The bells of Arindor Palace rang at dawn, echoing across the marble halls. To the court, their song was glorious—a call to order, tradition, and power. To me, it sounded like a prison door slamming shut.
I was Kael, son of King Aldren, heir to the throne of Arindor. At least, that's what everyone liked to remind me of every waking moment.
To them, being prince was the highest blessing a man could be born with. But to me? It felt like a curse.
The servants bowed as I passed, but I could see the envy in their eyes. The nobles showered me with praise, but I could hear the calculation behind their words. My life had been charted out since birth, yet not once had anyone asked me what *I* wanted.
The truth? I never dreamed of ruling. I dreamed of escaping.
Freedom—that was the only crown I desired.
"Your Highness, the council awaits," said Master Orell, my ever-stern tutor. His voice was sharp enough to cut stone, his frown even sharper.
"They always await," I muttered under my breath.
"Speak louder, Prince Kael. A ruler's voice must carry."
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I adjusted the silver clasp of my cloak and trudged toward the council chamber. My footsteps echoed against the polished floor, as if the palace itself mocked me.
The chamber doors loomed tall, carved with the kingdom's crest—two lions guarding a crown. The irony made me smirk. Even stone beasts had a choice: they could look fierce or look away. I, however, had only one
Inside, the council sat around a long table. Old men with heavier rings than sense, their robes smelling of parchment and incense. My father sat at the head, his crown gleaming in the morning light. His gaze landed on me the way a hawk fixes on prey.
"Late again," he said. Not a question, not even anger—just a statement, colder than ice.
I bowed slightly. "My apologies, Father. I was… delayed."
A scoff escaped Lord Verdan, the oldest councilor. "A prince should never be delayed. The kingdom waits for no man, even if he bears royal blood."
I clenched my fists under the table. How I longed to tell him the kingdom could very well wait, for all I cared. But I bit my tongue. My father's silence was punishment enough.
The council droned on—taxes, trade disputes, border skirmishes. Words piled on words, none of them mine. My thoughts drifted, as they always did, to the city beyond the palace gates.
The streets of Arindor were alive at this hour: merchants shouting prices, children chasing each other between stalls, bakers pulling fresh loaves from the oven. That was life. Real life.
Not this suffocating room filled with men too old to change, yet too stubborn to step aside.
"Prince Kael," Lord Verdan's voice jolted me back. "What is your judgment on the matter of grain tariffs?"
Judgment. They always used that word as if my answer carried weight. Yet I knew, no matter what I said, they would twist it, mock it, or simply ignore it.
"My judgment," I said slowly, "is that a full belly makes for loyal subjects."
The council chuckled. My father did not.
When the meeting ended, I slipped away before anyone could corner me with more lectures. I found myself wandering through the eastern corridor, the one lined with tall windows overlooking the city.
Arindor sprawled beneath the morning sun, its rooftops golden, its streets busy with life. From here, the people looked like ants—yet I envied them. Each of them had choices, even if they were small ones. What bread to eat. Which path to take home. Whom to love.
My choices had been stolen before I was old enough to understand what choosing meant.
"Your Highness," a voice interrupted my thoughts.
It was Lira, my handmaiden, though she felt more like the only friend I had. Her hazel eyes studied me with quiet concern. "You look like a caged bird again."
"That's because I am," I said, letting out a dry laugh.
"You could fly, if you dared."
I turned to her. "And where would I fly, Lira? The world knows my face. Even in rags, I would be recognized."
She smiled faintly. "Not if you wore the right mask."
Her words struck me harder than I expected. A mask. A disguise. Could it really be that simple?
---
That night, I stood by my window, staring at the moonlit city. For the first time in years, I didn't feel only despair. I felt something else—a spark.
Perhaps I couldn't abandon the throne entirely. But perhaps… I could steal pieces of freedom when no one was watching.
Perhaps the prince could disappear, and someone else could walk the streets of Arindor, unknown and unburdened.
I didn't know yet what mask I would wear, or what dangers lurked beyond the palace walls. But I knew this much:
I was done waiting for freedom to find me.
I was going to take it for myself.
And that single thought, reckless as it was, changed everything.
The throne would not let me go so easily.
And soon, I would learn that the crown I rejected… might be the very thing that would refuse to reject me.