(Point of View of Marko Greymont)
My name is Marko Greymont.
I am the current king of this kingdom, the sovereign before whom nobles and commoners kneel, the man who wears the crown and bears the weight of governing a nation.
But before all of that, before the crown, before the throne, before the responsibilities that now embrace my shoulders like a second skin... I was just a prince.
An arrogant, spoiled, and deeply misguided prince.
---
Since I was little, my father, the king at that time, loved me madly. My mother too. And I loved them with the same blind intensity with which a child loves their parents, without questioning, without thinking, simply loving.
I had maids who attended to my every whim. Guards who protected me day and night. Teachers who taught me everything a prince should know: history, politics, fencing, etiquette. Everything was given to me without effort, without sweat, without tears.
And I, with the stupidity of youth and privilege, became arrogant.
I knew that one day I would rule this kingdom. I knew that everything that was my father's would be mine. The castles, the lands, the treasures, the power. Everything. And in my childish mind, that meant I didn't have to strive for anything. That everything would be handed to me on a silver platter, as it always had been.
I had no brothers or sisters. I was the sole heir. The center of the universe. The spoiled child who had never heard the word "no."
My attitude was, to be honest, the worst.
But the universe, in its infinite wisdom, has a peculiar way of correcting the arrogant.
---
At the age of fifteen, everything changed.
"All children must enter the academy," my father announced one evening, as we dined in the great hall. "And you, Marko, are no exception."
At that moment, I didn't complain. On the contrary, I thought it would be wonderful. I would be the prince among commoners. I would be the envy of everyone. I would have luxuries they couldn't even imagine. I would make friends easily, because who wouldn't want to be friends with the future king?
How naive I was.
How terribly, painfully naive.
The night before my departure, my father called me to his study. There, with a seriousness he rarely showed, he explained the tradition. The ancient law of the royal family.
"When you enter the academy," he said, in a grave voice, "you will not be Prince Marko. You will not be a noble. You will be nothing. You will be just another citizen, one of the lowest. Almost a commoner."
"What?" I laughed, thinking it was a joke. "Father, that's absurd. How am I supposed to do that?"
But it wasn't a joke.
"Those who will inherit the throne," he continued, "even if they do so by blood right, must earn it. Through sweat and tears. They must know the real world, live as those they will one day rule live. They must learn what it is to go hungry, to be cold, to be in need. Only then can they be just kings."
I froze.
"No... you can't be serious."
"Completely serious. When you cross the gates of the academy, you will cease to be Marko Greymont. You will be Mark, an orphan of unknown parents. You will have no money, no luxuries, no privileges. You will earn every piece of bread with your own effort."
"No!" I shouted. "I can't! I don't want to!"
But it didn't matter what I said. It didn't matter my shouts, my tantrums, my threats to never speak to them again. My parents stood firm.
I spent weeks without speaking to them. Entire weeks locked in my room, nurturing my resentment, my hatred, my feeling of betrayal. How could they do this to me? How could they throw me to the wolves like that?
But time doesn't wait for angry princes.
The day to enter the academy arrived. And with it, the worst news of all: I couldn't return to the palace during the first years. Not even during the short vacations. I would be alone, completely alone, in a world that would devour me alive.
What followed was... hell.
---
I had no friends. I was a nobody, a commoner of the lowest kind. The nobles ignored me. I was in no man's land, invisible, insignificant.
To survive, I had to work. Dirty jobs for some nobles who needed cheap labor: cleaning stables, carrying goods, sweeping streets. They paid me a few coins that barely sufficed for some hard bread and a little water. The money ran out in a day or two, and I had to start all over again.
I hated my parents with all my soul.
I hated every night I spent hungry. I hated every morning I woke up in a cold, miserable room. I hated every time I saw the nobles laugh and spend money while I could barely buy a crust of bread.
But deep down, in the deepest part of my being, I understood. Just a little. A small part of me knew that this was necessary, that it was shaping me, that someday I would be grateful for this experience.
That small thought was the only thing keeping me sane.
And then, she appeared.
---
Cecilia Valdris.
She belonged to House Valdris, a second-rank noble family. Nothing too important, but enough that her father had a seat on the council and her family enjoyed certain privileges.
She wasn't arrogant like the other nobles. She didn't look down on commoners. She didn't treat servants as if they were furniture. She was... different.
One day, in the academy library, while I pretended to read a book I couldn't afford to buy, she sat down across from me.
"Hello," she said, with a kind smile. "I'm Cecilia. You're Mark, right?"
I was speechless. No one talked to me. No one knew my name. Well, they knew I existed, but they didn't care.
"Yes," I replied, my voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm Mark."
And from that day on, everything changed.
She was kind. Beautiful. Very beautiful, though now she's even more so, with that chestnut hair that shines under the sun and those green eyes that... well, those eyes. Those eyes that looked at me for the first time and I felt as if I had entered a world full of honey.
Only for her did I continue attending the academy. When I was near her, I completely forgot my true mission, I forgot the hatred for my parents, I forgot the hunger and the cold. She was a miniature sun, and I, a dazzled moth.
But when she left, the anger returned. The frustration returned. The hopelessness returned.
She must have noticed something, because she started helping me. She brought me food, sweet buns, fruits, sometimes even some meat. She bought me clothes when mine were too worn out. She gave me books so I could study.
I came to think: if I were truly a commoner, if this life were really mine, I would be immensely happy. Because I would have her.
But it wasn't. I was a prince in disguise. And she was a noble who would someday marry someone of her status.
Still, we kept seeing each other. Day after day. Week after week. We talked, we laughed, we shared dreams. But we never confessed. We were clumsy, very clumsy. Or I was. Too much fear, too many doubts, too much uncertainty.
A clumsiness that almost cost us our happiness.
---
Two years after entering the academy, I received a message from Cecilia.
"Mark, I need to talk to you. It's important. Come to the south garden after class."
My heart beat strongly. What could it be? Why such urgency? Could it be... could it be that she was going to confess?
I arrived early, my chest full of hope. When she appeared, I knew something was wrong. Her expression was serious, her eyes were slightly reddened.
"Mark," she said, and her voice trembled. "Mark, I'm going to get married very soon."
The world stopped.
I felt as if thousands of blades were stabbing my heart all at once. The air became thick, unbreathable. My legs wobbled.
"What?" was all I could say.
She lowered her gaze.
"My father has arranged my marriage. To the prince of another kingdom. It's an alliance between kingdoms. I have no choice."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her that I was a prince, that I could fix everything. But I couldn't. I shouldn't. My identity was a secret I had to keep until the end of my stay at the academy.
"I'm sorry," she continued, and her eyes moistened. "I'm sorry, Mark. Because... because I like you. I like you a lot. You know that, right?"
I knew. Of course I knew. That's why it hurt so much.
"I..." I tried to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come out.
"I'll always remember you," she said, with a sad smile. "Always."
And she left.
I stood there, in the south garden, watching the woman I loved walk away, feeling my world crumble around me.
I couldn't fight for her. I wanted to, but I couldn't. My parents wouldn't allow it. I would ruin her arranged marriage, put her family at risk, condemn her to dishonor.
So I let her go.
And the void she left in my chest was greater than any hunger I had experienced in those years.
---
Days later, my parents summoned me.
Two and a half years had already passed since my entrance to the academy. For the first time since then, they allowed me to return to the palace. I didn't know why, but a small part of me hoped it was to announce my definitive return.
It wasn't.
"Marko," my father said, seated on his throne with my mother at his side, "we have found a wife for you."
Another stab. Another dagger straight to the heart.
"She is from another kingdom," he continued. "An alliance to maintain good terms with our northern neighbors. It's best for the kingdom."
They didn't ask my opinion. It didn't matter what I wanted. It was my duty. My damn duty as a prince.
"What is her name?" I asked, my voice hollow.
"You will know on the wedding day," my mother replied softly. "We thought it would be better that way. So you don't get any ideas beforehand."
I didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.