Kael gripped the wooden buckets tightly in his hands; water splashed out with each step. The sun beat down hard, and sweat dripped off his face. His thin shirt clung to him, dirty and torn. Around him, the palace yard buzzed with noise—people laughing and talking, none of them paying attention to him.
"Move faster, Kael!" Prince Dorian yelled from a bench set up nearby. He was slumped on it, dressed in garish clothes, shimmering in the sunlight. One hand held a golden goblet, swirling his drink lazily.
"Do you think we have all day?" Kael lowered his head. "Yes, Your Highness," he muttered.
He quickened his steps, ignoring the ache in his arms. Bruises from yesterday's beating throbbed under his sleeves. Dorian laughed.
"Pathetic. You're slower than an old mule. Maybe we should find a real servant to do your job." Kael clenched his fists around the buckets. He didn't say anything. Talking back would only make things worse. Prince Caden came into the courtyard, a sneering grin on his face.
He eyed Kael as a predator sizes up its prey. "Well, look who it is," he said, circling around Kael. "The king's bastard crawling around like a worm. What are you carrying? Mud for the pigs?" Kael kept his eyes on the ground, his fingers gripping the buckets harder.
Caden stepped closer and gave Kael a rough shove, making one bucket tip. Water spilled onto the dusty ground. "Oops. You'd better clean that up," he said with a laugh.
Kael steadied the bucket, biting his tongue. "I'll refill it," he said quietly.
"Oh no, you won't," Caden said, stepping in front of him. "You're going to lick it up. Isn't that what bastards do?"
"That's enough."
The voice was firm and strong, cutting through the laughter. Harlan, steward of the palace, strode into the courtyard. He wore plain but neat robes, his graying hair tied back. His sharp eyes flicked to the princes. "Your Highnesses, don't you have better things to do than bother a servant? Or should I let your father know how you've spent your afternoon?
Dorian scowled, but he did not argue. He stood up, brushing the folds of his robe. "Come on, Caden. Let's go. This is not worth our time."
Caden frowned and trailed after his brother, muttering under his breath.
Kael stood there frozen, unsure what to say. "Thank you, Steward Harlan," he whispered finally.
For a moment, he looked at Kael, relaxing his face. "Finish up your work, Kael," he said, then lowered his voice to whisper, "Be careful. The palace doesn't treat people who are powerless well.
Kael nodded; his chest heavy. Being careful was all he could do. But was it enough?
That night, Kael lay on the hard floor of the servants' quarters. The room was small and cold, its only light coming from a tiny window. Kael stared up at the wooden ceiling, his body aching from the day's work. In the outside world, the stars sparkled subtly against the dim sky as if they were distant views. They appeared so distant, that one could easily question their existence.
"There will a day," he mumbled to himself, "There will a day when I will be something more than this,"
he pondered. A sudden rise of illumination drew his focus. Eyes wide opened, he sat upright. A streak of light shot across the sky, glowing brighter and brighter. It wasn't like any shooting star he'd ever seen. It didn't fade; instead, it seemed to grow larger, heading straight for the earth.
Kael scrambled to the window, his heart pounding. Light poured into the room, casting sharp shadows on the walls. Shouts could be heard from outside as people started noticing the event.
"What is that?" he murmured.
The ground shook as the light crashed into the distant mountains. A loud roar echoed through the air, and the shockwave rattled the palace. Kael gripped the windowsill, his breath quick and shallow.
When the noise finally stopped, he stared at the horizon, where the light had disappeared. His heart was racing, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something new: hope.
"Destiny," he whispered.