Benedict, who had been oddly quiet, finally spoke up. "Sounds exhausting."
"Sounds fulfilling," I shot back. He sneered. "Living among peasants doesn't make someone great."
"No," I agreed. "But treating people like people does."
Alistair turned his head slightly, fixing Benedict with a warning look. "Enough." Benedict looked away, but I could tell he was fuming. I smiled and turned back to Alistair.
"Oh, and did I mention Mom taught me how to fight?" That actually caught his interest. "She did?"
"Yup. She's terrifying, by the way. She once flipped a guy twice her size for trying to rob us."
Alistair's lips curled slightly. "That does sound like her." Benedict rolled his eyes. "How primitive." I clicked my tongue. "Man, you must be so much fun at parties."
Alistair shot him another look, sharper this time. "If you have nothing productive to say, you may leave."
Benedict's face darkened. "But—"
"I wasn't asking."
Louise sat up straighter, her frosty expression barely concealing her annoyance. "Alistair, surely—"
"You may leave as well," he said smoothly, not even looking at her.
Her fingers twitched, but she didn't argue. Instead, she rose with a practiced grace, her skirts swishing as she turned to leave.
Benedict hesitated, glaring at me as if this was somehow my fault, then stormed out after her. The room felt noticeably lighter.
Alistair sighed, rubbing his temple. "That boy…"
I hummed. "He's got potential. If he removes the stick, of course."
Alistair huffed a quiet laugh. "And you?"
I grinned. "No sticks here, Your Majesty." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Tell me more about your life."
So I did.
=
=
[A couple hours later]
The palace was eerily quiet at night.
I walked down the dimly lit corridor of the east wing, my footsteps muffled by the rich carpets lining the floor. This part of the palace was far from the main chambers, isolated from the rest of the royal family, and I was perfectly fine with that.
If I had to be stuck here, at least I wouldn't have to deal with Louise or Benedict unless absolutely necessary.
My room was just across from my mother's, and as I passed her door, I noticed the soft glow of candlelight seeping from beneath it. She was still awake.
Not surprising. I hesitated for a moment, then knocked softly.
No answer.
I frowned and pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.
The room was spacious but not overly grand, decorated in warm, muted tones. It had everything you'd expect from a royal chamber—a large four-poster bed, elegant furniture, an ornate dresser—but despite its luxury, it didn't feel like home.
It didn't feel like her.
And there, by the open balcony, sat my mother.
She was perched on the edge of a cushioned chair, elbows resting on the stone railing, staring out into the darkened horizon. The moonlight bathed her in a soft silver glow, illuminating the delicate features that had been hardened by years of survival.
I stepped inside quietly, shutting the door behind me. She didn't react.
I took a few steps closer, then—without warning—wrapped my arms around her from behind.
She flinched slightly at first, but when she realized it was me, she relaxed. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she reached up to place her hands over mine.
"You scared me, little one."
"I am getting good at that."
She sighed, leaning back into my small embrace. "What are you doing up?"
"I could ask you the same thing," I muttered, resting my chin on her shoulder. "You should be sleeping."
She shook her head. "I couldn't."
I wasn't surprised. Neither could I.
I loosened my hold and moved around to sit on the railing, facing her. "You miss home, don't you?"
She gave me a small, tired smile. "More than anything."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Me too."
She studied me for a moment before patting the empty chair beside her. "Come sit with me." I plopped down next to her, propping my feet up on the balcony railing like I used to do on the docks.
For a while, we just sat there in silence, listening to the soft rustling of the night breeze. Then I broke it.
"This place is weird."
She chuckled. "It is."
"The food's bland."
"I noticed."
"The people are uptight."
"Very."
I huffed. "And I hate the way they look at me, like I don't belong."
She turned to me, eyes warm but firm. "You don't have to belong here, Camden. You don't have to be what they expect."
I looked at her, searching her expression. "Then why did we come back?" Her gaze softened, and she reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"Because it was the safest choice."
I frowned.
"Being out there, away from the palace, away from power… it was a risk. We were lucky, but luck doesn't last forever." She exhaled softly. "I had to make sure you would be protected."
I hated how much sense that made. I leaned back, staring up at the sky. "I still wish we could go back."
"So do I."
That was the part that hurt the most. Knowing that she didn't want this life either, but she was doing it anyway—for me. I rubbed at my face. "Do you think Uncle Eliot is still yelling at the fish?"
She laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Without a doubt."
I sighed, closing my eyes. "I hope they're okay."
"They will be."
Silence fell again, but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was comforting.
Eventually, my head started to droop.
I blinked sluggishly, trying to stay awake, but my body was betraying me. The warmth of my mother's presence, the soothing hum of the night, and the sheer exhaustion of the day were all pulling me under.
She must have noticed, because she reached over and gently guided my head to her lap.
"Sleep, my love."
I grumbled something unintelligible, but I didn't fight it.
Her fingers carded through my hair, just like she used to do when I was younger, and I felt my body relax completely.
[Morning]
I woke up to the feeling of hands tugging at me.
Not the soft, affectionate touch of my mother's hand carding through my hair like last night. No, these were unfamiliar, efficient, and very much unwanted.
"Good morning, Your Highness."
I cracked open an eye, still groggy from sleep, only to be met with an entire squadron of maids and a single elderly butler standing primly at the foot of my bed.
I groaned.
I had spent eight years waking up naturally, stretching lazily in my little wooden bed, pulling on whatever clothes I felt like wearing, and washing up on my own terms. But now?
Now I was being treated like some delicate doll that needed a full production crew just to get dressed.
Two maids pulled the blankets off me before I could even react. Another was already opening the curtains, flooding the room with golden morning light. Someone was moving around behind me, fluffing pillows, straightening sheets, making sure not a single wrinkle dared exist.
"Up you get, Your Highness," the butler said in a calm, unwavering tone, like this was all perfectly normal.
I grumbled, rubbing my face. "I can dress myself, you know."
The maids smiled in that polite, professional way that let me know that wasn't happening.
One of them reached for me, and I barely stopped myself from swatting her hands away. "Oi! I can walk too."
The butler gave me a disapproving look, but I wasn't in the mood to care.
Still, I let them do their thing. Mostly because they outnumbered me.
One maid guided me towards a massive basin of warm water, another had soap and a washcloth ready, and before I knew it, I was being washed like some helpless child.
I had been taking care of myself for years. This? This was just excessive.
They scrubbed my arms, my back, even my face, like I was incapable of doing it myself. I clenched my jaw, my annoyance growing with every passing second.
[A/N: My shower time is sacred. I would be royally pissed if someone were to disturb me.]
By the time they were done, I was half tempted to just throw on my old tunic and be done with it—but of course, that wasn't an option.
Nope.
They had outfits prepared.
Outfit[s]. Plural.
Because apparently, one wasn't enough.
The butler examined the choices, selecting one with a nod. "This will do."
The next thing I knew, I was being pulled into layers of fine fabric, arms lifted, belts tightened, boots slipped on, all with the precision of a well-rehearsed military operation.
By the time they finished, I felt restrained.
The tunic was fitted too perfectly, the trousers were too nice, and the boots—while undeniably high quality—weren't worn in enough to be comfortable.
I huffed, shifting uncomfortably. "If this is what I have to deal with every morning, I'm running away." The butler barely reacted. "His Majesty expects you for breakfast shortly."
I gave him a flat look. "I was joking."
He didn't even blink. "Of course, Your Highness."
I sighed heavily.
This was going to be my life now, wasn't it?
—---
After they finished manhandling me, the butler led me to another room in the west wing.
The moment I stepped inside, I immediately regretted it.
The tailor was already waiting, along with another set of assistants, all ready to take my measurements and fit me for what I assumed would be my actual royal wardrobe.
I barely had time to think before I was being ushered onto a platform, arms stretched out as they worked with ruthless efficiency.
"I'm starting to feel less like a prince and more like livestock," I muttered as they wrapped a measuring tape around my waist.
The tailor didn't even look up. "Hold still, Your Highness."
I rolled my eyes but complied.
They took their time, measuring everything from my shoulders to the exact length of my fingers, making sure no detail was overlooked. Fabrics were draped over me, colors discussed, patterns debated.
I tuned most of it out, focusing instead on how much I hated standing still for this long.
Eventually, they finished and I was finally released from their clutches.
The butler, who had been waiting silently the entire time, gestured for me to follow.
"Breakfast awaits, Your Highness."
—---
When I entered the dining hall, my mother and Alistair were already seated.
The room was grand, as expected, with high ceilings, elegant chandeliers, and a long table that could easily seat twenty.
But only three seats were occupied. Evelyne looked up when I approached, her expression instantly softening. "Good morning, my love."
I huffed as I took my seat beside her. "Morning Mom."
Alistair, who had been going through some documents, set them aside and studied me. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, his lips twitched slightly. "You look the part today."
I gave him a deadpan stare. "I feel like I've been trussed up like a festival goose."
Evelyne chuckled behind her hand. Alistair let out a short laugh. "You'll get used to it."
I highly doubted that.
The table was set with a variety of breakfast dishes—fresh bread, fruits, eggs, meats—more food than I'd seen in one sitting in years.
But just as I was about to start eating, the doors opened again.
Louise entered first, moving with practiced grace, her white braids perfectly styled, her icy eyes taking in the scene like she owned it.
Benedict followed right behind her, his expression already sour.
I bit the inside of my cheek, bracing myself for whatever nonsense was about to come.
Louise took her seat with a delicate sigh, casting a glance at my mother. "You're up early, Evelyne."
Evelyne gave her a cool smile. "So are you."
Benedict sat across from me, his gaze flicking over my outfit before he scoffed.
"Well," he muttered, "at least they managed to make you look like a prince."
I tilted my head, offering him a wide, obnoxiously sweet smile. "And yet, despite all my efforts, I still don't look half as miserable as you." Benedict's eyes flashed with irritation, but before he could retort, Alistair spoke.
"Enough."
His tone was calm, but the weight behind it was undeniable. Benedict visibly tensed, then turned his attention to his plate. I smirked to myself.
Alistair glanced at me, his gaze lingering for a second before he picked up his fork.
"Eat," he said.
And just like that, breakfast began.
=
=
The meal had been… tolerable.
Aside from Benedict's constant scowling and Louise's barely concealed annoyance, breakfast had gone by without any real issue. That should have been my first sign that something was coming.
Because as soon as we were nearly finished, Alistair set down his fork and leaned back in his chair, looking between me and Benedict with an expression that I had already started recognizing as kingly.
"We need to discuss your education," he said, his voice even.
Benedict, who had been chewing on a piece of bread, froze mid-bite. I didn't miss the way his shoulders stiffened.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and leaned back. "Oh? And what about it?"
Alistair took a measured sip of his drink before speaking. "You will be attending the Royal School of Arts with Benedict."
I blinked.
Benedict choked.
"What?!" he spluttered, dropping his fork. "You're sending him to my school?"
"Yes," Alistair said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Benedict turned to Louise, but even she looked thrown off by the decision.
"This isn't what we agreed on," Louise said, her voice clipped.
Alistair didn't even look at her. "Things have changed." I watched the silent battle between them, mildly entertained.
Evelyne, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly sighed. "He was supposed to be privately tutored, wasn't he?"
Alistair finally looked at her. "Yes."
"But I refused."
I turned to my mother, curious.
She met my gaze with an amused smile. "You've already spent eight years away from court. If they lock you away with a private tutor, you'll never understand how the people here think, how they act. You need to see it for yourself."
I tilted my head. "And you wanted me to go to a school full of spoiled nobles?"
She reached over and smoothed out a stray lock of my hair. "I want you to learn. You're good at that."
I snorted. "You just want me to terrorize them."
She smirked but said nothing.
Benedict, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to throw his goblet across the room. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice sharp. "He doesn't belong there."
Alistair gave him a look. "He belongs there more than anyone else."
Benedict's jaw clenched, but he knew better than to argue. I, on the other hand, was just wondering how much trouble I could get away with.
[A little later]
Breakfast ended soon after that, and just as I was debating whether I had time for a nap before my new school life began, a knock echoed through the dining hall.
A well-dressed man entered, bowing deeply. He was tall and lean, with neatly combed dark hair and a sharp, no-nonsense expression.
"I have come to collect Their Highnesses for their first day at the Royal School of Arts," he announced. By first day he meant me.
Benedict's scowl deepened.
I sighed. "No rest for the wicked, huh?"
Evelyne reached over and patted my hand. "Play nice."
I gave her a grin. "No promises."
—---
The carriage was luxurious, to no one's surprise.
Polished wood, velvet seats, gold embellishments—it was the kind of unnecessary wealth that would have made my old village lose their minds.
I would've been fine with it if not for the fact that I had to share it with him.
Benedict sat across from me, arms crossed, glaring out the window like he was suffering the greatest injustice in history.
I ignored him. Or at least, I tried to. Unfortunately, Benedict seemed incapable of letting things go.
"I don't care what Father says," he muttered, his voice low and sharp. "Stay out of my way."
I raised an eyebrow. "I haven't even done anything yet." His hands clenched into fists. "And don't try to associate with me."
I let out a mock gasp. "Oh no. Whatever will I do without your companionship?" Benedict's eyes burned with resentment. "You think this is funny?"
I shrugged. "A little bit."
He inhaled sharply, like he was barely holding himself back.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbow on my knee. "I don't get it," I said, tilting my head. "What's your problem with me, really? Is it the fact that I exist, or the fact that I exist better than you?"
Benedict looked like he wanted to throw me out of the moving carriage.
"You're nothing," he spat. "You were raised in a hut—"
"Cottage," I corrected.
"—and you think you can just walk in and take my place?"
I blinked. "Your place?"
Benedict's mouth snapped shut. I grinned. "Ohhh. That's what this is about." He turned away, jaw tight.
I sat back, satisfied. Silence filled the carriage for the rest of the ride.
When we arrived at the school, the sheer size of it nearly made me pause.
The main building loomed ahead, its grand architecture displaying the wealth and prestige that came with it. Intricate stonework, towering spires, banners bearing the royal crest—every detail screamed important people study here.
The gates opened before us, revealing sprawling courtyards, well-maintained gardens, and pathways lined with marble statues of past rulers and scholars.
At the entrance, a line of professors awaited us. Men and women of varying ages and statures stood in their finest academic robes, their expressions carefully neutral.
The moment I stepped out of the carriage, they bowed deeply.
"Your Highness," they greeted in unison.
I blinked. Not used to that. Then Benedict stepped out, and they gave a second, noticeably lesser bow.
Oh.
Oh~~.
I did not miss the way Benedict's face twitched. I smiled. I think I was going to like it here.
=
=
The main quad of the Royal School of Arts was massive, filled with elegantly dressed students gathered in neat formations. The courtyard was surrounded by high arches and polished stone walkways, each lined with ornate pillars.
At the center, a grand marble platform stood, where a man in deep blue robes decorated with shimmering silver embroidery stood tall. His long, flowing beard and the elegant staff he carried made it painfully obvious—he was the Principal.
And judging by the runes glowing faintly on his sleeves, he was also a wizard.
Next to him stood a group of high-ranking professors, their sharp gazes scanning the crowd. Benedict and I stood a few steps behind them, waiting for this grand welcome ceremony to begin.
The moment the principal raised his staff, the murmurs of the students died down, replaced by silence so thick I could feel the tension in the air.
His voice carried with a slight echo, enhanced by magic.
"Students of the Royal School of Arts, today marks an important moment in history!" he declared. "As you all know, this institution has long served as the foundation for the future rulers, ministers, and nobles of our great kingdom. It is where the brightest minds are polished into greatness!"
I bit back a snort. Sure. Let's go with that.
The principal gestured toward me with an almost theatrical motion. "And today, we welcome a new student, one who is not only your peer but your future king! I present to you His Highness, Prince Camden Eldenhart!"
A few scattered claps followed. Barely any.
Instead, most of the noble children looked at me with barely disguised disdain. Others exchanged hushed whispers, their lips curling with amusement or scorn.
I didn't need to hear them to know exactly what they were saying.
"He doesn't belong here."
"Raised in a no-name village? What a joke."
"A peasant playing prince."
"How embarrassing for the royal family."
On the other hand, some of the smarter students were already plotting how to use this situation to their advantage. I could see it in their eyes—the calculating glances, the subtle nods to one another, the way a few of them straightened their backs, probably thinking of the best way to worm their way into my good graces.
It was pathetic.
I had no intention of playing these childish noble games.
I stepped forward and let my gaze sweep over the assembled students, meeting every stare with an unimpressed, almost bored look. When I spoke, my voice was calm, even—but loud enough for all of them to hear.
"If any of you are thinking of approaching me with ulterior motives," I said, "you will regret it."
A few gasps rippled through the crowd.
I tilted my head slightly. "If you're planning on pretending to be my friend just to gain favour, don't bother. If you're thinking of testing me, I suggest you reconsider. And if you believe I care what you think of me..." I let my voice drop slightly, just enough to sound dangerous,
"I don't."
Silence.
The entire student body just stared.
Some of the nobles looked outright offended. Others shifted uncomfortably, realizing that their little games wouldn't work on me. And a few of the smarter ones? They smirked. Finally, someone interesting.
Benedict, standing at my side, clenched his jaw so tightly I thought he might crack a tooth.
The principal, to his credit, did not seem bothered. If anything, he looked amused.
"Well then," he said, his tone smooth, "it seems our new prince knows how to make an entrance."
I shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."
A few of the professors looked at me with disapproval, but I ignored them.
The principal gave me a long, knowing look before finally nodding. "Let us not delay any further. Students, return to your schedules. Your Highness, your first class awaits you."
=======================================================
Author's note: Please a leave a review if you've made it this far. I need feedback
Power stoness!!