Page 1 of The Lost Prince
ChapterOne
“Ineed to cut your hair before you leave tomorrow, or the other boys will make fun of you. You don’t want that, do you?” Mother’s voice snapped at me, and my spoon clattered against my plate as I ignored the cold peas. She grabbed a strand of my hair, much longer than it normally was, and gave it a firm tug.
“Ouch! Mother!”
Mother liked to keep my hair shaved close to my head, but we hadn’t left our apartment in weeks. Or was it months? I wasn’t sure why. Sometimes Mother was sad and didn’t get out of bed. Other times she was so angry she couldn’t stand to look at me. I didn’t understand the ‘why’ of that either. Specifically, the looking at me part, and not the being mad part. Usually it wasn’t too hard to figure out what was making her mad, or anxious, or upset.
Not that I needed to leave. The apartments were cozy, and crammed with books and candles and little figurines that had been gifts from the queen. We had one large window that was big enough to let light in, but it was too high for me to gaze out of it properly.
I turned my attention back to my mother. I’d gotten pretty good at reading her, but it was hard to know what to do at times. Usually, she was a great mother; reading to me from the many books on her shelves, and telling stories—such funny stories—of her and the queen when they were young. It was hard to imagine the stoic queen I knew sliding down a banister or stealing from the kitchens, but Mother wouldn’t lie about that.
Well, unless like everything else, they were just stories to entertain me.
I shook my head, curling my fingers around my spoon. I didn’t see what the problem was; my hair was more fun when it was long—it curled and bounced, and I liked how it felt when I quickly turned my head from side to side. A sudden thought occurred to me.
“Is long hair only for girls?” I asked, frowning. If it was, I could understand her anger. She wouldn’t want anyone to think I was agirl, after all. That would be confusing. Then they might reap me and make me compete for a noble boy’s hand! How silly.
Mother’s brow furrowed. “No … it’s not that. It’s just … Trust me.”
Her eyes flicked to my hair, lips pinching into a thin line.
“You are twelve now. Far older than you should be before reaping. I simply want to ensure you make a good impression. If you don’t make a good impression, you’ll be stuck being a Fireguard with all the mud boys. Is that what you want?”
I shook my head vehemently. According to my mother's stories, mud boys were little better than wild animals. Though being a Fireguard sounded fun, there was no honor in it. That was why my mother scolded me when I didn’t read well enough, or withheld dinner when my work wasn’t finished. I had to compete with the other boys, and be better.
Because Iwasbetter.
“You aren’t some dirty mud boy,” mother always said. She’d even make me repeat it. “I’m not some dirty mud boy.”
Mother was one of the queen’s ladies, which allowed us to live in the castle. Though these days, she didn’t attend the queen much. It seemed strange, but she always got angry when I asked about it. Her fear and anger made sense: she wanted the best possible outcome for my future. She wanted me to be successful. I agreed with all of those things.
“Did you finish those mathematics? The wine the servants brought up earlier gave me a headache; must be of a stronger quality coming from the queen’s stores. I shall lay down after dinner, then afterwards look it over, then see about cutting this mop. They will come for you first thing in the morning for the reaping.”
Tomorrow was my reaping: the day when I’d officially enter training with the other boys my age. Usually it happens every five years, but Mother said there’s been a terrible flux that spread throughout the kingdom and made the reaping too dangerous, delaying it until now. All the eligible boys my age and younger would gather and begin our new lives in our dormitories. I’d still be able to visit my mother, of course, like most of the noble boys could.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust at my black curls.
I nodded, returning to my dinner with a skeptic eye. I hated fish. But it was better than nothing. Mud boys had nothing.
We returned to our dinner. I tracked the first glass of wine she had, then the second. She only made it halfway through the second before frowning at it, licking her lips and wiping them with her napkin. Why did she drink more of it if the first few glasses gave her a headache?
Adults did things that made no sense.
“Little dragon, I’m not feeling well tonight. I will cut your hair tomorrow. First thing, yes?”
Normally I liked my nickname. Dragons were fierce and strong, even though the one that plagued our kingdom kept everyone inside the stone walls and dragonsbane roof. But I saw the nickname for what it was; a distraction.
“Mother, we won’t have time tomorrow! I want to get up early to ensure I’m ready. Can’t you cut it now?”
She stumbled from the table toward her bedroom as if she didn’t hear me, her words slurring and her heels catching on the hem of her dress.
“Are you all right?” I asked carefully, unsure of what was going on.
Normally Mother had three glasses of wine and handled it fine. What was going on? Perhaps she was sick.
I followed behind her, my feet dragging on the worn rug, catching in the grooves in the wood. She made it into her private chamber, not bothering to close the door. Her hand wrapped around the large wooden post, then slipped as she fell onto the bed, fully clothed.
The scissors lay on the table beside her bed. Maybe I could cut my hair myself? Mother had gone on and on about how important appearances were. Had she forgotten that tomorrow was the big day? I could probably do it. The steel was cold in my fingers as I picked up the scissors and held them out.
