23rd February 1632

The air in the monastery hung heavy with the scent of damp stone and candle wax. A small fire crackled in the corner with its warmth barely cutting through the chill that seeped into the bones. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded wolf, rattling the stained-glass windows depicting saints long forgotten. The rhythmic chants of the monks echoed through the stone corridors, a constant, somber hymn that seemed to mask the tensions brewing in the outside world.

Brother Aldwin, the head of the monastery, moved through the stone halls with an air of quiet authority. His weathered face bore the weight of decades of service, and his deep-set eyes could see straight through to the soul. Under his watchful gaze, the monastery had become a haven of discipline and devotion—a sanctuary not just for the monks, but also for the orphans and foundlings taken in by the order. Here, children too poor or abandoned to survive elsewhere were given shelter, education, and a chance at a better life.

Elias was one of those children. He had arrived at the monastery six years ago, a sickly looking eight-year-old with dirt under his nails, thread bare clothes and no shoes. Now fourteen, he had grown into a wiry boy with auburn hair that refused to stay tidy and hands calloused from hours of chores. His duties ranged from tending the vegetable garden to copying scripture in the scriptorium to translating text from English to Latin - a language he learned much faster than any of the other children. While he often grumbled about the work, he secretly relished the structure it brought to his days.

One morning, Elias was in the garden, hacking away at a stubborn patch of weeds that didn't want to go. The air was crisp, carrying with it the faint smell of rainfall, and the distant drum of a bell signalled the hour of 12. As he worked, he spotted Hugh approaching, a lopsided grin plastered across his face. Hugh was another ward of the monastery, a lanky boy with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit. 

The two had been inseparable since the day Elias arrived.

"Oi, what you up to stinky boy?" Hugh shouted from a distance as he approached Elias. 

"Just getting rid of these weeds. The monks always give me boring jobs because I'm the youngest here." Elias replied with a tone of annoyance.

"That's what you get for not getting born in time. Young un's got to learn!" He replied, while snickering to himself

I'm only 2 days younger than you!"

"Well sucks for you, Aldwin has been looking for you - I assume to help out with something else" Hugh called out, leaning casually against the fence. "Think he said something about extra duties today."

Elias groaned, tossing his trowel into the dirt. "Fu*k. What did you do to get me this time?"

Hugh acted innocent, his grin widening. "Why do you always bloody assume it's my fault?"

"Because most of the time, it usually is."

Their banter was swiftly cut short by the sound of hooves clattering on the cobblestones outside the monastery gate. Both boys turned toward the noise, their curiosity piqued. Visitors were rare in these parts, and when they did come, it was usually with some dire or random request. The gate creaked open, and a group of travellers entered the courtyard, their cloaks damp from the early morning drizzle. At their head was a nobleman, his aura stiff with authority.

Elias and Hugh exchanged a glance before hurrying toward the commotion. By the time they reached the courtyard, Brother Aldwin was already speaking with the nobleman, his expression as unreadable as ever. 

Behind the man stood a small group of children, their wide eyes darting around the unfamiliar surroundings. They clung to their caretakers, their fine clothes marking them as the offspring of wealthy families.

"My lord," Brother Aldwin was saying, in a very measured tone "we will care for them as if they were our own. You have my word."

The nobleman nodded. "Their safety is paramount. The war has reached our doorstep, and it is no place for children."

Elias' ears perked up at the mention of war. He had heard the monks whispering about the escalating conflicts, about battles fought in far-off lands and rebellions stirring within the colonies. But here, in this quiet corner of England, the war had always felt like a distant storm, rumbling on the horizon.

As the nobleman's entourage began unloading trunks and ushering the children inside, Elias' gaze fell on a boy who stood apart from the others fashion. He was slightly younger than Elias, perhaps 12 or 13. They shared height, along with hair and eye colours. He also had a delicate face and posture that spoke of both discipline and discomfort. Unlike the other children, who clung to their nurses or fidgeted nervously, this boy stood still, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His clothes were finer than anything Elias had ever seen—a tunic of deep burgundy, trimmed with gold thread, and boots polished to a mirror shine.

"Who's that?" Elias whispered to Hugh.

Hugh shrugged. "Looks like royalty."

As if on cue, an adult stepped forward from the group. This man wore the unmistakable livery of the royal court, his chest puffed out with self-importance. He addressed Brother Aldwin with a voice that carried across the courtyard.

"This is Prince Edward, heir to the throne," he announced, his tone making it clear that the boy's presence was an honour the monastery did not deserve. "His Majesty has deemed it safest for the prince to remain here until the conflict subsides. You will ensure his every need is met."

Brother Aldwin bowed deeply. "Of course, my lord. The prince will be treated with the utmost care and respect."

Elias felt a strange twist in his stomach as he watched the prince. There was something unsettling about the boy's demeanour, a coldness in his sharp blue eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once. For a moment, their gazes met, and Elias quickly looked away, focusing instead on the muddy ground beneath his feet.

"Elias!" Brother Aldwin's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "I was meant to call you earlyer, please show His Highness to his quarters. And give him the respect he is due."

Elias' stomach sank. Of all the monks and wards in the monastery, why had Aldwin chosen him? He was just a mere apprentice. He swallowed hard and nodded, stepping forward. "Yes, Brother Aldwin."

The prince followed him in silence as they walked through the stone corridors. The sound of their footsteps echoed around them, the distant chants of the monks a ghostly backdrop. Elias led him to a modest chamber. 

The room was small yet serene, nestled in the quietest corner of the monastery. Walls, thick with age, enclosed the space, giving it an aura of calm isolation. A simple wooden bed, draped in finely woven linen, sat against the wall, with a carved crucifix hanging above. The faint flicker of candlelight danced across the room, casting warm shadows on the stone floor. A modest desk, with parchment and ink, stood beneath a small, arched window, offering a view of the monastery's inner courtyard. Rich tapestries depicting biblical scenes hung softly on the walls, their colors muted by time. The air carried the faint scent of beeswax and old wood. Though small and simple, the room exuded a quiet luxury, a place for contemplation and solitude, untouched by the distractions of the world.

"This is where you'll stay, Your Highness," Elias said, bowing slightly as he gestured to the modest chamber. His tone was calm, his posture practiced, but his stomach churned with unease.

Edward's lip curled in disdain as his gaze swept over the room. "Is this a joke?"

"It's the finest chamber we have, Your Highness," Elias replied, his voice steady despite the sharpness of the prince's tone.

The prince snorted softly but said nothing further. Instead, he walked to the window, the heels of his fine boots clicking against the stone floor. He stared out into the stormy afternoon, his reflection caught faintly in the glass. "Do you know why I'm here?" he asked suddenly, his voice laced with bitterness.

Elias hesitated. He had his suspicions but knew better than to voice them. "No, Your Highness."

Edward turned, his gaze piercing as it landed on Elias. "Because my half-wit father believes it's safer for me to rot in this wretched place than to stay at court. As if hiding me here will protect me from the vultures circling his throne. He does not know what he is doing. Even a little prince like me can see it from a mile away."

Elias said nothing, though his thoughts churned. He had heard whispers of the royal court's intrigue, of poisonings and betrayals that danced just out of reach of the common folk. But the prince's words carried no humility, no acknowledgment of his own privilege. How easy it must be to bemoan the safety of stone walls while draped in silks and gold. Elias lowered his gaze, unsure if the prince expected a response.

Edward's voice softened, the bitterness bleeding into something quieter, something vulnerable. "Do you know what it's like to have everything and still feel powerless?"

Elias glanced up, surprised by the shift. For a moment, the prince's gaze was unguarded, the layers of arrogance and entitlement stripped away to reveal something raw and human. But Elias struggled to summon sympathy and continued to contemplate to himself. What could a man born to power and wealth possibly know of true helplessness? The kind that came with hunger, with watching your family toil for scraps, or with living under the thumb of men like Edward himself.

"No, Your Highness," Elias said softly. "But I'm starting to understand." He thought of the countless farmers, soldiers, and servants who bent their backs and wills to keep the prince's life gilded and comfortable. People who would never taste even a fraction of the power Edward claimed to resent.

Edward turned back to the window, his shoulders tense. For all his arrogance, Elias realised, the prince was a prisoner in his own way—trapped by a father's laws and the expectations of a court ready to devour him. Yet Elias could not help but think: If he truly loathes the power handed to him, why not use it for something greater? Why not rise above the greed and venom of his surroundings?

Elias clenched his fists behind his back, forcing his face to remain neutral. He knew the answer, of course. Men like Edward were born to privilege but raised in its shadow. They were given thrones but shackled to them, taught to wield power but never to question it. And here Elias was, expected to bow and scrape before a boy who had been handed everything he could only dream of.

The storm outside raged on, its fury shaking the windows and echoing the turmoil brewing within the monastery's walls. Elias stood still, his mind a swirl of conflicting emotions. He could not deny the humanity in Edward's fleeting vulnerability, but neither could he forgive the cold arrogance that defined him.

And yet, in the prince's eyes, Elias saw a reflection of his own silent rage—against the unyielding weight of their respective prisons.

Later that evening, the monks gathered for what he assumed was vespers as their voices started rising in solemn harmony. Elias watched from the back of the chapel, ahis mind still racing from the day's events. The arrival of the prince had upended the fragile peace of the monastery, and Elias couldn't shake the feeling that his life, too, was about to change in ways he couldn't yet comprehend.