Author's Note: This is my first original work. This is for entertainment purposes, in no way is this use for profit. Structured criticisms and feedbacks are welcomed. :D

~Renl 

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Prologue

On Father’s twenty-eighth birthday I saw him harshly slap away a six year old boy as he fell head first onto the marble floor. The loud clink of the pendent resounded in the grand ballroom as everyone stood at a standstill—a thick tension replaced the once jubilant celebration. 

In front of the whole aristocracy, Father’s dominating presence emitted clear distaste to the filth he tossed to the ground. His eyes were furious, blood boiling at the mere sight of the boy beneath him. The denial was blatant. The very fact that the boy was his blood tightened Father’s frown and his next words became the boy’s execution.

“Take it away.”  

The command was final and the guards stationed at each pillar scurried to please their king.

Through the commotion, I stared up at Mother’s silent form and instantly I regretted the decision. The Queen watched the entire scene with cold, detached eyes as her son was dragged away. There was no indication of her concealed fury, yet the white-knuckled fists under the golden sleeves of her elegant scarlet dress said otherwise. I know, because I was right beside her. I also know it wasn't anger at her partner for mistreating their son, but the shame she bared giving birth to such a thing. His existence brought shame as it lessened the King’s favour of her. And after my birth…her position was jeopardized.

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Hushed whispers from the crowd in extravagant attires brought my attention to the current situation. Blinding lights from the crystal chandeliers made my eyes moist as I witnessed his public disgrace. He was hauled like a pig to the slaughter house, how very unlike a Crown Prince. Yet, I had to give him credit. For a six year old he wasn't crying as streaks of blood ran down his forehead, or even when the pendent, which a child could tell displays his dedication and hard work laid forgotten and crushed under boots and heels. Truly, my older brother was pitiful, all because he was born with white hair and red eyes in an empire dyed by black.          

I was five when I finally saw Karma Levi Zusetria. 

The Demon Lord of this story.