At twenty, Sarasa Darias Buthaena had done more than most of his noble kinsmen would ever do at fifty. Growing up on his father Prince Darias’ moderate estate, he had learned the value in economy, the importance of good sense, and had inherited his father’s character of cheerfulness, prudence, and sensibility. His mother dying young and his father ill soon after, Sarasa was the only son of his particular branch of the Buthaena tree. He had learned to look after himself, had taught himself to read and write with some assistance from his uncle, and by ten was the master of his own tutelage. He learned well, cherishing an observant eye, from which he learned the arts of acrobatics and escape. Unable to inherit the throne, and with little inclination to do so if he should, he soon took to horse riding, swordplay, gained a fondness for dancing and the quieter hastiludes of his people. Where his peers had delighted in ostentatious celebrations, he had gloried in simplicity, leaving the royal quarter nearly every chance he was granted and venturing to the lower Livanon markets to revel in the contrast the peasantry supplied. He had seen many cruelties and sorrows during his time amongst the lower classes that he contrived to do something for them in his way without the supremacy of the throne to furnish his desires. When a copper could be given, there he gave silver, and when a hand was held out to him, he garnished it with an abundance of provisions. Wealth meant little to him unless it could be dispersed well, as his father had done, dealing generously with all the villeins on their estate.
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