8

Dymas Milelot. He pledged his loyalty to his king and for his king, he slit numerous throats. He was known for his mighty conquests before the age of thirty but before then…he couldn’t remember his less-than-stellar childhood. He chose to forget a past when he had been a weakling.

All that Veren knew about his new master was that he commanded the Arlankis army with an iron fist. It was one of the reasons he was so respected and also one of the reasons he was so feared and hated by the other soldiers. Even by the king’s court. No one understood him, no one spoke to him unless absolutely necessary. He was a man of few words. Large, tall and muscled.

But he had not always been so.

Dymas had been born a weak, scrawny child with feminine beauty. He had a head of dark blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and the face of what his mother called an angel. She always said he should have been born a girl and so did his father but the latter was not an endearing statement. His predicament was made even