A Prologue

[Rough draft. To be edited continuously with given critique. Hope you like it!]

“Did you hear?”

“About the prince?”

“The prince! The little prince is coming!”

The day of Announcement had finally arrived. Roads were lined with admirers, and markets were packed with hopeful merchants. The crowd had gathered to see the young prince of Elyrian for the first time. The King was to promenade through the city with the boy at his side. The king was often seen strolling the streets, but it was routine for the prince to be kept in private company until a certain age.

“The prince, the prince!”

“What about the prince?” The tiny voice piped through the incessant chatter. A small, curly haired boy gazed inquiringly up at the people around him. Why was all of the talk about the prince today? He tugged at shirts, only to be ignored, deciding instead to wander around aimlessly. One man scowled down at the child when he asked the question again.

“Go away, orphan. The streets are looking for more worthy feet to lie under today.” The woman next to him delivered a feminine hit to the arm and a disapproving frown before bending down next to the wide-eyed boy. She placed a comforting hand on his back, rubbing his shirt gently to rid away the tears in his eyes.

“Do not listen to him. Don’t you know about prince Pierkindala?”

“Yes. But what about him?”

“Well, he’s coming into the city for the first time today,” she spoke gently, smiling at the gasp of dawning realization from the boy. She stood and turned to the cobbled road once more, wanting to give him no more attention than needed. Children had the common tendency to cling to whoever would give them enough affection, especially the parentless. The boy understood and, after musing over the prince for a bit, moved on, squeezing his way between watchers’ legs to see the street.

A wave of adoring cries suddenly washed through the crowd. The tall gates of the White Palace opened slowly. He stared up at them, admiring their sheer thickness and how their clean stones seemed to touch the blue sky. How could someone be kept inside those gigantic walls for so long? Somehow, it didn’t seem right. A second round of awed noises rose from the people. The king and his son were approaching! There they were, standing directly between the stone doors, inspecting the citizens of the city with an air of stateliness. They began to stroll forward together, the prince’s pace double that of the king’s to keep up with his father’s wide stride.

“I reckon he’s handsome!” Voices had dropped to rushed whispers.

“Oh, he’s only a child.”

“But he is an elf!”

The people down the road had begun to bow on their knees as their majesties passed. The little orphan clung to the thin strip of cloth tied around his head as he began to run, trying to reach the edge of the street. He wanted to see the prince! Maybe they would would see him and prince Pierkindala would wander over to meet him, and they would become friends. ‘And I can play with him some days. I wonder if I would be allowed in the White Palace…And maybe then the prince can sneak food to me at night!’ The thought of a full stomach made his mouth water.

They were close now. Someone in front of him kneeled and stumbled with their balance, a hand thrusting to the side just as the little street boy ran past, catching him in the stomach. He flipped over the stranger’s arm, tumbling clumsily onto the street. As he rolled, he clamped his hands to his head, desperate to keep the ratty head band on.

When he came to a stop, the city had gone quiet. People stared at him, appalled at his absurdity. No one stepped on the street when the King trod upon it. Would the boy be punished? Would the King have mercy and let him walk away with only a scar on his reputation? He did interrupt the Announcement ceremony, after all. With a small, pained whimper, he pushed himself up off the road and blinked at the sight that met him.

In front of him stood another boy, obviously older (and taller) than him, though not by much. He stood so close that their noses almost touched, and the younger boy had to step back in order to see him in full. Head tilted to the side, he observed the other’s silken white robes, his long blonde hair, and the jeweled circlet wrapped elegantly about his forehead.

“You’re the prince!” he exclaimed in surprise. The young royal grinned proudly, and straightened his posture slightly.

“I am. Why are your eyes so funny?”

The boy gave a blink, cheeks turning tomato red. “I don’t know,” he mumbled uncertainly, diverting his mismatched eyes to the ground. The last thing he needed was the very prince of Elyrian making fun of his eyes.

“Don’t worry! I like them. That one is brown,” the prince pointed to the left eye and then to the right, “And that one is green!” He grinned, and the orphan giggled. “What is your name?”

“Leovanethan,” The boy spoke with wavering dignity, wanting to impress the prince, though not entirely sure how to do so.

“Leovanethan? Alright, I will call you Leo.”