RHAEGAR
The guards come in the morning and open the gates of my dungeon.
"For Mereh's sake, Rhaegar, why do you keep doing stupid things, when you know the king will put you in the dungeons, again." Arwen, one of the guards says.
"Exactly, Arwen, I know he will, that's why I like to piss the bastard off. And remembering the god will do you no good." I walk out of the dungeon as he opens it.
"Ayo, cheeky bastard, what up?" A familiar voice booms from three dungeons next to mine. Tyven Valhen.
"Ah, just getting the good 'ol million yew advice from Arwen."
Another guard, Verevin, opens Tyven’s cell and strolls over, throwing an arm around my shoulder.
“Well, I want a million yew.”
Arwen shakes his head, disappointment barely hiding his smirk.
“Don’t you greedy bastards have some classes to attend?” Verevin grumbles, tossing each of us an apple.
“Sure we do, Verevin.” I take a huge bite. “This one’s my breakfast diploma.”
“Then go attend them. Take some knowledge or take a fucking piss, but get out of here.”
Tyven and I exchange a look and walk out snickering. The old guards sigh — the sound of men too tired to care anymore.
“My back’s sore from sleeping on that damn dungeon floor. I’m sure you’re better, Mr. Fit-ass,” Tyven groans.
“Oh yeah, you see, my precious daddy laid a mattress out for me in my luxurious royal dungeon suite.”
We step out into the morning air, the stink of mold and metal giving way to the crisp wind that sweeps across the Viremore grounds.
The prestigious Viremore Academy of the High—where bright-eyed idiots are taught that propaganda is patriotism.
Someone smacks me from behind.
“Kael Sopranos, you dick!” I shout, hitting him back.
“You smell like shit,” Kael laughs. “Coming from the dungeon, eh? A couple hours before first class, please, take a bath.”
I sniff my sleeve and recoil. “Not my finest scent.”
“And, your highness, if I may ask, where have you been?” I mock bow.
“How dare you, peasant! Also, Father wanted me to meet some random Morin.”
Mor officials in Virewyn? That’s unusual.
“What did you do this time?” Kael sighs, already bracing himself.
“Stole frellies from the orchard. About a hundred. Relocated Father’s crown. This and that.”
“Why frellies?” Kael asks, kicking a stone.
“They’re used to greet royals.”
“Morin royals were coming,” Tyven adds helpfully.
“That’s why you guys always top classes after El. Even in rebellion, you know culture and royal affairs like the back of your hand.”
“But still, no Virewyn ever topped the classes. Elara being Eldorian always does,” Tyven says with a curious grin.
My ears perk up. Elara.
Dad doesn’t like her.
She doesn’t like him.
Which makes her perfect.
“Looks like Prince Rhaegar caught some interest in our conversation after Elara was mentioned,” Kael teases. “After all, all you do is stare at her the entire time.”
“It’s to piss Dad off. I mean, look at it—she hates him, he hates her. Imagine the bastard’s face when he finds out we’ve become a thing.”
We reach the royal quarters, the marble gleaming like it’s mocking me.
“Heh, I don’t think so. That’s Miss Don’t-even-think-about-it.”
“Oh, but I already am. Imagine dancing with her at the Veil of Valor Ball—that’ll definitely earn me some looks from the king. Me being the heir and all, the first candidate for the Veil of Valor… why not make disappointment an art form?”
“Whatever, heir. She won’t be impressed if you smell like shit.” He grabs a towel from the rack near the bathroom and tosses it at my face. I catch it with a smirk.
“Who said anything about impressing?”
“I don’t think she’ll be wooed by you just standing there.”
“Oh, you poor innocent boy. I’m talking about a contract—a fake courtship. Besides, I have no plans to settle down with the princess.”
Kael shakes his head in disapproval and walks away.
I take a quick bath, washing the mud and hay from my hair, then pull on a fresh tunic and combat pants.
When I step out, Kael and Tyven are already playing with Alina, my five-year-old cousin.
She runs up and hugs my leg. “Good morning, Prince Rhaegal,” she chirps.
“Good morning, Princess Alina. Also, it’s Rhaegar, not Rhaegal.” I pat her head.
She giggles, a sound too pure for this family.
I look up and spot Elara near a distant oak tree, reading. Her chocolate hair flutters in the wind, almost blending with the bark. She’s wearing white today—white suits her. A random kid offers her a lavender; she tucks it into her loose bun, smiling softly. She looks like peace dressed in rebellion.
I snap back to reality, practically feeling Kael and Tyven smirking.
“Boy, aren’t you down bad for her,” Kael says.
“Shut up. Alina, just ignore them.”
“Alina, do you know Princess Elara?” Tyven crouches down to her height.
“Yes! She gave me chocolate today. She’s pretty too.”
“Aww, you see, sweetie, Rhae was just curious.”
Insufferable bastard, I mouth, since I can’t swear in front of a kid.
“C’mon, we’re late for class,” Kael laughs.
