He was a prince

Torsten was taken with his sisters to have his hands groomed.

When he was little, he thought it was because he was too young to engage in warfare, but as he grew older, his schedule didn’t change.

Instead of being taught how to sharpen a sword, he was taught how to read and write. Not just the basics, but how to read aloud well and how to write in long curling letters. When he was thirteen, he was sent to apprentice to a painter to learn how to paint. He would have liked it better if his brothers had been included in the exercise, but instead, they were beating dummies in the courtyard while he was instructed to keep his hands free of paint and kept apart from them.

The only lessons he was allowed to attend along with them were the riding lessons. He was taught alongside them how to groom and care for a horse. It was then that he realized that he was three inches taller than his older brother. He would have realized it sooner, but they rarely stood side-by-side.

“Mother, why am I not being trained in warfare? I have a better body than Callum,” he complained. “I can see the top of his head.”

She turned and looked at him with sorrowing eyes. “Darling… this is a special time that you get to spend with me.”

Torsten did a double take. He was fourteen years old and it had never occurred to him that no matter what activity he did, he was always kept close to his mother. He had sisters. They were near her too, but not as close. If his mother reached out at any given time, she could touch him. He sat next to her at the dinner table. His room was closer to hers than any of his other siblings. He would have asked his father his question, except he rarely saw him. He was off with Torsten’s brothers.

Something was wrong.

© 2025 Stephanie Carpenter (Hljóðbók): 9798347780013

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Hljóðbók: 3 oktober 2025