Life in Briveton soon became routine for Whillam. He woke up before sunrise, fetched water from the well, and helped Marcus in the smithy. His arms grew stronger, his hands rougher. Each day, he learned something new about the life of common people—how they worked, how they struggled, and how they laughed even when they had little.
But one thing was still missing: love.
One afternoon, Marcus invited Whillam to join him at the village square, where the townsfolk gathered for music and dancing. Lanterns hung from wooden poles, and the sweet smell of roasted corn filled the air. Whillam, dressed in a plain brown shirt, looked around nervously. This was his chance to meet women as an ordinary man.
That was when he saw her—Lucy.
She was sitting with a group of friends near the fountain, her laughter light and musical. Her dark hair shimmered in the lamplight, and her green eyes sparkled with life. Whillam felt his heart race. For the first time since leaving the castle, he wanted to speak to someone not as a prince, but as himself.
With slow steps, he approached her. "Good evening," he said, his voice gentle. "Would you like to dance?"
Lucy gave him a quick glance. At first, she smiled politely, but her eyes shifted down to his rough clothes and dusty boots. Her smile faded.
"I don't think so," she said flatly, turning back to her friends.
Whillam felt heat rise to his face. "Please," he tried again, "I may not look like much, but I promise I'll make the dance worth your while."
This time, Lucy laughed—not kindly, but mockingly. Her friends joined in.
"You? Worth my while? Look at yourself! You're just a poor helper boy from Marcus's shop. I'd rather wait for someone better."
The words cut deeper than any blade. For the first time in his life, Whillam was not rejected as a prince, but as a man without wealth. He bowed his head slightly and stepped back.
Marcus, who had been watching from a distance, put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't take it to heart," he said softly. "Lucy is beautiful, yes, but she has a heart that only sees gold. You deserve better than that."
Whillam forced a smile, but inside, he was broken. He had thought disguising himself as a commoner would reveal the truth about people's hearts. Instead, it showed him that rejection was far more painful when it was personal.
That night, he lay awake in his small bed, staring at the ceiling. He whispered to himself, "If she cannot love me without riches, then she was never meant for me. But still… does true love even exist?"
As the moonlight streamed through the window, Whillam tightened his resolve. This was only the beginning of his journey. If Lucy had rejected him, then perhaps someone else—somewhere—would see the man he truly was.
And with that thought, he drifted into restless sleep, unaware that fate was already weaving a new path for him.