Purchased Prince

1: Elliot

1: Elliot

His father told him nothing of the attempts in Floren. He was not allowed in the war rooms. The soldiers going quiet as he passed through the corridors of the castle. He was not told of their vaults - dwindling of grain and gold. He was not told of the people suffering outside of the royal walls. His bed was always laced with furs and throws. His plates always filled with meat and fruits. His glasses always graced with soft golden cider. The servants barely spoke to him and when he asked why they looked so pale and frail in the new months, they ran him a bath and washed away his worries for him. No one told him anything.

But Elliot was not a fool. He was young and petulant. A barricaded child in a gilded cage, told to be grateful for the crown that sat on his head but even he could sense that war was on the horizon.

His father was never at meals and his mother sat and knitted by the fire, her hands trembling under the lamplight. Then winter came and Kaden was swept under it's thickest layers of snow. The only sounds in the air the battering of the storm against the windows and the howling of the wolves that trekked through the forest at night - he knew something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones. As one feels the flu coming on. A sniffle here. A sore throat there. And suddenly he's bedridden.

That spring, when Winter warmed, and the snow thinned in layers. When his fever finally broke. He awakened to the castle horribly emptier than it had been for years. The knights who stood guard at each door were now only placed at the main ones. His servants were replaced with young girls instead of the experienced ladies he'd become accustomed too.

One evening, when they're washing him down and rubbing rose scented oils into his hair he asked the youngest of them, "Are we at war?" The words were soft and faint but the girl still stiffened.

She gulped and looked at her comrades. "N-no, my prince." She grabbed a washcloth and gently shifted it down his arm.

He watched the movement of her hands, feeling all the worth of precious ruby being shined. Useful only in appearances. A prince uninvolved in politics. He's quiet for the rest of the night.

The next morning, his mother was crying at the breakfast table and his father was missing completely. There were no servants waiting on them. He rushed to her side, "What's wrong? What's happened?"

She shaked her head and sniffled. He gripped her forearm, "Tell me!" He's too loud and too fierce. Her cries only magnified. He let her go, feeling helpless. Before bringing her into his arms where she wailed until evening.

His father was absent for two more days before returning in bloodied battle armour. A horrid scar lining the left side of his face. Elliot waited for him in the King's chambers as he was washed and his wounds treated.

His father limped into the bedroom, looking haggard and aged. Eliot stood at the foot of the bed, a thousand questions on his lips. A barrel of fear in his chest for he knew all the answers to them. A jester would be a able to deduce them. Instead, he asked the only question that mattered.

"Why have you not involved me in this?" His voice was an accusation.

His father sighed, thumping into a seat before the fire. "You are a child."

"I am of age. I'm seventeen. You were king at fifteen. I deserve-"

"You deserve to tend to your mother and behave. You know nothing of war."

"Isn't it high time I learnt? I'm the crown prince!"

"You will have your time."

Elliot sighed, tugging at his hair. "When? When news arrives that you've been slain on the battlefield. Or will my generals still run from me then as they have through these walls. As if I'm an infant. Do you have any idea how that looks. That the prince knows nothing of what is occuring. The servants know more than me. Even mother-"