But I don’t feel it. Nor do my dad or brother. We’re too busy dining on the finest veal butchered by the 22nd subchapter in the Moon Realm, the freshest vegetables harvested from subchapter 9 in the Sun Realm, and the strongest ale produced by the Star Realm.

Sometimes the food only tastes bitter to me. If I were to ever say that to my father, he would punish me dearly. If I were to ever say that to the people I am expected to rule, they would spit on me, laugh at me. How can the finest food in all of the underworld taste bitter? You should taste what we’re eating, they would say.

If only they understood. It isn’t about the food—was never about the food. In any other place, in any other time, the food would be perfect, delectable. But somehow eating it in our empty palace, with the empty soul who is my father, causes even the tenderest of meats to feel tough and chewy, the sweetest of fruits to taste bitter and sour, the greenest of vegetables to turn to gray dust in my mouth.

It wasn’t all bad growing up. My mother was a special person. She loved me—truly loved me—not like the false, dutiful love that my father bestows upon me. She used to take me on adventures throughout the palace, running and singing and laughing with me. She’d tell me tales in the dark corners of our home, where my father would never think to look for us. With her I felt safe, happy. She had feared my father, like I used to.

That’s why my heart died. Because she left me.

But today I feel a slight murmur in my heart, a mere palpitation, a throb of heat, an arrhythmic beat that lasts for only a moment, and then is gone, like the flash of a lightning bug in the dark.

Her jet-black hair cascades around her face like a funeral shroud, but I find myself mesmerized. She looks at me differently than all the others. With interest, but not awe. She looks so sad, but somehow I know it’s only a fraction of the sadness she holds inside her. Her skin is a natural pale, the result of living underground her entire life, not like the fake-tanned bodies that parade around the Sun Realm. Although from a distance her eyes look dark, I know they are a deep, enchanting green, almost feline. I half expect them to glow in the dark. Nonsense! All nonsense. I can’t possibly know what color her eyes are, as if I know her. I’ve never met her, have never so much as uttered a single word to her.

And yet…yet I still feel something for her. I feel tied to her by something made up of a far stronger material than what ties me to my family, my friends—if I really have any friends, that is. It isn’t love, of course; I don’t believe in love at first sight.

I feel the parade car start its slow arc around a bend; soon the Pen, and the girl, will be out of sight.

I see a big guy approach the girl. His footsteps are not innocent. His demeanor screams violence. Something bad is about to happen. I can sense it. I think her eyes are still on me, but it’s hard to tell. I have to warn her! Although I know I should make a warning motion of some sort, I don’t. Only my facial expression—a deep frown—alerts her to the impending danger.

Her eyes pull away from mine and she sees the guy. My view is partially blocked by the edge of a building as the float turns the corner. Craning my neck, I see her turn away from the guy, say something to her friend. The guy says something to her. My view is nearly blocked.

She stands up and pushes him. She’s going to fight him.

No, you can’t! I scream in my head as subchapter 14 surrounds me. Then she’s gone. There’s nothing I can do now.

I think about her all day. I wonder what happened to her. Did the big guy hurt her? Or worse, kill her? Why was she so bold to stand up to someone with such a clear size advantage over her? I know that moon dwellers are a hardened people, but I’ve never known them to be suicidal.

I fear for her.

* * *

My meetings with the leaders of the Moon Realm pass torturously slowly. Although I’m barely listening, by the end of the day I’m so annoyed with the leaders kissing my hind parts that I want to scream. Vice President Ogi of the Moon Realm is the worst. I think if I ask him to go on all fours, lick my feet, and then scratch himself, he will gladly oblige. His first priority: to look good in front of the Sun Realm.

Although I’m joking about making Ogi impersonate a dog, the reality of it is far scarier. My father could ask him to enslave every last moon dweller, whip them four times a day, and force them to do God knows what, and he would give the order to his men with a smile on his face and without the least bit of regret. In all the ways that my mother is the most selfless person I’ve ever met, Ogi is the most selfish.

I know he has grand plans to rise from the Moon Realm to the Sun Realm one day, even if only as a servant in my father’s palace. The only satisfaction I get from watching him bow before me is knowing it will never get him anywhere. My father, President Nailin, ruler of the Tri-Realms, will never so much as allow Ogi to clean up the crap of our palace dog, Blue. For that I am happy.

As the rough gray cavern walls flash past on either side during the train ride back to the Sun Realm, I think about when my next scheduled visit to the Moon Realm is. Not for months, I realize. All the key contracts are signed. The moon dwellers will slave away for another year, providing sustenance to the lazy sun dwellers, for a measly wage of five Nailins a day; all because of the lopsided contract signed by the weasel Ogi. You would think that as son of the President there’d be something I could do to help. There is nothing. I am merely a puppet, sent across the Tri-Realms to collect signatures and smile for the cameras. All the real negotiations are performed by my father, behind closed doors—and he always gets what he wants.

I have to find an excuse to go back to the Moon Realm. To find out what happened to the dark-haired girl with the emerald-green eyes. I have no choice in the matter; an unseen force drives me. I wonder if I would feel this strongly if she hadn’t been in danger when I saw her. If we had just looked at each other, would I have simply shrugged her off as just another beautiful girl? I don’t know the answer to my own question.

But it’s more than that. It’s not only that she was in danger that interests me. It’s the way she handled herself. With confidence, with strength. Different from the girls in the Sun Realm, who can’t seem to do anything for themselves. Certainly not stand up to a big, strong guy in a prison.

I wonder what her name is, who she is, why she is rotting away in the Pen. Is her sentence nearly over or has she been given a one-way ticket? Has she stolen something; or worse, killed someone? If she has, I know she had a good reason for doing it. Although for all I know she might’ve plotted a failed assassination attempt on my father—or even me.

Not that I would blame her. We call ourselves a democracy, but rule like a dictatorship. The title of President for my father should’ve been replaced with something else long ago. King, Master, Czar…something. If I lived in the Moon or Star Realms, I would probably rebel against my father, against the sun dwellers. I’m surprised there hasn’t been a major rebellion, at least not in my lifetime. The last time it happened was the inter-Realm Resistance in 475 P.M., but it was quashed by my father’s troops in less than a year. Another rebellion is my father’s greatest fear, and yet he takes liberties away from the moon and star dwellers as easily as he shakes out stones from his shoes. I hate him for it.

“Sir?” I hear someone say. It’s my servant, Roc. He’s staring at me strangely.

I look around and realize the train has stopped. “Oh, we’re here,” I say, jumping up.

Roc escorts me out of the first-class car and onto the palace grounds. Everything is brighter here, nothing like the gloominess of the Moon Realm. We are still underground, yes, but the entire roof glows brightly, illuminating the massive cave network. It’s all part of the distinction between the Realms. Electricity is strictly rationed, such that the Sun Realm receives eighty percent of it, of course, with a paltry fifteen percent going to the Moon Realm, and a measly five percent to the star dwellers.