Ezra Vosk had never always hated being a prince.

           He hadn’t left the palace grounds since he was a young boy and from what he remembers of the outside world, it was magical, in every sense of the word. He remembers the cacophony of voices in the market every Sunday when his mother, Osla, the Queen of Amaathos, would sneak out of the palace grounds with him tucked under her cloak. He could never see that well in...