My name is Jex. It wasn’t always Jex, but before it was something I cannot remember. The thought was branded out of me with fire and red hot pokers when I was finally bought.
My head was shaved, so that some slavekeeper could burn the Xolan coat of arms into my scalp. A serial number was carved into the base of my neck, and my shoulder too had the Royal Seal etched onto it.
I passed the first ten years of my life being trained to be a slave and then, on my eleventh birthday, I was taken to be named by the Prince.
Being named always sounded like it would be a great moment, but when the day came I found it somewhat dull. I was dragged out of one of my training sessions and taken to wherever the seven year old Prince was playing.
He seemed so confused by what he was doing. He did not wish to be interrupted from his games to name a slave, albeit it being his first.
“I don’t want to,” he said, looking upset.
“Please, your Highness. It is your duty to do so.”
He moaned for several minutes and then stated simply: “His name is Jex.”
And so I was named.
I wish I could say that was the day I established a firm friendship with the Prince and that we have been close ever since. However, that would not be the truth.
I did not see the Prince very often because, although I was a young slave, I was given tasks elsewhere in the palace, or even as a delivery boy outside the grounds in the city of Rixen. We did not actually speak again until I was thirteen and he ten.
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