luxury, I never lacked for anything. I had a full belly and was loved.

It was towards the end of the seventh moon cycle and I was on my way home with three copper coins in my pocket, having just finished a very profitable afternoon of shoveling horse dung for the local stable. It was hard work, and I reeked of sweat and dung, but earning a copper for every hour I worked gave me a great sense of pride, as I usually only managed to earn three coppers in a week. Three coppers could buy us rice or flour for days, or perhaps even some meat.

It was early evening as I walked toward our humble home on the edge of the forest. The sky had just begun to turn a gentle shade of orange and there was a cool breeze in the air. Summer would soon give way to autumn, and the leaves would soon begin to change color. As the heat of the day dissipated, the walk home felt refreshing after a few hours spent working in the heat. Thanks to the stable's full roof, I wasn't sunburned, but my relief that the stifling heat had passed had me noticing how sticky and sore I felt.

I decided to make a detour to the river to wash off the worst of the dirt and sweat from my body. Copper coins or no, it was likely that I would be scolded if I returned home in such a state. The cold water felt pleasant on my still warm skin, and I used some sand and small stones to scrape the dust and dung off my body. Taking off my shirt, I wet it and wrung it out several times until the water ran clean.

By then, the sky had taken on a hue that resembled the dying embers of a fire, and the sun had almost completely sunk below the horizon. It would soon be time for dinner, so I had to get home while it would still be hot. I was famished from the day's work and couldn't wait to eat.

I pulled my wet but much cleaner shirt back on and shivered slightly from the cold. Ah, I thought, this feels much better. The genuine shiver was a pleasant contrast to the constant overheating that was common during our summer months. The combination of the cold water and the fresh breeze had revived me, and I decided to run the rest of the way home.

I was a few minutes away from the house when I realized something was wrong. The path leading to the house was surrounded on both sides by trees and brush, and no matter the time of day it was, you could hear the chirping of birds, the snapping of branches, and the rustling of forest creatures moving about. That evening, the ever noisy forest was silent. I stopped running and stood still, trying to catch my breath. Other than the sound of my light panting, there wasn't a sound to be heard. The trees that lined the path, which usually felt like they were guiding me home, felt ominous, like they were warning me to turn back.

Instead of turning back, I picked up the pace and raced toward the house. As I ran, it felt like there were eyes watching me from the trees. Dark eyes, angry eyes, eyes that wanted to harm me. I ignored them all and kept running.

When I got home, I could hear my mother screams coming from inside. There were a couple of horses waiting in our open yard. The front door was wide open. I crept forward, trying to be as quiet as possible, but there was no cover to hide my movements. As soon as I was close enough to almost see inside the door, someone grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth, and pushed me inside.

“Well would you look at what I found skulking about,” my captor called out, “I’ve got the kid. We don’t need this bitch to talk anymore.”

Inside the house, I could see my mother tied by the wrists and pushed down on the table where we usually ate. A thin man with black hair had bent her over, pressed her face to the table, and thrust into her as she screamed.

"But I was just getting started, sir," the man replied, "can't we have some more fun with her before we leave?"

"Hah, I didn't say the fun was over, did I?" The man behind me tightened his grip. "Let's show this boy what happens to whores who run away."

I felt the bile rise in my throat as the black-haired man continued his thrusts with renewed vigor, slapping her ass and laughing merrily. In violation of my will, my body had gone limp from shock. I wanted to fight. I wanted to bite my captor's hand and stop these evil bastards, but all I could do was watch helplessly as my mother cried and begged for mercy.

The sun rose in the east before they were finished with her. There were five men in all, and they took turns beating and raping her through the night. They forced me to watch the whole thing, one of them always holding my head to make sure I didn't miss a thing. One of them amused himself by giving me a play-by-play of what they were doing, telling me how much she secretly enjoyed it, that she was getting what she deserved. The black-haired man seemed determined to harass me in other ways, trying to put his hand down my pants and licking my ear. He probably would have done worse to me if the others hadn't stopped him, telling him I was the Duke's property and not to be used. He took his disappointment out on my mother, looking at me lustfully the whole time.

As I listened to their banter, I learned that my mother had once been a servant to the Duke of Ramport, the southernmost duchy of Vrayna. My mother's beauty had attracted the Duke's attention, and he had imprisoned her and forced himself upon her many times, eventually resulting in a child: me. As soon as I was born, she found a way to flee the duchy, lest the duke take her precious child away. His wife had given him only a daughter, and he had wanted to use his illegitimate child as a replacement heir. He'd searched for my mother all those years, and finally learned her whereabouts by chance from a traveling merchant who passed through our town.

With the sun bright in the sky, they slit my mother's throat and left her broken body for the animals. At some point during that long night, my mind stopped being able to cope with what they were forcing me to watch. It was like a switch had flipped in my brain and I stopped processing the horrors in front of me. I found myself drifting away into a thick, gray fog, a place where there was nothing at all. I couldn't hear the screams, I couldn't see the violence, and I wasn't in that place anymore.

I was vaguely aware of them binding my wrists behind my back and throwing me into a wagon. I think one of them poured water on me, hoping to get a reaction, but I was too far gone to react or care. I began the journey back to the Duke's home to meet my monster of a father, completely disassociated from everything around me.

After a few hours on the road, my arms were screaming with pain from having my wrists bound so tightly. The heat of the sun became unbearable as it shone down on the open wagon. I slipped in and out of awareness as we traveled, embracing the blissful fog of nothingness whenever it returned to me. I dared not afford myself the luxury of tears or self pity, but the horrors I had witnessed were still fresh in my waking mind.

When they stopped for a midday rest, I was forced to emerge from the fog entirely and assess my situation. They unbound my hands and rebound them in front, still too tight, but not so tight as to cause permanent damage. I was able to conclude that they had been ordered to return the Duke's son in relatively good condition and that I wouldn't be seriously injured by them. I had hoped they would kill me, so there was little relief in that knowledge, only a numbing sense of disappointment.

They didn't want to deal with me while they were traveling, so they had a drugged flask ready for me. Before they moved on, they forced me to drink from it. I tried to refuse, but they held my nose until I was forced to open my mouth and the contents were poured down my throat. Instead of the grey fog, a deep pit of blackness awaited me, and I fell into its depths. That was the last thing I remember before arriving in Ramport.

When I finally regained full consciousness, we were navigating our way through the narrow streets of the city, passing a crowded marketplace full of stalls and people. The sights and smells overwhelmed my senses. The market in our small border town couldn't compare to the vibrant scene surrounding me.

Had the circumstances been different, it might have been an experience of wonder and delight. As it was, the bright colors and loud voices made my head spin, and the smell of the food offered by the street vendors turned my stomach. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mother. I wanted to die.

We sped through the market at record pace and soon found ourselves on a lonely road that led to a mansion that sparkled in the distance. The mansion was a brilliant shade of white, four stories high, with many windows to let in the natural light. Beautiful flowers of every color adorned the grounds, and an expansive courtyard with a white and gold railing surrounded the dazzling white structure. A grand staircase crossed the courtyard and led to a majestic golden front door.

My father, the Duke, stood at the foot of the gold and white staircase as if he had somehow anticipated our exact time of arrival. He was a well-built man of middle age, no longer youthful in appearance, but still full of vigor and life. He had dark brown hair and piercing green eyes; eyes that matched mine perfectly in color, but with a sharp coldness that mine didn't have. I had my mother's light hair, a pale reddish blonde, and I shared her gentle, rounded features. The Duke had sharp, hawkish features, with a hooked nose and thin mouth. But there was no mistaking those eyes; he was indeed my father.

Next to him stood two women who were undoubtedly mother and daughter. Except for the obvious age difference, they could have been twins. Both were remarkable beauties with full, pouting lips and bright blue eyes. The mother had blonde hair, fine and silky, with a silver sheen. The daughter had dark hair that matched her, no, our father. They both looked at me with hostile gazes, making no effort to hide their contempt.

All three of them were immaculate in appearance, which only served to emphasize my own shabbiness. I was dragged from the back of the wagon and thrown on my knees before them. I was sunburned, dirty, and I can only imagine how badly I must have smelled. My tattered clothes, which weren't very good to begin with, clashed with the scenery around me. Not that I cared. These people weren't my family anyway. They were my kidnappers and the people responsible for the suffering of my precious mother. I already hated them.

"You dealt with the mother?" My father, the Duke, spoke to my captors first.

"Haha, we sure did. We took reeally good care of her, right up to the end," laughed a brown-haired man with a thick mustache, who I had come to understand was the leader of the group.

"Ain't that right?" said the black-haired scum next to him. "She cried real pretty when I pushed her down. I'm getting hard again just thinking about it." He rubbed his groin and wiggled his eyebrows like it was all a big joke.

I could barely breathe as I choked down the vomit that was rising in my throat. How could these people even be considered human? I kept my head down as I took ragged breaths, trying to keep the tears from stinging my eyes.

"Pray tell me, Sir Tarlon, was it painful?" I don't know what surprised me more, the fact that her words indicated that this filthy human was a knight, or the disgustingly sweet voice in which my father's wife spoke. The anticipation in her tone sickened me.

"My lady, most beautiful Duchess of Ramport, I assure you that I took every precaution to ensure her last night on earth was as painful and humiliating as possible. Her screams echoed through the forest for hours," Sir Tarlon, assured her with a smile.

"Excellent. That whore thought she could seduce my husband and run off with his child. I am glad to hear that she has been, ahem, well punished for her evil deeds." I looked up to see a self-satisfied smile on the Duchess' face. Her daughter beside her looked almost gleeful.

"Right, you'll get your bonus pay in three days," the Duke said to the group of knights, dismissing them. Then he turned to see my figure still collapsed on the ground at the foot of the stairs. "On your feet, boy. I've been looking for you for quite some time, and it took a lot of effort to get you here, so you best not disappoint me."

I remained on my knees, my eyes fixed on the ground in front of me. At that moment, I understood that no matter what I did, I would only know misery in this house. Even if happiness was possible here, I had no desire to be happy with this awful family, so why would I bother trying to please him?

I felt a rough hand grab my hair and pull me to my feet. Forced to look up, I silently met my father's eyes.

"I've saved you from your life as a commoner. I freed you from the life that whore condemned you to. So now, you need to obey me, do you understand?" the Duke asked in a threatening whisper, "You are to be my heir but I will not allow you to embarrass me. It's bad enough that you're the son of that useless whore who couldn't even open her legs properly."

I gazed into his eyes as he spoke. I saw his contempt for me clearly in those familiar yet alien green eyes. I'm sure he could see the defiance in mine as well, and he dropped me to the ground, landing a sharp kick to my ribcage.

I coughed and sputtered, overwhelmed by the sudden pain, but I forced myself to look up and meet his eyes again.

"What's your name, boy?" he asked me in an even tone.

I remained silent.

The name my mother had given me was Falyn, but I didn't want to tell him that. It was something she had given me, and I wasn't willing to share it with him.

The silence stretched on for a moment, before he backhanded me across the face with all his might. I saw stars in my vision and the whole side of my face lit up with pain. I could taste blood and understood that the inside of my mouth had been ripped open by my teeth. I spat blood on the ground and looked back up. I was pretty sure that his earlier kick had broken one of my ribs, and I could feel that my face had already begun to swell. I looked up at my father again in silence.

"Very well," he said, "you will have to learn things the hard way then. From this day forward, you can forget whatever name that whore called you. You are now Julien de Ramport, son of the Duke of Ramport. Your only purpose is to serve as my heir and not cause me shame. Any shame you do cause will be etched on the skin of your back. Do you understand me?"

I knelt before him in silence, hatred burning in my eyes. No matter how long he waited, I didn't open my mouth to answer. Finally, he lost his patience and I was beaten into unconsciousness. It was the first time I had ever been beaten like that; endless blows rained down on me, merciless and deliberate. The fog returned, dulling my senses and allowing me to make the beating fade into the distance. As I was kicked and stomped into blissful oblivion, I didn't cry out at all.

For over nine years after that day, I didn't speak a word or make a single sound.