I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia.
This morning started the same as most of my days do. I hear the gentle voice of Lady Willow calling me to wake. "Good morning young master, time for breakfast." she says. I slowly open my eyes and see her beautiful face and charming smile looking down at me as she sits on the side of my bed. She always wakes before me and prepares my breakfast before waking me. I smile and sit for a moment taking in the charitable angle of Lady Willow before sitting up.
This is a pretty good way to wake up.
"Good morning," I mumble through a yawn, stretching my arms above my head.
I eagerly dressed myself and skipped down the spiral staircase to the second floor of the tower where Lady Willow had placed breakfast on the large dining table. Ordinarily I would find it depressing to be eating breakfast with lady willow, filling only 2 seats at a table made to sit 20.
Why do we even have a table this size when we both know I will never be having company.
However, today is going to be different. Today is going to be exciting and new. Today Lady Willow is finally going to let me leave the castle with her. She never let me leave the castle before, "for my own safety" she'd say. On more than one occasion, I've made a run for it, dashing out of the tower door and sprinting through the long halls of the castle like a bird that's just discovered its wings. But it never lasted. It's impossible to outrun someone with inhuman speed and an uncanny ability to know where I am at all times.
I excitedly scarfed down my plate of sausage, eggs and toast. I know we aren't leaving until later, but I can't help rushing through my routine, as if moving faster will somehow make the time pass more quickly. Sitting beside me with her usual regal posture is Lady Willow, observing me with an amused smile. As always, she's immaculate, her gown unwrinkled, her silver hair perfectly in place. She watches me eat with a look of quiet satisfaction, though I've never once seen her eat anything herself.
I assume the Fae don't eat human food.
"Thank you for breakfast, Willow!" I say, pushing my empty plate back and hopping to my feet.
"Of course, young master," she replies with a small nod, her voice as smooth as the notes of a harp.
Her cooking is shockingly good for someone who doesn't eat food.
"You are very welcome," she continues, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Now, please begin your studies. You'll have less time today due to our errands later, but that is no excuse to slack off."
"Yes ma'am" I said as I downed a glass of water and rushed down the staircase to the first-floor workshop.
The first floor is one very large circular room with the spiral staircase in the center. Every inch of the walls is lined with shelves stuffed to bursting with books, thousands of them, stacked not just on the shelves but also in haphazard piles on the floor. The workshop's furniture is an eclectic collection of tables, chairs, couches, and cabinets, each seemingly plucked from a different time and place. There's no rhyme or reason to their placement; it's as if someone simply dropped them into the room at random and left them there. On the tables and desks are even more books, along with magical tools, odd bits of equipment, and crafting materials. At first glance, it looks like complete chaos, because it is.
Good job, well spotted.
The cluttered nature of my workshop is a direct result of Lady Willow's tireless efforts to tutor me across an overwhelming variety of topics and disciplines. Magic, alchemy, history, anatomy, and even military strategy, each subject has claimed its own corner of this chaotic room. The various tables scattered about the space are like islands in a sea of knowledge, each dedicated to a different field of study or experiment. Much like my education, the workshop is a work in progress.
I cross the room to one of the couches. Resting on the old, faded couch is my wooden ren sized puppet, sitting motionless with its limbs slightly askew. I kneel beside it and place my hand over its chest, my palm pressing against the cool, polished wood. Taking a deep breath, I focus my mind on the spell Lady Willow painstakingly taught me, the mind transfer enchantment.
The incantation is silent, spoken only in the language of thought. A pale blue light begins to flow from my hand, swirling like a warm, steady breeze of concentrated mana. I feel the familiar pull as the magic anchors to the puppet's core, connecting us.
The moment the spell completes, the puppet's head lifts. Its blank face tilts toward me, and though it has no eyes, I feel its awareness.
At the same time, a heavy wave of fatigue hits me. This spell is the most advanced spell I've learned, and it requires a great deal of my limited mana supply. The puppet starts shifting its weight and moving its limbs as though checking its range of movement.
"Good?" I ask rhetorically as I take my seat beside him.
The puppet silently nodded in affirmation as it accepted the large, leather-bound book I handed it, titled Ancient Farming Methods. Meanwhile, I picked up my own book, Medical Herbology, which I'd left on a side table the night before. Both of our books bore bookmarks at our respective stopping points. We settled into our routine, reading at a steady pace.
I know my ability to read and absorb information so quickly is far beyond what's normal for a child of my age. Lady Willow has commented on it more than once.
"Your ability to absorb and remember information is rare among your people," she's said with a wry smile, her tone lightly teasing. By "your people," of course, she means humans. It's one of her humorous habits, casually dropping the pretense of being human when it's just the two of us.
But my rapid learning isn't purely natural talent. Lady Willow regularly enhances my mind with magic. Each morning, long before I wake, she casts two spells on me: Thought Acceleration and Advanced Recall. These are spells designed to sharpen focus, increase memory retention, and quicken the processing of complex information. They're common spells, often used by scholars preparing for exams or by mages engaging in intense research, but their effects are heavily dependent on the magical capacity of the caster.
And Lady Willow is anything but average. I don't know exactly how powerful she is, but I suspect her magic operates on a level far beyond that of most mages in Arcadia. Her version of these spells doesn't just last for a few hours; they last the entire day, seamlessly woven into my waking life.
The truth is, I've lived under their influence for so long that I've forgotten what it feels like to think at an unenhanced speed.
As I read about the precise methods for preparing different potions using specific combinations of herbs, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. The text was methodical, overly detailed, and to be honest, dreadfully dry. Lady Willow had already guided me through the actual process of mixing these potions, step by meticulous step. I had measured, chopped, boiled, and stirred under her watchful eye until the techniques were burned into my memory.
So why keep reading? Because I'm a completionist. Leaving a book unfinished feels like leaving a door half-closed, an itch I can't ignore.
Still, as my eyes moved across the carefully inked diagrams of herb combinations and potion grades, a significant part of my brain was already elsewhere. Specifically, it was imagining what lay beyond the tower's windows.
Lady Willow and I have spent several days mixing healing potions using herbs she had collected out in the nearby countryside. We had managed to produce 100 small vials of green healing potions and 50 small yellow grade 5 poison curing potions.
All of these were now packed securely in Lady Willow's magical storage bag. The bag was one of her most fascinating tools. Though it appeared to be an ordinary leather satchel, it could hold far more than its modest size suggested. It was enchanted to negate the weight of its contents entirely, which made it invaluable for transporting large quantities of goods.
Her plan is for us to take those potions and sell them at the local apothecary. I'd asked why we were selling potions in the first place. After all, Lady Willow was a Fae of immense power, SURELY she didn't need coin. She had explained it with her usual mix of practicality and sharp insight.
"I DON'T need coin to survive, but YOU… certainly do." she said with a slightly dark expression behind her sweet smile. "Your dear father cut you off from the royal family's coffers and left you to fend for yourself."
Father of the century right there…
"If you are going to survive the politics of noble society you are going to need money." Willow continued." A lot of it."
My father's actions weren't neglect, they were strategic. He wanted to make sure that I never gained any kind of political power or influence. Leaving me penniless and failing to acknowledge me publicly are his way of ensuring that.
According to Willow and her thousands of years of experience, selling these potions is the most effective way for us to leverage our skills and time to build wealth and influence. In her words, "money will provide options for building allies, and allies provide safety."
Everything for my safety, she really does have a one-track mind.
I was lost in those thoughts when I heard her familiar footsteps approaching. I looked up to see Lady Willow standing at the base of the staircase, her blue cloak draped gracefully over her shoulders and the magical bag hanging at her side. She carried herself with her usual calm, every movement deliberate and composed.
"Ready yourself, young master," she said, her voice light and relaxed. "It's nearly time."
My puppet and I simultaneously closed our books, marking our places for tomorrow's studies. I took the puppet's book from its hands and carefully placed both volumes onto the side table. A moment later, the enchantment ended, and the puppet slumped over on the couch. At that same time I feel my mind filled with the memories of everything my puppet had spent the last few hours reading. I can now clearly recall a mind-numbing multitude of ancient, non-magical farming techniques.
"Ren?" Lady Willow's voice called from the door.
"On my way Lady Willow." I said as I rushed to collect my traveling cloak and join Lady Willow at the door.
She held the door open for me, her elegant figure framed by the faint light filtering in from the hallway. This was it. For the first time, I was stepping out of the tower not as a sneaky escape attempt, but with purpose and permission.
Together, we exited into the west wing of the castle. We walked down the long stone hallways, passing various rooms, several turns and down two staircases toward the castle entrance. Along the way we pass by the maid's quarters, and I glanced in. Their quarters were quite sparse with uncomfortable looking cots.
This is how my family's servants live?
We continued down the hall, and my eyes were drawn to two figures ahead of us. They were elf maids, both young women, carrying bundles of freshly laundered linens. They appeared tired and thin, suggesting long days with little food or rest. As we passed, they stopped and immediately lowered their eyes to the floor, avoiding our gaze.
The metal slave collars around their necks clearly stood out. Thick bands of dull metal encircled their necks, enchanted with cruel magic. These collars weren't just symbols of servitude, they were tools of oppression. The enchantments prevented the wearer from using magic, ensuring they never had the means to resist. They are also designed to cause pain or even kill the wearer if they disobeyed their owners.
As if that weren't enough, the collars were intentionally large and heavy, designed to ensure discomfort at all times. The two maid's necks showed irritation of the skin of their necks where they are rubbed by the collars.
My stomach churned with disgust. "This is what my family allows." I thought bitterly.
I hate that my family treats people so cruelly. I have been aware from my reading that slavery is common in Arcadia, but this is the first time I've seen it up close, and it sickens me. We have no right to strip these people of their freedom and dignity.
I also couldn't help but notice that our tower is in the same wing that is relegated to servants' quarters, laundry cleaning rooms, and storage rooms. Our tower is tucked away in the same place they put all the things in the castle the nobles don't want to see.
We stepped into the great hall leading to the castle courtyard, the sound of laughter echoing off the stone walls. Ahead, my brother Charles and his friends, Eric, Yuri, and Nathan, burst into the hall. As Prince Charles spotted us, his laughter faltered. His bright eyes fixed on me, his stride slowing until he came to a complete stop. His friends, caught in the momentum, ran several steps further before realizing he wasn't with them. They turned, confusion flickering across their young faces.
Charles stared at me, his brow furrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle. I froze under his gaze. It was strange, seeing him up close for the first time. My own brother, yet he looked at me as though I were a stranger.
"Who are you?" Charles demanded, his six-year-old voice sharp and commanding despite its high pitch.
"I am Ren… Drakemore" I said with a bit of hesitation.
Of course, he probably doesn't even know he has a brother. There is no way he'll accept this.
"Drakemore?" Said 7-year-old Eric, turning to a very confused looking Charles. "You have a brother?"
"That's a lie! You're a liar!" Charles roared "I don't have a brother!"
He is about as emotionally stable as you would expect from a 6-year-old.
"Then who are you really?" Yuri chimed in.
"An imposter… or an intruder!" Charles shouted, his voice rising to a shrill pitch. "Guards! Guards!"
Yeah, I called it.
Two guards stationed at the castle entrance hurried into the hall, responding to Charles's frantic cries. Lady Willow stood calm and composed, watching them approach, while my heart pounded against my ribs. I had no idea how to prove who I was to someone who didn't even know I existed.
"What's the problem, Lady Willow?" one of the guards asked, glancing between Charles and us with a puzzled expression.
So, he clearly knows who Lady Willow is. So, he must know we are not intruders.
"Remove these intruders now!" Charles demanded, his small frame trembling with rage.
"Intruders?" The guard frowned and turned to Lady Willow, seeking clarification. "Lady Willow?"
Lady Willow regarded the scene with a serene air, her expression. "It seems the young prince doesn't recognize me or his brother, Prince Ren," she said, her voice calm and measured. Her piercing blue eyes locked onto the guard's, and for a brief moment, they seemed to shimmer faintly, almost glowing.
The guard's expression slackened as he met her gaze. He blinked, then turned to Charles. "Yes, young master, this is your brother, Prince Ren," he said with certainty.
Charles gawked at the guard, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "That's not true!" he shrieked, his fury unchecked. "He's an imposter! You're letting them get away!"
Ignoring the tantrum erupting behind us, Lady Willow gestured for me to continue walking. The guards remained behind, attempting to placate the irate six-year-old prince, who was adamantly refusing to accept their explanation. His cries of protest echoed through the hall, but Lady Willow's unwavering composure was a cure for my frayed nerves.
As we stepped into the courtyard, the chaos behind us gradually faded into the background. I glanced at Lady Willow, who met my gaze with a knowing smile, her calm demeanor unshaken. Whatever enchantment she'd used to sway the guard; it had worked flawlessly.
The guard had clearly recognized her, perhaps even known who I was. It's possible he assumed I was a child of a royal concubine. I think that Lady Willow had cast her spell out of precaution. Maybe it was simply a habit, her nature as a Fae making such manipulations second nature to her.
Perhaps she should have used it on my brother.
The castle courtyard was even more breathtaking up close than it had ever seemed from my window. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air, and the intricate carvings of the Fae shrine nestled beneath the canopy of a cherry blossom tree came into vivid focus. As I walk beside Lady Willow my eyes scan the area trying to take it all in. I'd love to look around the courtyard but I am even more excited to finally see what is outside the castle.
The curiosity over what may lie outside these walls gives me the urge to run ahead but I restrain myself. What is this kingdom like? I'm dying to know.
Exiting the castle, we stepped onto a wide cobblestone road lined with grand, elegant manors. Each was unique in design, with sprawling, well-tended gardens and intricate stonework that spoke of wealth and prestige. For a moment, I was struck by the sheer display of prosperity. Many of the homes had their own stables, and carriages.
At first glance, it was an impressive sight. But as my gaze lingered, I noticed more details that tempered my awe. Among the gardeners trimming hedges and the figures hanging linens to dry, many were clearly slaves. They are a mixture of non-human races and they all wore slave collars and expressions of sorrow.
slavery is not only accepted but entrenched in the culture of Arcadia's nobility.
"These homes belong to the kingdom's nobles who hold minor titles but have not been granted lands to manage," Lady Willow explained, her calm voice cutting through my thoughts. She had noticed my scrutiny of the manors.
The line of manors led to a wall and a large gate, with a guard house manned by two guards. Stepping outside the gate was like stepping into another world. Bright colors gave way to dull, dingy tones and the smell of filth. The homes that lined these streets are simple, closely packed 3 story structures that appeared to house several families in very humble conditions. refuse and human waste littered the street.
Far worse than the visible signs of poverty were the desperate conditions of the people themselves. In the narrow alleyways between dilapidated apartments, thin, dirty, and sickly figures huddled in the shadows or lay motionless in the grime. These were the truly destitute—the ones who couldn't even afford the meager shelter the others called home.
As we walked, we passed people wrapped in ragged, threadbare clothing, sitting on the streets with their backs against cold stone walls. Some held out chipped wooden bowls or rusted tin cups, their hollow eyes silently pleading for mercy. Their despair was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on the air.
My heart ached at the sight of their suffering. A pang of guilt twisted in my chest, sharp and unforgiving. How often had I lamented my own fate? How many times had I cursed my solitude, my lack of freedom? Yet compared to these poor souls, my life was a paradise. I had never gone without food. I had never faced a night without a roof over my head. What right did I have to complain when I had been spared the depths of this misery?
We came upon a man slumped against the wall of a group home, his face ashen and drenched in sweat. Blood seeped through the crude bandages wrapped haphazardly around his torso, the filthy fabric stained and discolored. The stench of infection hung in the air, mingling with the filth of the street. His breathing was shallow, and his glazed eyes stared at nothing, a testament to the agony he endured.
I stopped, frozen by the sight. He was clearly delirious, likely from blood loss and untreated wounds. How long had he been like this? How many others were suffering just as he was, invisible to those who could help?
"Lady Willow, wait," I said, my gaze fixed on the heartbreaking sight before me. "Hand me one of the potions, please."
I couldn't just walk by and let this man die when I had the power to save him.
"Young master," Lady Willow began, her tone measured as she reached into her bag, "we don't have enough potions to heal them all. And you still need some to sell."
"We can spare a few," I insisted, determination hardening my voice. "I can't just walk away… these people need help."
Lady Willow sighed but complied, pulling out five potions. She handed me one, her expression a mix of resignation and curiosity. I knelt beside the injured man, his chest barely rising with shallow breaths.
"Here, sir. This is a healing potion," I said, holding the bottle out to him.
The man didn't react. His eyes remained unfocused, his body too weak to respond. Gritting my teeth, I uncorked the potion and gently pressed the bottle to his cracked lips, tilting it so the liquid could flow into his mouth.
A faint green glow enveloped him as the potion took effect. His wounds knitted together instantly, the filthy, blood-soaked bandages now unnecessary. His dull, distant eyes sharpened, and his breathing steadied.
"What… what happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse but lucid.
"I gave you a potion. You're healed," I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Do you feel okay?"
The man looked down at his torso, his hands brushing over the places where his injuries had been. Disbelief spread across his face. "I… I was a servant at Lord Hurlbert's estate," he stammered, "but I was accused of stealing from him. He had me beaten and thrown out into the streets."
He stood slowly, testing his legs before extending a dirt-streaked hand to me. I rose to meet him, clasping his hand in mine.
"You healed me! Thank you!" he said, his voice loud with emotion, drawing the attention of the people nearby.
"Do I… owe you for this?" he added hesitantly, his voice trembling with worry. It was clear he feared I might demand payment or force him into servitude to repay his debt.
"It's free, sir," I said, feeling a twinge of nervousness as the growing crowd began murmuring around us. "I'm just glad you're okay."
The man's gratitude spilled over. "What is your name, kind sir?"
"I'm Ren," I said sheepishly, deliberately omitting my last name in the hope of avoiding too much attention.
"Second Prince of Arcadia," Lady Willow added with a wide, amused smile.
Not helping!
"Thank you, Prince Ren," the man said, dropping into a bow. "You saved my life!"
"My pleasure. Now, I think we should g…" I started, but a woman's voice cut me off.
"Please heal me too, good prince," she pleaded.
Before I could respond, more voices joined hers—five, ten, perhaps even more—all stretching out hands, begging for healing. I looked around in alarm as Lady Willow sighed and began fishing more potions out of her bag, handing them to the eager crowd.
"I'd usually prefer to make a trade," she muttered, her tone dry.
"No, you will not," I shot back, exasperation clear in my voice as the crowd swelled around us. Voices overlapped—thanks, praises, and desperate pleas—and I was rapidly losing control of the situation.
I spared a glance at Lady Willow, who handed out potions with a bemused expression.
I might need to keep an eye on Lady Willow, or she might "help" someone to death.
By the time we managed to break away, half our supply of healing potions was gone. The crowd's praises rang in my ears as we walked off, their cries of "Kind Prince Ren!" and "Generous Prince Ren!" echoing down the street. Thankfully, the ingrained habit of not blocking the path of nobles worked in our favor, allowing us to extricate ourselves with minimal trouble.
Still, we had made quite the scene.
After we had put some distance between ourselves and the commotion, Lady Willow turned to me, her voice calm but without a hint of concern. "You okay, young master?" she asked, her perceptive gaze seemingly aware of my inner turmoil.
"I'm fine," I lied, the words hollow even to my ears. In truth, the sight of the commons had unsettled me to my core. "Why do they live like this?" I asked, the question heavy with frustration and disbelief. If you could even call this living.
"These are the people your father has forsaken," Willow said softly as we walked. "The common folk make up ninety-five percent of the kingdom, yet they wallow in severe poverty while noble society thrives in excess."
Her words stung, and I clenched my fists as we continued down the cobblestone road.
"There are many reasons for this," she continued, her tone measured but tinged with quiet anger. "For one, the king restricts access to the magic academy to nobles and only to humans. Learning magic, even at the most basic level, opens doors to countless opportunities for making a living. By denying it to the commoners, the kingdom effectively keeps them trapped."
We exited the commons and entered the bustling market street. The contrast was stark. The road was lined with colorful storefronts, lively stalls, and inviting restaurants. The air smelled of fresh bread and roasted meats, a sharp departure from the acrid scent of the commons. The market bustled with both commoners and nobles, though it was clear the latter held dominion here. It was cleaner, brighter, and in far better condition.
"So by restricting access to magic," I said, piecing it together, "the kingdom denies ninety-five percent of its population the chance at good jobs. But even if someone doesn't have magical talent, surely there are other skills they could learn?"
Lady Willow gave me a small, ironic smile. "The kingdom doesn't see the need to pay commoners for labor."
"Why not?" I asked, puzzled.
Lady Willow came to a stop, her expression unreadable as she gestured toward a stage between two storefronts. My gaze followed her hand, and my breath caught.
Beside the stage were two large iron cages, crammed with men and women of various non-human races. Upon the stage stood a rabbit beastkin woman, her head bowed, her shoulders slumped under the weight of despair. She was thin, her frail frame barely hidden by the rough gray tunic she wore. A handler stood beside her, loudly calling out bids to an audience of nobles.
"Slavery…" I whispered, the word leaving my lips like a curse.
I stared at the scene, my chest tightening as the pieces fell into place. "The kingdom doesn't bother providing education or jobs because they have all the free labor they need."
Lady Willow said nothing, letting the truth sink in. My stomach churned with a mix of anger and shame. For so long, I'd thought my solitude, and my confinement were the height of suffering. But now…
This kingdom, my kingdom, was built on the broken backs of the weak. Its foundation wasn't noble ideals or prosperity for all. It was suffering. Oppression. Exploitation. A rot ran through the heart of Arcadia, starting from the very top.
"Slavery is the cornerstone of Arcadia's social and economic order," Lady Willow said, her gaze steady as she looked at me. "If you ever hope to change that, you'd need to become king."
I froze, her words striking a chord deep within me.
Had she planned this? She didn't need me to sell potions. Did she deliberately lead me here, knowing I would see these horrors? Did she anticipate that witnessing the reality of poverty and slavery would ignite something in me?
Maybe she did. Maybe it doesn't matter.
The result was the same. My mind is clear now, my purpose crystallized. I am not just going to survive. I am not going to accept my exile, my father's hatred, or this kingdom's injustice. I am going to become king.
We continued down the cobblestone street, the apothecary now coming into view. The building was striking—a large alabaster structure gleaming in the sunlight, its ornate stonework and statues of angels seemingly extending a silent invitation to passersby. The two massive doors at the entrance loomed grandly, their gilded frames catching the light. Even from this distance, it was clear that this establishment catered exclusively to the nobility.
"If I did want to become king one day…, how could I?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended, the weight of the question settling on my shoulders.
Lady Willow glanced at me; her expression unreadable. "The throne is not passed down by blood, Ren. In Arcadia, the crown is won by merit. Any mage who gains the support of four noble houses may challenge the reigning king in combat."
"So… I would have to defeat my father in a duel?" I asked, trying to imagine standing face-to-face with the man who had condemned me to isolation.
Willow nodded but added, "Before you even consider challenging your father, you would need allies among the nobility. More importantly, you would need to become far stronger."
She stopped and turned to face me fully, her piercing gaze unwavering. "The reality is, the only way to ensure your safety, and to help the people of this kingdom, is for you to become king," she said, her voice carrying the weight of certainty.
Her words lingered in the air, undeniable and absolute. Suddenly, everything seemed to fall into place. I understood now. This had been Willow's plan all along. Every lesson, every trial, every push to hone my skills, it was all part of her design to prepare me for the throne. She had been guiding me toward this moment, ensuring I would one day have the strength, resources, and conviction to claim the crown.
That's why she had brought me here today. She didn't need me to sell potions. She wanted me to see the suffering, the injustice, and the corruption that defined Arcadia under my father's reign. Not because she cared for these people or despised slavery, no, her concern wasn't for them. It was for me. Her motivation had always been my survival.
And yet, her reasons didn't matter.
After what I had seen, after witnessing the pain and injustice inflicted by my own family for their profit and power, I didn't need Willow to push me toward this goal. I knew, deep in my soul, that it was the right path.
I must become king.
How I would achieve it, I didn't yet know. The task ahead seemed insurmountable, but I had taken my first steps. For now, all I could do was focus on what lay before me: growing stronger and building the resources and alliances I would need to change this kingdom.