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I fiddled with the quill in my hand, brushing the feathery end across my cheek as I contemplated the blank piece of parchment before me. I stared a moment longer, then turned to consider the blonde boy sitting next to me.

“You're so smart, Dama,” I said after a moment, and he shifted his attention from his book to me, “Your brain is wasted here at the castle—you should put it to better use.”

Damar smiled softly then and reached over to affectionately pet my hair. “Prince Edan, you know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with y—”

“—y'know, like give it away to the healers so they can cut it up and see why it works so good. Or use it to go and help me conquer a small, rich, poorly defended, easily subdued foreign country. Or go spawn lots of little Damas with their own super-brains to give me an army to conquer the world. Or …”

Damar sighed and absently continued to pet me as I chattered excitedly about my plans for his brain. I knew he knew I was just stalling in hopes of skipping today’s writing lesson with him. The point was not that he knew, but that he would permit me to babble for several minutes more before telling me that my first exercise would be to record everything I just said. In triplicate. After which I would bitch, and he would pet me some more and tell me my handwriting is still roughly equivalent to that of a five-year-old writing with his toes. Then he would make me start the real work, and I would complain every third word I wrote or read.

And, inside, I’d be happy because, even though I hate book learning, I don’t mind it so much as long as my Dama is with me.