The world outside his apartment was beginning to stir. The sun was rising, casting long shadows across the streets of San Francisco. Cars honked, people moved briskly along the sidewalk, and the distant hum of the city filled the air. But to Ethan, the bustling city seemed distant—like a dream that he no longer belonged to. His mind kept returning to the moment the lawyers had left, their polished shoes clicking against the pavement as they disappeared into the sleek black car that had brought them.
Alone now, Ethan stood in his kitchen, staring at the coffee cup in his hands. It was a small, plain mug, chipped in places where it had been dropped one too many times, but still familiar. The porcelain felt like an anchor in a storm. He didn't want the coffee, but he held the cup, his fingers tight around it as if it could somehow bring stability to his thoughts. The reality of what had just happened—what they had told him—was impossible to grasp.
He was the heir to a throne. A king. The idea refused to settle in his mind, bouncing around like an echo in an empty room. His uncle, Baron Lucien von Arkel, had died, and in his will, Ethan had been named the heir to the throne of a country he'd never heard of—Veldoria. He didn't even know where it was on a map.
The more Ethan thought about it, the more it didn't make sense. Why hadn't his uncle told him anything about this before? Why had he hidden it? And why now? What had happened in Veldoria that made him the only person left to take on this unimaginable responsibility? He had never been close to his uncle. The man had always kept to himself, and their rare interactions had been brief, filled with awkward silences.
His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. The text message was from Mason, his best friend since childhood. They had been through everything together—school, relationships, countless hangouts at the local bar, and late-night talks about their futures. Ethan had always been the grounded one, the practical one. Mason, on the other hand, had big dreams but lacked the follow-through.
Mason: "Dude, you good? You've been MIA all morning."
Ethan sat down on the couch and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the screen. How could he explain this? How could he tell Mason that he had just learned he was the heir to a throne in a foreign country, one that had recently broken free from a communist regime and was now a monarchy again? The very idea seemed laughable. It didn't make sense.
He typed a quick reply, though even as he did, the words felt hollow. "Yeah, just a weird morning. I'll tell you later."
He hit send and placed the phone down.
For a long moment, Ethan sat in the silence of his apartment, trying to think. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, the weight of the situation pressing on his chest. He hadn't asked for this. Hell, he didn't even know if he was capable of it. A king? To rule a country? He'd never been anyone's leader. Sure, he could handle a part-time job, keep his apartment tidy, and occasionally help a friend out, but this—this was something else entirely.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
Ethan tensed. Who could it be? Another lawyer? Someone from the government of Veldoria?
He stood up and made his way to the door, his steps slow and deliberate. He had half a mind to pretend he wasn't home, but something told him that wouldn't be wise.
When he opened the door, he was met by an older man—probably in his late 50s—dressed in a well-tailored suit. His hair was salt-and-pepper, his face creased with age, and his posture exuded an air of authority. His eyes were sharp, almost piercing, but there was something else there, a glimmer of recognition that made Ethan feel unsettled.
"Mr. Grayson?" The man's voice was calm, formal, and unmistakably European in its accent.
"Yeah?" Ethan replied, still trying to place the man's face.
"My name is Hugo Bartok," the man said, stepping forward slightly and offering a hand. "I was a trusted advisor to your uncle, the Baron Lucien von Arkel. I've been sent to speak with you and present you with further documents regarding your inheritance."
Ethan stared at the hand, then back at Bartok, before shaking it slowly. "I wasn't expecting anyone else. You're… one of my uncle's advisors?"
"Indeed," Bartok replied. "I've been waiting for this moment for many years, Mr. Grayson. I only wish it had come under different circumstances."
"Please, come in," Ethan said, stepping aside. There was an odd sense of urgency in Bartok's manner, and the weight of the situation made Ethan hesitate for only a moment before he led the man inside.
Bartok immediately went to the small table near the window, his movements purposeful. He placed a large envelope on the table, the wax seal unmistakable—gold and embossed with the insignia of Veldoria. Ethan felt a chill run down his spine.
"This is from your uncle," Bartok said, sliding the envelope toward him. "It contains everything you need to know. The truth about Veldoria, your legacy, and the path ahead."
Ethan picked up the envelope with a mix of dread and curiosity. He could feel the weight of it in his hands, and for a moment, he just stared at the seal, unsure whether he was ready to face whatever it contained.
He broke the seal with a trembling hand and unfolded the letter inside. The handwriting was elegant, neat, and unmistakably his uncle's.
To my dear nephew,
By the time you read this, I will have passed on, and you will have learned of your inheritance. I know this must be overwhelming, and I wish I could be there to explain everything in person. The truth is, you are not just my heir, but the heir to a legacy much larger than you or I could have imagined. Veldoria needs you. The crown has always been waiting for someone with the strength to bear it. I hope you are that person.
The country is recovering, but it is fragile. The people are desperate for leadership—true leadership. My advisors, including Mr. Bartok, will be there to guide you, but ultimately, the decisions are yours. You must choose whether to rely on others or build a nation on your own terms. The future of Veldoria lies in your hands, as does its very survival.
I wish you wisdom, my boy. The crown is a heavy burden, but it is one I know you can carry. I will be watching over you, always.
—Your Uncle Lucien
Ethan let the letter fall from his hands, staring at the paper for a long moment as his mind scrambled to process the words. His uncle's message was both reassuring and terrifying. The crown is a heavy burden. The idea of leading a country—of holding the weight of its people's hopes and dreams—seemed impossible. And yet, here he was, the last heir, the one who was supposed to carry it all.
"What is all this?" Ethan asked, his voice quieter than he intended. He looked up at Bartok, who was still watching him, his expression unreadable.
"This," Bartok said, his voice low and serious, "is the beginning of your reign. Your uncle had hoped to prepare you for this, but time was not on his side. Veldoria is no longer the country it once was. The people are no longer shackled by the old regime, but they are still lost. They need someone who understands the weight of responsibility, someone who can guide them toward a brighter future."
Ethan swallowed, his throat dry. "But I'm not ready. I don't even know anything about ruling."
"You don't need to know everything right away," Bartok replied. "But you must decide what kind of king you will be. Will you lead them into a future of prosperity, or will you fall into the same traps of dependency that have held the country back for generations?"
Ethan felt his chest tighten. The pressure was mounting, and for the first time, he realized that there might be no way out.
"You have no choice," Bartok continued. "The people of Veldoria are looking to you, Mr. Grayson. They will follow your lead."