"My Prince, why exactly are we looking for a spouse in the slums?"

Lucian smirked, without moving his gaze away from the window. "Why not? I'm sure that place is full of interesting people."

Riven couldn't help but stare at him for a brief second, palms damp pressed against each other. "Interesting, your highness?" A nervous chuckle escaped his lips, and the realization that this could possibly be the Prince's worst plan yet hit him like a slap. "Surely you must be jesting with this old servant of yours?"

Lucian ignored him, waving his hand dismissively, as if what was currently happening was not worthy of such concern. The servant piped down, now scratching at the wool of his robe, unable to sit still. A prayer echoed in his head, one begging the Gods that the King woul never find out where he had agreed to escort him – he did trust Lucian's judgment, of course, but he also knew that the Master could be far too reckless for his own good at times. He was not one to show this side of him to many people, but to him, the gleam of pure curiosity and anticipation in his Prince's eyes was far too easy to recognize. Ever since his youth, he had always been a rebellious child, but a child with a good heart and a sound head.

At the very least, that is how he knew him to be.

The carriage wheels whispered over the stone as the horses marched forward, the scenery in front of their eyes shifting every so often. What at first had been the marble of the Palace, seemingly glowing in the afternoon sun, had started to morph into gardens and beautiful manors, belonging to the royals of Paican – estates with trimmed edges and extravagant stone fountains, each more ostentatious than the last. The servants working on the grounds were dressed in pristine uniforms, and each of them made sure to bow at their passing.

Then came the villas of the wealthy; smaller, but elegant regardless. They ran past noblemen in their own carriages, women sporting feathered hats strolling on the sidewalks, and nannies holding hands with giggling children. There, the road began to narrow, little by little.

The trees suddenly grew sparser, finally giving way to open fields, where farmers bent over the dirt, sweating under the heat. Carts of whey and livestock cluttered the sides of the path, as barefoot boys chased after runaway chickens.
Lucian inched closer to the window, ever so slightly: he knew they were getting closer.

It was not long before they had reached the city, the heart of Paican. The houses stood shoulder to shoulder here, tall and crooked and worn by time, with a few bricks missing here and there. The streets were swarming with life – chatter, barking dogs, merchants shouting deals, market stalls spilling onto each other, full to the brim with food and fabrics. A faint smell of spices begain filling the carriage as they passed by a man cooking stew close to his cart, but it did not have time to linger. Poverty was undeniably starting to show, but there was still a certain charm to it, one of vibrant colors and constant motion.  

That is, until the city began to thin. The stone houses turned to wood, and that wood turned rotten. The roofs sagged under their own weight, defeated little buildings, with holes scattered all over. They had arrived,

The slums.

The prince took a sharp breath, but his composure never faltered. Riven stole a quick glance at him, waiting for a reaction, anything to betray his true motives. But he sat still.

Lucian's gaze dropped for a brief second to a man curled under a wooden crate, one used to carry fruit and produce, half-hidden by the decrepit stalls selling offal. A child sat beside him, her legs clutched close to her chest, watching the carriage roll by with wonder in her sunken eyes. It was most likely she had never seen anything of the sort in her short lifetime.
Further on, he could see a woman scrubbing laundry in a cracked basin, her hands raw and close to bleeding. Flies buzzed, rats skittered underfoot.

His jaw clenched, but not enough for Riven to notice. It had been a long time since he had witnessed the true state of the forgotten side of Paican. After all, no one in the Palace wanted to acknowledge it. That much he knew for a fact.

They passed collapsed homes, skeletons of what they used to be, and ragged figures leaning against walls or simply lying down in the alleys, covered in layers of filthy clothing. Suddenly, he tapped his hand twice against the roof of the carriage, and the wheels slowed, leaving them right in the middle of an empty road.

The coachman leaned to the side. "Here, Your Highness?"

Lucian nodded. "Yes, just pull to the side. We should be good."

Once they had stopped moving, the air hit them: heavy with smoke and the smell of urine, pungent enough to make Riven cover his nose by reflex for a moment, before catching himself. Then he turned to the Prince, almost expectantly. "Well? What shall we do now?"

"As I said, we go look for my spouse." Lucian began to stand up, but was abruptly stopped. "Riven?"

"Apologies, Your Highness, but I cannot allow you to go outside, it is not safe. I will search for your spouse and come back as soon as I find anyone presentable."

The Prince sighed, slumping back into the seat and folding his arms in front of his chest. "As you wish. Bring me someone I can parade in front of the King."

Riven blinked, surprised by the lack of resistance. "You do understand that you are not to leave this carriage, correct?"

"I understand."

"Are you positive?"

Lucian let out a frustrated groan, before glaring at his Servant. "Just go!"

With one last glance, Riven jumped off the coach, and after steadying himself he took off, disappearing in one of the many alleys.

But as Lucian sat in waiting, one detail caught his attention: there was a certain commotion coming from somewhere, and he could tell it was not very distant. He leaned close to the door, listening intently. And after a few moments, he jumped off as well.

Just a few roads ahead, a small crowd was beginning to form. Curious villagers stepping on each other's toes to be able to see the spectacle unfolding in front of them, some showing concern, others simply hoping for a distraction from another grueling day.

In the middle of the crowd, the armor of one of the Royal guards was shining bright, the sun reflecting off of it, almost blinding. As was common, the armor was white, pure and pristine, except for the few dots of red scattered on its surface: blood. In his hand, he held a whip, big and heavy looking, with droplets of crimson falling from its tip. He raised it, for the umpteenth time, and then it came crashing down onto tanned skin.

Not one word was uttered, not one scream, not one grimace. The boy standing in front of the guard was covered in cuts, his shirt ripped open, sweat and blood pooling at his feet, and yet he was calm. There was no fear to be seen in his eyes, only a burning anger.

"I said apologize!" The guard barked, spit flying onto the boy's face, stepping even closer. He dropped the whip, and his hand hovered above the sword at his side. "You stole from a Royal man-at-arms, do you have no shame? You think there is no price to pay for such a crime?"

The boy looked up, cocking his head, observing the man. "Apologize? Shame? Why should I? I never stole – I took back what you bastards have taken from the people."

A second guard, standing a few feet behind, raised his boot, kicking him back down into the dirt. "You little brat." He grabbed a handful of his long hair, forcing him up. "Apologize right now. You should be thanking the Heavens that none of your bones have been broken yet."

The boy coughed, before letting out a small chuckle. "I'd rather choke on my own blood than apologize to filthy pigs like you."

The crowd gasped, with women bringing their hands to their eyes, afraid to see what would happen next, and then went awfully quiet. There was a charged energy, an anticipation drenched in fear.

In the midst of the people, one figure stood tall, covered by a heavy cloak. Lucian was silent, his eyes focused on observing the boy. He'd seen executions before, floggings, kneelings, they were not rare in the Kingdom.
But this was different.

This was interesting.

The boy was not scared. He was not pleading for his life, unlike the many others he had witnessed. He was hateful, and defiant.

At last, the guards grew restless. One of the two leaned closer to the boy, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "Last chance. Repent. Now."

He scoffed, spitting out some of the blood in his mouth. "Bite me."

Everything after that went by in a heartbeat. The tallest guard snarled, unsheathing his sword, the blade aimed directly at the boy's face – but the blow never landed.

"That is enough."

The sudden words struck like lightning, freezing the guard's arm in mid-air.

Lucian stepped forward, breaking away from the crowd, his figure still hidden. He moved closer to the boy, enough to clearly see his face.

"And who the hell do you think you are interrupting a Royal guard's punishment? Do you want to go next?" The guard spat, not lowering his sword.

The Prince tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smile of pure amusement. With deliberately calm movements, he lowered his hood, shaking his hair a little in the process.

Silence.

One could even hear the smallest of needles drop.

Even the boy's gaze faltered, but only for a second. The pale skin, the dark eyes, the jet black hair and the unmistakable cut of the Royal family's bone structure.

"I'm someone you should show a little more respect to. Don't you think?"

The guard's face paled, his sword falling loudly to the ground as he stepped back in a hurry, lowering his head instinctively, a gesture that was soon followed by everyone in the crowd.

"Y...Your Highness!"

Lucian gazed at him, disgust evident in his cold stare. "You were about to strike someone publicly. Without trial. For stealing food." He kicked the sword away, bending down to meet the guard's eyes. "Was that your best judgment?"

Before the guard could answer, a shout came from the back of the street, powerful and almost frightening.

"My Prince!"

The Prince flinched slightly, turning to find Riven puffing and panting, his face a deep shade of red. The servant began wading his way through the thick wall of people, and Lucian knew it was time to end the fun.

"You." He said, his finger pointing to the boy, whose head was held high and body covered in mud. "Come with me."