The Prince
Destiny, As Told By An Apprentice: Chapter 5 (Fantasy Fiction Story)
It was official, Morgan was being let out of his royal prison.
His father had just gotten news that the neighboring town of Balethorn, had requested an audience with any neighboring kingdom for aid. And his father had decided to grant the request and send him to negotiate for it. It might only be for a few days, but the Prince was more than ready to cherish such a short amount of time.
Though in the back of his mind, Morgan couldn’t help but question the decision why it had to be him. Albion had a fair amount of options for diplomats, nearly anybody could have done it. But Morgan shook his head as he was packing for the journey.
Any reason to be let out of this kingdom at all.
The Prince was just excited to be seeing the world outside his assigned walls. Not that he didn’t love his kingdom, but his situation has always felt unnatural. Neither his father nor his mother have ever genuinely given him a good reason why he should be stuck here. And even the castle’s pristine garden had grown boring to look and walk around in.
But what was truly puzzling to the Prince, was that he was considered a rare case among royalty his age.
When other royalty his age came to visit, none of whom he had spoken to had been effectively leashed to their kingdom as he has. Especially since he was now 24 years old. It’s not like he was asking for something childish, like going to out on some crazy heroic journey. He just wanted to see the world outside of his father’s kingdom, his mother’s overprotective nature, and the constant watch of either his guards or his family.
And he wouldn’t exactly feel free until he was outside his home’s walls. For now, he had to keep himself together for his mother and not sound overly excited. At least so she couldn’t find or make up a reason for him to stay here, instead of leaving for this diplomatic mission.
Morgan placed the few belongings he needed into the bag attached to his steed. Not too many things, just a dagger, a book (in case he was bored), a few pieces of parchment, and a quill with a small container of ink. His guards would carry the necessary rations, his additional clothes, and whatever else was necessary for the journey.
“Are you sure about this Morgan?” His mother asks as he gets on his steed. “This will be your first journey outside the kingdom. And you don’t want additional guards?”
“I will be fine Mother. This is only meant to be a meeting discussing aid for a local town.” The Prince assures her.
“And I don’t need even more people watching my every move.” He thinks but doesn’t dare say out loud.
She nods hesitantly. “Alright. Just come back soon, ok?”
“Of course.” He promised her before turning his steed around to begin the trek toward Balethorn. His guards following around him like a living wall of metal.
The Prince finally breathes a sigh of relief after they’re a few minutes away from Albion. Sure. They were just on a dirt road and nothing particularly exciting was around them. Yet Morgan would easily choose to lay against one of these trees instead of another day in that boring nightmare.
And sure, this wasn’t exactly the most faraway place to go. Balethorn was only a 6-hour journey from Albion, according to the maps and others who went there. But to the Prince, this was still nice. And considering Balethorn’s reputation, Morgan imagined a town of magic and capitalism.
From what he’s heard, it was a town full of Witches, merchants, and a mix of Fae and Dwarves. A decent amount of humans lived there year-round, but it was mostly a town for trading and novelties. It sounded akin to a vacation spot. And Morgan hoped it proved to as such. Even if he would only be staying for a few days.
It was also a chance to have first hand experience with the other races, since there was a distinct lack of them in Albion. The only Witch Morgan had met was their Court Mage. And while there were some Dwarven smiths in the kingdom, it was a scant few.
It intrigued the Prince, since to his knowledge, they had no policies or rules against them. So this would be his chance to meet some face to face.
Even now, Morgan resisted the urge to smile like a fool as they marched through the countryside. This felt like so many of the dreams he had as a child. Even as he rides through the forest with his guards, he can’t help but remember reading so many fantastical tales of what the outside world was like.
I wonder what Fae are like. Some accounts say they are tricksy and evil, yet others make them sound innocent. My books tell me they don’t all look human shaped; some are the size of bugs and others are as big as a canopy tree.
Witches can be selfish and out for themselves, yet some are wiser than many rulers of old. Such a fascinating contradiction. My only frame of reference is our court mage. She is very analytical and pays attention to detail when completing any task my father had asked her for. And she told me herself that it depends on their Craft. Craft being whatever magic they-
His horse snorts suddenly, taking Morgan out of his thoughts. He looks around and notices that his guards have paused as well. Looking up—the Prince sees the reason Mayor Gillian called for aid.
The forest in front of them has been badly burned.
Some trees were now nothing more than ash, while others were either barely standing or had blackened trunks.
This can’t have been natural, can it?
This incident happened just two nights ago. Even this late into the afternoon, the damage was still visible enough. And while the damage was apparently negligible, who caused it was the reason Balethorn needed assistance.
“We are close to the town my Prince.” One of my guards speaks up. “It should only be a few more minutes.”
Morgan nods silently and they continue onward. As they walk forward, he notices the line where the damage stopped and where a green light was warding the area from the damaged parts.
Perhaps a Witch’s doing?
Putting the scene in the back of his mind, dusk slowly begins to fall around them as they finally enter Balethorn proper.
It’s lit up brighter than any place Morgan has ever seen in Albion. He can see a few stalls where merchants were still peddling their wares. Several women and men alike had large hats on. Some twirling their fingers with obvious glimmers of magic, others whispering a few bits of gossip that Morgan can’t help but listen to as he passes by them.
“Were you there at the Tea Party a few moons ago?”
“No. But I heard it was a splendid affair, at least until the fire broke out.”
“Do you know who caused it? It didn’t feel like any fire magic I’ve seen conjured.”
Morgan wanted to listen for longer, but if he leaned any further, he would fall off his horse for sure. And he was almost certain that if his parents heard of such embarrassment, he would never be allowed to leave Albion ever again.
As they continue through the streets, Morgan can’t help but feel relieved. Anyone who looks at him, barely does so for a moment before looking away. Perhaps they were used to nobility passing through the town. No one even pays attention to his surrounding guards. It might sound strange for royalty, but the Prince was genuinely happy to be passed over. He was used to everyone around him staring at him. To the point that Morgan only got privacy in his own room at night.
What I would do for more than a few days of this feeling…
The Prince lamented such a thought. Freedom was a foolish thing to consider when he wasn’t even sure why he was essentially locked away to begin with.
His thoughts distracted him until they finally reached the town hall. A medium sized building of stone and wood. Not even half the size of his father’s castle, but Morgan wouldn’t judge. If anything, the smaller and less royal it looked, the better.
As they enter, a little lady with a large dark blue hat and elven looking ears is sat a desk in the front room.
The Prince can’t help but pity her position, for there is a collection of papers and books strewn about her work space. She’s barely holding a glowing black feathered pen, looking ready to take a nap rather than continue writing away.
She looks up at them, with a bored expression.
“Oh. It’s you. You can go in the back. The mayor’s been waiting like a fidgety bat. Heheh…”
She laughs blandly at her own joke before slowly spinning around in her office chair.
Huh. I didn’t know Witches took secretary jobs.
Not wanting to seem rude, Morgan nods with a smile, “Thank you miss.”
She waves dismissively in their direction, prompting Morgan and his guards to go into the room she mentioned.
It is nice to be ignored instead of constantly being judged.
As they enter, Morgan can see how the Witch made the comparison.
Mayor Gillian was skittishly staring at the papers on his desk. His long elven ears seemingly twitching as he wrote quickly on several different pieces of parchment. He makes a startled noise as the Prince, and his entourage enter the room.
“Oh! Prince Morgan! I did not expect uh…you in all of Albion to whom the king would send to negotiate.” The Mayor admitted.
So was I. But that doesn’t mean you had to say it out loud…
“Right…well your letter to my father was rather vague in it’s requests. But I presume it has something to do with the burnt forest?”
“Yes, but the damage itself is not much of an issue. The problem is regarding what caused the damage. It is has been brought to my attention that it was some manner of dragon. But dragons are a rare species, even rarer for one to be near Balethorn.” Mayor Gillian explains.
A Dragon? Why does that sound…familiar?
Morgan had read fairy tales of the creatures, but of course, in his limited life experience he had never seen such a creature. Yet the mention of one had him feeling strange. The Prince didn’t know why, but it felt like nostalgia or déjà vu. From what, he could not place.
“Apparently, one such creature was killed by one of the many Witches that lives in our fair town. But the body was rendered…unusable to be examined by any of our specialists. So we have less information than what we would prefer.”
The mayor huffs before looking directly at Morgan’s curious gaze.
“This is where you come in. You see, Balethorn has no more than around a dozen civilians that make up it’s guard force. We are a town of traders, not soldiers. And all of the gossip of the town has become revolved around this recent event, bringing fear to some of the populace. If you are up to the task, I would have you act as the investigator for this problem. It may take a few days as I stated with my letter or possibly longer, depending on huge the issue is.”
Mayor Gillian pauses and takes a breath, “So, will you help us?”
“Of course!” Morgan said quickly and without a second thought. “Uh…I mean that is doable, yes.”
The elf couldn’t help but smile slightly at the Prince’s eagerness.
“Balethorn thanks you, your Highness.” The mayor nods his gratitude. “Now, regarding your accommodations…”
Morgan stares curiously at the inn where the Mayor secured their living quarters for the night.
It seems very…homely.
He can hear the indistinct chattering of the people inside. Luckily, they have a customary stable attached on the side of building. Otherwise, Morgan might’ve had to search for a place his steed could sleep for the night. Without prompting, one of his guards leads the steed he was riding inside. And after a few more minutes of just staring curiously at the building, the Prince finally enters.
The inn is a welcoming sight in more ways than one. Morgan can easily trace the more obvious appearances of some more Witches, with their giant hats and little bits of magic whirling in the air around them. A few Dwarves are enjoying alcohol of some foamy description, though Morgan isn’t acquainted enough to understand what kind they are partaking in.
I wonder what it tastes like…
Though Morgan imagined if he did try to have some, his guards would rat him out to his parents upon his return there.
A man behind the bar waves to him, must have been expecting his arrival.
“Prince Morgan! We are honored to be hosting you at our inn!” The older looking gentleman excitedly bows to him.
“Thank you for your generosity, sir.” Morgan nods politely.
“Of course! It is no trouble! Now, I shall guide you to your room.” He says before walking down a hallway to the right. Morgan and his guards follow him as he unlocks a room at the end of the corridor.
After going inside, the Prince is greeted to a modest room. It has about as much living space for two people, or at least Morgan imagined it was enough for two. Not that he really needed that much space. His guards immediately place his clothing and other items neatly on a wooden table in the corner.
“This is our largest room! We serve breakfast in the morning, and if you need anything at all, you may call upon me at anytime!” He says bowing again.
“Thank you again, Mr.?”
“Mr. Taylor, your highness.” The man provides.
The gentleman whispers something to the guards before departing the room. Then one of the guards approaches the Prince saying:
“He just said unfortunately, they don’t have any additional rooms for us guards. But it’s fine if we rest in the front room. We’ll take shifts guarding your room for the night my Lord.”
“Right. I guess…have a good night then.” He says awkwardly.
They all bow and file out of the room, leaving Morgan finally alone. He breathes a sigh of relief, they hadn’t even done anything particularly suffocating, but it was always nice to have some solitary respite. He slowly takes out of the armor he’s had on the whole day and changes to something more comfortable. A cool breeze drifts in through the slightly ajar window. Morgan stands next to it, admiring the view it provides him.
Balethorn was still lit up in a few places, Morgan imagined it was the kind of town that never really slept. He could just spot a glowing creatures that he guessed must be Fae, his texts weren’t lying about them having many different shapes. One looked like some form of creature he would only see in his wildest dreams, another was like a strange colored butterfly, and one nearly resembled a rainbow-colored tree.
I guess they only feel comfortable coming out late at night.
Just before he turns away, he notices something in his reflection on the glass of the window. For a split second, it looked like something with…scales? Morgan blinks a few times, yet his image stays the same. His normal pale skin with his normal black hair and red eyes.
It must have been some trick of light or something. I must be more exhausted than I thought.
Morgan walks back to his bed and slowly sinks into it. It creaks a little as he settles his weight under the sheets. It might not feel as ‘comfortable’ as his sheets at home, but they felt more freeing than he could possibly imagine.
To whatever gods that exist out there, please let this not be a momentary dream.
Morgan’s eyes gently open to his temporary quarters. It was strange, he could have sworn he dreamt about something, yet he could not remember what. He slowly blinks the sleepiness away; he hears a knocking on his room’s door.
“Breakfast Milord!” A voice yells through the door.
I could have slept another few hours…
The Prince blinks slowly a few times before responding, “You may come in!”
His guard comes in with a metal tray holding eggs, sausage, and plain toast. He places it on a small table near the window.
“The mayor also had this letter sent to you this morning.”
He hands Morgan a sealed envelope with a coin inscribed on the wax seal. Morgan opens it and begins to read the letter inside.
Good Morning, Prince Morgan
The first lead you have is a Witch named Oliver, or better known as the Doomsayer. He is technically an Apprentice, but has grown a reputation for telling horrible fates to all who get a reading from him. He lives on the outskirts of Balethorn, not far from the forest that was burned. A few Witches have informed that he was there the night of the incident, so he could give you a personal recounting of what happened. Therefore, I have reason to believe he may aid you in your investigation, and if not? Well, at least the young Witch can read your fortune while you’re there.
Good Luck,
Mayor Gillian
A fortune teller? This ought to be interesting.
Not that the Prince was looking to waste time on the investigation, but the mention of a fortune teller had him curious. Perhaps he could offer him insight into his future, maybe even show him why his parents treat him like stain glass that could easily be shattered.
Before he could think of what else to ask the Witch, the smell of his breakfast wafted over to him.
Maybe I should eat before thinking about dumping all of my problems on a stranger.
Morgan didn’t know what to expect from a Witch’s home. He (and his guards) asked around about this ‘Doomsayer’ and many of them pointed him in this direction. What made him more curious was the reactions of some of these people.
One man’s face paled and merely said, “You don’t want to see that Witch. He predicts nothing but misfortune.”
A merchant (or pirate?) smiled with a golden tooth in her mouth, “Nahaha! That lad told of me a secluded treasure in a hidden cave! He warned it was cursed, so I let my shitty first mate take it instead. Poor bastard got turned to gold! Lovely statue for our ship though!”
I wonder if she took piece of the statue for that tooth.
Another—a Witch—cackled lightly at the mention, “Ah, I just saw Oliver last week! He can get rather broody for such a young one, but he’s very good at his Craft!”
His guards looked a little worried after hearing these descriptions. From the corner of his eyes, he could see them tighten their grip on their weapons. But the Prince didn’t imagine that the Witch could truly be that dangerous. After all, warning someone of danger is just telling them to avoid it. How people took it, was their own prerogative.
It was a mixed bag of opinions for a fortune teller, but if Morgan’s daily hobby was akin to cursing others to horrible fates, being scorned would probably be the first reaction. Then again, the Mayor stated he was an apprentice. Surely that meant he wasn’t that good at predicting ruin, or so Morgan imagined.
Regardless, the Prince and his guards followed the directions until they found a modest stone cottage on the edge of the town.
Huh, this building doesn’t look that magical.
The building had a few windows strewn about it, a chimney, and a small stone path led to the front door. Nothing out of the ordinary, at least not that Morgan could see.
“Well, shall we?” Morgan asked his guards, before going to knock on the door.
But before his hand could reach it, one of his guards quickly whispered.
“Wait my Lord!”
Causing him to sigh and turn around to the guard, already anticipating what he was about to say.
“Let me be the one to do it! Your Majesty would punish us if they knew we let you face danger head on!”
Morgan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at these words. Of course his parents would issue a command like that. But it irritated him more that this was happening now. They weren’t going to fight a horde of undead nor face an ungodly beast. They came here to talk with someone who was just supposed to point them in the right direction.
“Fine. But if he’s normal and not a threat, you will let me talk to him alone. He is just a bystander to the incident I’m supposed to looking into, not a criminal to be locked away. Understand?”
The offending guard looked a little taken aback at Morgan’s tone, probably because this was first time the Prince was using what little authority he had.
“Y-Yes my Lord!”
Morgan lets the guard stand in front of him and knock on the door. He hears a few steps inside before someone opens the door.
“Who…is it?”
A young man with brown hair, glasses, and a big black hat stares past the guard, looking directly at Morgan. With a look of shock mixed with curiosity, but the Prince was less distracted by this look and more by the Witch’s appearance. Yet his mind was in shock, as the only thing that Morgan thought in this moment was.
How beautiful…
Thank you for reading Chapter 5! Sorry about the long wait, school is draining and motivation was becoming difficult. But don’t worry, managed to get addicted to KPop and was then able to finish this quickly after that.
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