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“Soon the man was out of breath merely from reaching for his food and he demanded that his servants feed him. But they could not feed him fast enough.

“Then one of his servants, a wise old woman, spoke aloud the words that all had been thinking but had not dared to say. She had been his nurse since childhood, and his father’s nurse as well. Perhaps it was because she loved him more than the others or perhaps it was because she feared him less.

“‘There is no pleasure in wealth if poverty has never been felt,’ she said.

“And the man realized that she spoke the truth. He could not appreciate his rich food if he did not have the poor food, as well.”

Richon’s father held the book open and said, “Well? What is the lesson here?” For there was always a lesson in his books.

Richon creased his forehead and thought. “I must eat porridge so that I will enjoy rich food?” he asked.

His father nodded and closed the book.

Then, at last, he put an arm around Richon. “We love you. We want true happiness for you. That comes with self-discipline.”

“Yes, Father,” Richon had said. Because there was no other response.

Then King Seltar had let Richon go his way, which was most definitely out of the library.

Now Richon wished dearly that he had spent more time in his father’s library. Perhaps if he had he would have saved himself a great deal of sorrow.

But when he became king, the only thing he had seen the library useful for was to sell off its books for money to support his other habits, when the peasants had been taxed beyond their ability to pay more.

All those precious books of his father’s were dispersed to other places, perhaps to other kingdoms entirely.

And yet his father’s lessons were not the only ones he had ignored. He remembered his mother, Queen Nureen, beautiful on one side of her face but covered with a birth scar on the other. Yet she had never seemed self-conscious about it, had never turned her better side when speaking to others.

His mother had told him once, as she pointed to her scarred side, that it was her obligation to show to others her true face. And her true face had both sides.

“As all people have two sides,” she had said. “Even you, my little one.”

Now Richon was startled into wondering if she had had some magical foresight that had shown her that he would become a bear. He had not understood what she meant then. He was only a boy who loved his parents, who loved to be loved and petted and pampered.

But the tantrums—yes, his mother had had to deal with those. That had been the other side to her sunny boy.

Richon could still be embarrassed at the thought of those. Whenever he did not get what he wanted, he had thrown himself to the floor and shouted out threats against anyone in sight: servants, nobles, his own mother and father. He would tell them what he would do to them when he was king.

But his mother would put a finger to her lips and shake her head. And when that did not work, she would turn her back to him. She would motion to all others in the room that they should do the same.

Servants, all.

And no matter what he said or asked for, they would not respond to him until his mother had motioned that they could turn to face him once more. Which only happened when he had finished his screaming, and then his crying, and had turned at last to whispered pleas of forgiveness.

Then his mother would turn around and point to each person whom he had hurt, and he would hang his head and offer apology after apology, then wait humbly until each was accepted.

If only she had lived.

Perhaps she might have made something of him.

But she and his father had died in a carriage accident far from the palace. They had gone out to visit villages at the edges of the kingdom, a tour they took each year so that even those far villagers would feel a sense of belonging to the kingdom, and know that their king and queen thought of them.

He had been told of it by the lord chamberlain and the royal steward,