Alister knew he wasn't destined for greatness. Greatness didn't sit on a miniature throne, with the padded seat worn thin from years of sitting but never doing anything. Greatness didn't shuffle papers that no one would ever read or wave at peasants who'd rather spit than smile back. Greatness didn't smell faintly of fear and old books.

And yet, here he was Prince Alister, the not-so-great, sitting in the grand hall of Draven Palace, pretending to give a shit about his daily "duties."

"Your Highness, would you like to review the grain tariffs?" The court advisor stood before him, holding a stack of parchment so tall it looked like it might collapse and kill them both. Honestly, not the worst way to go.

"Hmm." Alister tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Would I like to review the grain tariffs? Let me think… No."

The advisor blinked. "No, Your Highness?"

"No, Marcus," Alister repeated, leaning back in his throne. "Unless the tariffs are about to grow legs, march through the palace, and declare war, I couldn't care less."

Marcus opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, he bowed stiffly and shuffled off, leaving Alister alone with his thoughts, which were mostly unflattering observations about the palace's drafty ceilings and how much he hated his life.

This was his routine, day in, day out. Sit. Nod. Pretend he wasn't slowly rotting away inside this gilded coffin of a castle.

By the time the throne room doors creaked open again, Alister was ready to fake a sudden illness just to escape. But when he saw who walked in, his boredom turned into something else entirely.

A girl, not a noble, not a servant, but a stranger strode in as though she owned the place. She wore a plain cloak that barely concealed the sword strapped to her side, her dark hair a mess of curls that looked like they hadn't met a brush in weeks. Her sharp eyes locked onto Alister's, and to his complete astonishment, she smirked.

"You're shitting me," Alister muttered under his breath.

Behind her, two guards stumbled in, looking utterly useless. "Your Highness, she just walked in! We tried to stop her."

"Clearly," Alister drawled, his lips curling. "Good job, boys. Really earning your wages."

The girl ignored the guards entirely. She stopped a few feet from Alister's throne, crossing her arms like she had something better to do. "Prince Alister," she said, her voice steady but laced with a kind of mocking amusement. "We need to talk."

Alister raised an eyebrow. "Do we? Because I don't recall scheduling a meeting with… whoever the hell you are."

"I'm Evelina," she said, her smirk widening. "And I'm here to save you."

Alister snorted. "Save me? From what? Excessive boredom?"

"From this fucking circus you call a life," she shot back, her tone sharp enough to cut glass. "But sure, let's call it boredom if that makes you feel better."

He leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. "And why, exactly, do I need saving?"

Evelina's smirk faded, replaced by something colder. "Because you're not Draven's prince. You're not their anything. You're a pawn in a game you don't even know you're playing."

The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Alister glanced at the guards, who looked about as useful as two scarecrows at a sword fight. "Right," he said slowly, turning back to Evelina. "And you know this because…?"

"Because I know who you really are," she said. Her voice was softer now, but the weight of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. "You're the heir to Eldoria, the kingdom they burned to the ground."

Alister froze. Eldoria. The name was a ghost, a whisper of a place that had existed long before he was born. His tutors had mentioned it once or twice, always in passing, always with the same detached tone they used to describe other long-dead kingdoms. It had been conquered by Draven decades ago, its people scattered or killed. A footnote in history.

And now this girl was standing here, telling him he belonged to it.

"That's… quite a claim," he said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Got any evidence, or are we just throwing random accusations around for fun?"

Evelina reached into her cloak, and for a terrifying moment, Alister thought she was about to pull out a dagger. Instead, she held up a piece of parchment, its edges frayed and stained with age.

"This," she said, holding it out. "It's a map. Of Eldoria. And it marks the location of something they didn't destroy—something that proves who you are."

Alister stared at the parchment, his mind racing. He wanted to dismiss her, to call her a liar and send her on her way. But something in her eyes, a fierce, unyielding determinatio made him hesitate.

"Guards," he said, his voice steady. "Take her into custody."

Evelina didn't flinch as the guards moved toward her. If anything, she looked amused. "Typical," she said. "A puppet prince following orders."

Alister's jaw tightened. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just this irritating all the time?"

She laughed, a short, bitter sound. "If I die, it'll only prove I'm right. But you won't kill me, will you? Because deep down, you're wondering. You're wondering if I'm telling the truth.

The guards grabbed her arms, but she didn't struggle. As they dragged her toward the door, she shouted over her shoulder, "Find the map, Alister! The real map! It's in the east tower! They've been lying to you your whole life!"

Ll

The doors slammed shut, and the silence that followed was deafening. Alister sat frozen, her words echoing in his mind. They've been lying to you.

He looked at the guards, who were already muttering about increasing security. He looked at the throne, the tapestries, the polished marble floor. Everything he'd known, everything he'd been told, suddenly felt… wrong.

"Bullshit," he muttered to himself. But the words felt hollow.

That night, as the palace settled into its usual quiet, Alister found himself wandering the halls. His feet carried him toward the east tower, a part of the palace he rarely visited. He told himself he was just curious, that this was just to prove Evelina wrong.

But deep down, a small, treacherous part of him wondered: What if she's right?

When he reached the tower, the door creaked open with an almost ominous groan. Inside, the air was thick with dust and shadows, the faint moonlight casting eerie shapes on the walls. His heart pounded as he stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room.

And then he saw it. A chest, half-buried under a pile of old tapestries. He hesitated, every instinct screaming at him to turn back. But he didn't.

Because somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, This is it.

Alister knelt, his hands trembling as he lifted the lid. Inside, folded neatly, was a map. And not just any map—it was the same one Evelina had shown him, but older, more detailed. His fingers brushed against the parchment, and for the first time in years, he felt something other than boredom.

He felt alive.