The days had passed on in Saladan, each one blurring into the next like the endless sea of faces and alleyways that filled the crowded streets. Princess Liria had grown accustomed to the slow rhythm of life in their small rented homestead. She spent her mornings training with Belin, trying to hone the skills that would one day serve her in a world she no longer understood. But her brother… Belin was different. The weight of their situation, the fear of what might be happening back at Eastanzarth, was beginning to eat away at him. He was a prince, a crown prince, and yet here he was—hiding in the shadows, with no power to protect his kingdom, his parents, or his step-siblings.
It wasn't that Belin didn't understand the necessity of their current life. He knew they had to keep their heads down. Their survival depended on it. But something deep inside him, something unspoken, refused to let him accept this state of passivity. He couldn't sit still.
The frustration had been growing steadily.
One morning, as the sun pierced through the narrow gaps between the houses of Saladan, Belin was up earlier than usual. He stood in the small courtyard, looking out at the darkening streets. His fingers brushed the hilt of the sword he had trained with in the mornings, his movements growing more fluid as he improved. He had made it a point to learn everything he could about defending himself, about protecting those he loved. But despite his training, despite the skill he had been forced to develop, there was still something missing.
His fingers tightened around the sword, and his thoughts raced. For days, he had tried to convince himself that staying hidden was the best choice, that it would be too dangerous to return to the castle—too dangerous to expose himself and risk leading the assassins to his family. But what had started as cautious plan had become an overwhelming feeling of helplessness.
He turned away from the courtyard, and without a word to anyone, slipped out the door and into the crowded streets of Saladan.
It wasn't that he thought they were entirely safe here, but the danger had become a quiet hum in the background. He had already spent enough time here to know that the assassins would not come looking for them in this part of Midland. Saladan was a place of thieves, drunks, and criminals—a perfect place to blend in and hide from assassins.
But for Belin, hiding was not the same as surviving.
The market was bustling, as it always was in the early hours of the day, vendors shouting over the clatter of carts and the murmurs of the crowd. Belin walked through the maze of stalls and narrow alleyways, careful to keep his head low and his face hidden. He wore simple, nondescript clothing—nothing like the royal garb he had once worn—but still, there was something about him that felt different. His bearing was too regal, too noble for this filthy, crumbling place.
As he moved deeper into the crowd, he overheard snippets of conversation. People talked about food, about the price of grain, and the latest rumors. Nothing too substantial, nothing that might offer him answers. But one voice in particular caught his attention.
"Did you hear? They say Eastanzarth is fine after being silently attacked," an old man was saying to his companion. "The king's still in power. There's no war, no other attacks. No news from the castle except the usual."
Belin's heart clenched. Eastanzarth? Fine?
He had heard rumors, of course, about the kingdom's stability. But the idea that everything was fine, that his father was safe and the assassins hadn't come for him yet, seemed too good to be true.
Belin couldn't just stand there, lost in the noise of the market. He had to know more. The information was out there, somewhere, and he was determined to find it. He followed the old man, slipping quietly through the streets, determined to hear more. The man wandered into a small tavern, one with cracked windows and a smell of stale ale and sweat wafting from the open door. Belin hesitated but then pushed inside, moving to the far corner of the room where the man had sat.
The tavern was filled with rough-looking men and women—traders, mercenaries, and criminals. Most of them had their heads down, drinking or huddling in whispered conversations. Belin's eyes scanned the room. He had to keep his distance but still listen in. The tavern was filled with talk of war, of distant lands, of things that no longer concerned him. But then, he heard it.
"Heard about Eastanzarth?" a man said, his voice low and gravelly. "I heard the royal family's been attacked. The second queen and her children… they're gone."
Belin's heart skipped a beat. The words royal family and gone echoed in his mind. Had his mother been attacked, just as he had feared? Had she been overthrown or killed?
The man continued, oblivious to Belin's presence. "The assassins left the castle, didn't they? Haven't seen or heard anything since. The whole kingdom's been quiet. It's strange… something feels off, but the kingdom's still standing."
A sense of unease twisted in Belin's gut. He couldn't take the uncertainty anymore. He had to know the truth. He had to go back.
He stepped forward, deliberately drawing attention to himself. The noise of the room quieted for a brief moment as several of the men looked up at him. Belin held his ground.
"I need to know about Eastanzarth. About my family," he said, his voice low but commanding. "Has anyone heard anything about them?"
One of the men at the bar, a grizzled mercenary with a scar across his cheek, sneered at him. "What do you care? You're just some kid."
Belin stood taller, his gaze unyielding. "I'm the crown prince of Eastanzarth. I care more than anyone else."
For a moment, there was silence. The men exchanged uncertain glances. But then, the man with the scar laughed at him, followed by all the people who heard what had just happened.
"Eastanzarth's fine, kid. No major battles, no attacks. No news. It's been quiet for weeks now. You might be good-looking but you are not a prince!" The man spat.
Belin's fists clenched. No attacks? Then why were the assassins coming for his family? Why had they tried to kill his mother, abduct her, and leave the castle in ruin? This didn't make sense. It didn't add up.
He backed away slowly, leaving the tavern without another word. He had heard enough. Eastanzarth wasn't under siege. There were no large-scale battles, no whispers of civil war. But the assassins hadn't come for the kingdom. They had come for his family. They had come for him.
As Belin made his way back through the crowded streets, the weight of his realization pressed down on him like a stone. The assassins didn't care about Eastanzarth's stability. They cared only about destroying his family. His parents, the royal bloodline, were their only targets.
The thought left him reeling. He couldn't stay hidden forever. The kingdom needed him. His family needed him. His father was out there, likely injured, while he was hiding in a city full of thieves and outcasts. He couldn't accept it. He was the crown prince. He was supposed to protect them, to fight for them.
He had been a coward for too long. And now, he was ready to face what he had been running from.
The time had come to stop hiding.