Not only was I born to win, but I was raised to succeed. I was the king's nephew. His own son was a weakling and the whole kingdom knew it. He would be a fool not to name me his heir. From the age of four I was trained in every skill a young man could use to govern. I was adept in hunting, fighting, warfare, dance, song, politics, history, poetry, grace, charm, even flirtation was a skill taught, tested, and proved in me.
What more could I want? That was an excellent question. I had no clue what I wanted. I was a puppet. I had no desire, no purpose of my own. I was perfect, and had no reason to be. I had been taught to serve the people. But they were a people I did not know or love. I was a beautifully painted hollow statue; sculpted, perfected, and useless.
Even though I saw myself as hollow, and others fully planned to use me as a perfect king to put up as an idol for the people, there was one person who didn't respect or coddle me.
Sara. She was the king’s daughter, my cousin. She neither loved nor hated me. When we first met, she was already a lovely young woman. I was nine years old and already groomed for kingship. I presented myself with every amount of grace and elegance I could muster. All she said was "So, this is the brat the trained to replace my brother. He will get there, but he has a long way to go." Then she went back to weaving, and ignored me.
And she proceeded to ignore me for the next ten years. I tried everything. I first tried to treat her like a sister, then a mother. I even spent three hears wooing her like a lover, but nothing heralded a response. When I began to wonder what was wrong with me, I realized nothing was wrong with me, because I was nothing. Only she could see that.
I remember one night, on my nineteenth birthday, after she had come to please her father, but refused to dance with me, that I begged her, "What can I do to make you see me."
Her reply, "Let Christopher rule; renounce your place." changed my life. I suppose some might say I loved her, but in the end, I think it was pride that made me trade all that I knew, for the one thing I had never been trained for.
So, I did it, I left. I had little better to do. At first, I cared nothing for where I spent my life, in a palace or a barn. Also, I think I had some vague image of coming back, having proven myself to Sara, and take the place I had always believed I was fated for.
Whatever, I thought, my actions were decisive. I wrote out four copies of a letter, renouncing any claim to nobility I had. One was for my father, one for the king, one for the prince, and one written with extreme care, was for Sara.
Then, I went to Coremon. He was the son of the king's captain of the guard. He had long thought of us as friends. I had always dismissed him easily. For a king, fast friends were more of a liability then an asset, I had been taught. But, since I was no longer to be king, what did it matter. Coremon was well liked in the palace and among the surrounding country. He gave me clothes, rough, and slightly worn. He got me a horse, and told me where to go. Before I left, he embraced me. I stood there; stiff and awkward while his tears of farewell ran down my neck. I had a passing feeling that I should repay him somehow, but had no idea how. Instead I simply mounted and rode away.
I regretted leaving as soon as it was done. It was like a withdrawal pain. You become so accustomed to something, that even though it’s bad for you, it hurts to give it up.
But, I was resolved. I slipped out of the palace unnoticed, mailed my letters in town, and headed into the country, with nothing to guide me but a woman's wish, and a new friend's directions.
Coremon had told me it was two days ride to the farm that would take me in, so I stopped at an inn at dusk, having heard tales of thieves on the road. I had little desire to sleep, so after dinner I sat, watching the other men who wandered in and out, and slowly sipping the wine I’d been served.
My surroundings were strange to me in many ways. I had never been served wine in a tankard, for one thing. The people around me were nearly all dressed in rough brown clothes, like the ones I currently had, not the gaily colored gowns and coats most of the court sported. The entire place smelled of stale beer. Yet, there was a strange, belonging here. No one seemed to care what their fellows did, and everyone seemed to be having a genuine good or bad time. There were no fake smiles, or coy pouts.
I sat in my corner, grossly fascinated all evening. The girl who served the men was obviously the daughter or niece of the owner, though he didn’t seem to mind her outrageous flirtations with a scruffy man who left having drunk far more then was good for him. Two people in hoods came in, ate fast and left without paying. One man got upset when his food was burnt and threw a chair at the owner, who didn’t seem to care, putting the chair back and returning to work.
Toward midnight, a short, stocky man came in and shouted to the owner. “Red! Brandy for the men, and quick. And stoke the fire! It’s too cold a night for searches!”
Red, the owner, scuttled out and said, “Why, George! Get ‘em in quick. What on earth do they have you out lookin for at this blasted hour?”
“Nicholas, heir to the king’s thrown. The idiot’s run away or got lost or some foolery. They’ve got the whole guard out, freezing their tales to find his sorry self.”
For the first time in my life, ice cold fear ran through me. I was so close to being caught. I decided it really was to cold, and slipped up to my room before I heard any more.
