I am Ren Drakemore, age 5, and I am the unwanted second prince of the kingdom of Arcadia. But one day, I will be King.
Lady Willow and I continued down the cobblestone road toward the apothecary. The building was only a few storefronts away when, to my surprise, Willow abruptly turned right, heading toward a massive, opulent structure.
The building was overwhelming in its grandeur, resembling a cathedral with its towering spires, intricate carvings, and gilded adornments. Every inch seemed to scream wealth and power. Above the entrance, a large marble sign inlaid with gold declared in bold letters: Merchant's Guild.
"Before we can sell our potions, I need to register with the Merchant's Guild," Willow explained. "Registration is a requirement for conducting any business in the kingdom."
I nodded, though I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer extravagance of the place. It seemed excessive, another reminder of the stark divide between Arcadia's nobles and commoners.
We stepped through the massive double doors into an expansive hall. The cool marble floors gleam under the light of a giant crystal chandelier, and the air carries the faint scent of polished stone and ink. Despite the building's grandeur, the hall was mostly empty, save for a few merchants and nobles seated along the outer edges. They sat at large, ornate tables, engaged in negotiations, signing contracts under the watchful eyes of guild attendants. These attendants, clad in sharp black uniforms, served as both witnesses and certifiers of deals struck within the guild's walls.
Willow led me to the far end of the hall, where a service counter waited. Behind it stood a surly-looking attendant, his sharp features set in a permanent scowl. As we approached, his eyes flicked over us with poorly concealed annoyance.
"What do you want?" he asked, his tone curt.
Willow remained unfazed by his rudeness. "I wish to register," she said simply, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to his impatience.
Only she is registering because I am not old enough.
The attendant handed Lady Willow a form with a curt, "Fill this out." Without a word, Willow began completing the paperwork. I glanced over her shoulder, noting the form asked for basic information like her name, the products she intended to sell, and where she planned to sell them. The process seemed routine until the attendant plopped a hefty book onto the counter, its cover emblazoned with the title: Merchant Guild Rules.
"The registration fee is five silver coins," the attendant said briskly. "Also, by signing this form, you agree to follow all guild rules outlined in this manual."
"Understood," Lady Willow replied, accepting the book with one hand while retrieving coin from her storage bag with the other.
"Oh, and the manual costs ten silver coins," the attendant added with a smirk.
They charge you to read the rules they're forcing you to follow. What a scam!
"So, fifteen coins, then," Willow said calmly, placing the coins on the counter without so much as a flicker of annoyance.
The attendant quickly counted the coins before retrieving a blank metal card from beneath the counter. He placed it into a black box, which emitted a small flash of light. When the card emerged, it now bore Lady Willow's name, her home guild, registration number, and business type: Retail Sales.
Willow accepted the card and the rules manual and tucked them neatly into her bag, but before we could leave, the sound of approaching footsteps drew our attention.
"Lady Willow, what an unexpected surprise," came a booming, self-important voice.
Turning, I saw a large, corpulent man striding toward us, his robes lavishly embellished with embroidery and jewels. He carried himself with the arrogance of nobility, his expression twisted into a sneer as his gaze flicked to me.
"I didn't ever expect to see you or that boy outside the castle," he continued, his tone dripping with disdain.
I have no idea who this pompous noble is, but it is clear he knows us and based on the venom in his expression, he's not a fan.
"Lord Fobos," Lady Willow said, her voice as calm as ever, slipping her new guild ID into her bag.
So, this is Lord Fobos, the Guild Master of the Merchant's Guild.
"Does the King know you've let this boy out of the castle?" Fobos asked, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on me. "I believe he warned you that stepping out of his tower may be very dangerous for him."
That was a threat, thinly veiled but unmistakable. He was suggesting something "bad" might happen to me if I showed my face in public.
"I appreciate the King's… concern," Lady Willow replied, her tone icy, "but the King has entrusted me with his son's care, and I will ensure no one harms Prince Ren while I am here."
Fobos snorted, his face twisting with derision. "I never understood why the King didn't deal with him on day one," he muttered, glaring at me. "It's a mystery why he let you live. But if you make any trouble for him, he may not be so generous."
Lady Willow's expression hardened. "If the King has an issue with his son's activities, so be it. But who are you, a duke, to question the whereabouts and actions of the prince?" she rebuked sharply, her voice cutting like a blade. Without waiting for a response, she took my hand and turned, leading me away.
"Some prince," Fobos sneered behind us. "Resorting to working his maid as a merchant to get by."
"Ignore him," Lady Willow murmured under her breath as we strode toward the exit.
Once outside, she glanced at me. "Your father has the support of the majority of the twelve great noble families on the kingdom's court. One of his most loyal supporters is Lord Fobos."
"He really hates me," I said, still unsettled by his words.
"He was trying to get a rise out of us," Willow said. "This is not the time to respond. The King hasn't killed you because he fears me. His supporters, not knowing how… capable I am, won't take action against you so long as you don't appear to be a threat. For now, we focus on preparing you, quietly."
I nodded, processing her words. "I understand. We can't show our cards until we're ready to play them."
And I don't have many cards currently.
A faint smile touched Lady Willow's lips, her approval clear, as we continued on our way toward the apothecary. As we approach, I noticed something for the first time, a long line of sick and injured people stretching along the building's exterior. Their faces are gaunt with desperation, some leaning heavily on makeshift crutches or clutching bloodied bandages.
As we reach the gilded doors, a guard stationed at the entrance stepped aside, allowing us through but blocking the others waiting outside. Their disappointed murmurs echoed behind us as we step inside.
We enter hand in hand, like a mother taking her child shopping. The interior of the apothecary is pristine and organized. Neat rows of shelves are stocked with potions, jars of pills, herbal cures, and other magical remedies. The air carries the faint, sharp scent of alchemical concoctions. At the back of the room is a service counter, beyond which lays a waiting area and several treatment rooms.
"Why are those people waiting outside?" I asked, glancing back over my shoulder at the doors.
Lady Willow's gaze didn't follow mine. "Those people need healing but can't afford it," she said coldly. "They're desperately hoping someone will provide them with charity. A standard healing potion costs ten silver coins, which is more than many can pay."
As we approach the counter I see three young adventurers, no older than eighteen, there pleading with the clerk. Two of them supported a third, who is slumped over, his face pale and strained. Blood seeping through deep claw marks on his back and leg.
"Please," one of them begs, sliding a pouch across the counter. "Can you accept nine silver? It's all we have."
The clerk frowned, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, but healing potions are ten silver. No exceptions."
"We were on a quest," the adventurer explains, his voice cracking with frustration. "The reward was only five silver, and we pooled everything we had, but…" He stopped, glancing back at his injured friend.
I feel a pang of sadness and anger in my chest. How could healing, a basic necessity for survival, be priced out of reach for those who needed it most? Adventuring is one of the only remaining paths for commoners to improve their lives in a kingdom where slavery stripped away most other opportunities. But with healing potions this expensive, it seems adventurers are likely to be left worse off than before.
Lady Willow has started talking to another clerk, asking to meet with the shop's owner about selling potions. As she speaks, I reach into her bag and pull out one of our healing potions. Ignoring the questioning look from the clerk at the counter, I stepped forward and pushed the bottle into the adventurer's hand.
"Here," I said firmly. "Save your money."
The adventurer stares at me in disbelief for a moment before his expression softened with gratitude. "Thank you so much!" he exclaims, quickly uncorking the potion and pouring it into his injured friend's mouth.
A faint green glow surrounds the wounded adventurer as the potion takes effect, his wounds mending instantly. He sat up, blinking in surprise and relief.
"You're a lifesaver, kid," the healed adventurer said, his voice filled with emotion. "What's your name?"
I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Lady Willow "Ren," I said simply.
The three of them thanked me repeatedly, their words a mix of relief and admiration.
"Thank you, Ren. We owe you."
I've heard that a lot today.
I turned my attention back to Lady Willow's conversation just as a friendly-looking older woman with short, neatly styled gray hair emerged from one of the treatment rooms. She wore a spotless white healer's uniform, her demeanor calm and professional.
"I heard you wanted to speak with me. I am Duchess Muara, head healer and owner of this apothecary," she said with a warm smile. "How may I help you, ma'am?"
"We have fifty high-grade healing potions..." Lady Willow began.
"Forty-nine," I corrected her quickly.
Lady Willow shot me a glance before continuing. "Forty-nine high-grade healing potions and fifty grade-five poison-curing potions we'd like to sell."
Duchess Muara nodded thoughtfully. "Absolutely. According to guild rules, we can purchase your potions at five silver coins each, and they'll be sold in the store for ten silver." She spoke matter-of-factly, pulling a ledger from a nearby counter to record the transaction.
Lady Willow agreed without hesitation and began retrieving the potions from her storage bag. As she placed them neatly on the counter, Muara carefully documented each one.
I couldn't hold back any longer. "Why do you sell the potions at such a high price?" I asked, my voice firm but curious. "There are so many people outside who need them. If you sold them for less, more people could afford them, and you'd probably end up making more money overall."
Duchess Muara sighed, her kind eyes meeting mine. "The Merchant's Guild strictly regulates the prices of certain goods, including potions," she explained patiently. "The rules state that potions must be sold at ten silver for retail, and suppliers are paid five silver per potion."
"That doesn't make any sense!" I protested. "At prices like that, only nobles can afford them. What about everyone else? Doesn't it bother you to see all those people outside suffering?"
Her warm smile faltered, replaced by a sad, weary expression. "It bothers me deeply," she admitted, her voice tinged with regret. "If I could, I would sell potions at lower prices, or even give some away for free. But I can't. The Merchant's Guild would suspend my registration if I broke their rules. Without my license, I wouldn't be able to run this apothecary at all."
I could see the sincerity in her eyes, the genuine pain she felt for those she couldn't help. She wasn't just following the rules out of greed; she was trapped by them.
"If you want the rules changed, like I do," she continued, "you'd need to speak with the guild master himself."
"Lord Fobos?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Muara nodded, her face darkening. "Yes, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. I've tried speaking with Lord Fobos before. It was… hopeless. He seems to have the backwards belief that selling potions at affordable prices would means potions wouldn't be available for the nobility."
Her words lingered in the air, and for a moment, I was silent. I glanced toward Lady Willow, who continued arranging the potions on the counter, seemingly unbothered by the conversation.
"Lady Muara," Lady Willow said, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to business, "we would also like to arrange regular deliveries of 100 healing potions and 50 curing potions."
Lady Muara considered this for a moment before nodding. "I think we can agree to that. At that quantity, we can manage weekly deliveries, but only as long as we have the storage space. I'll authorize my clerks to purchase the potions on delivery, provided we can accommodate them."
"Understood," Lady Willow replied, her tone polite but businesslike. The two of them continued finalizing the details while I remained quiet, lost in thought.
As we went to leave, I think about the prospect of appealing to Lord Fobos to reduce the prices of potions. I am 1000% sure that the guy who just moments before was threatening to kill men, is not going to want to do anything I ask him to. At the same time, I do want to help the suffering people of the kingdom. I am going to have to think of a different way of achieving that goal.