I crept through the dewy undergrowth, my fingers parting the damp ferns as I scanned for the pale green leaves I'd come to recognize. Even at ten, I moved like someone who had learned to survive not because someone taught me, but because the world forced me to. Beside me, Garet knelt, his messy black hair damp with morning mist.
"Today's haul should be enough to eat and still save a little," I said softly, placing a fresh sprig into my satchel.
"You should've grabbed more," Garet muttered, eyeing my bag. "We never know what tomorrow brings."
From a low-hanging branch, Lynet stepped down beside us, brushing her black hair behind her ear. Her voice was soft, but sharp enough to cut through both of us. "And when we take too much and nothing grows back, we'll starve. We take what we need. No more."
We didn't argue. Not with Lynet.
The three of us trudged back toward town, our bags filled with herbs and leaves. The streets always made my stomach twist so many beggars and gaunt eyed people with nothing left. Healthy bodies in torn clothes, arms stretched out in silence. Victims of a kingdom that cared more about war than its people. Soldiers passed us, boots polished and eyes forward, stepping around the hungry like they weren't even there.
Sometimes I wondered… how could a kingdom so powerful let this happen?
We ducked into the herb shop. The bell above the door gave a soft chime ding... ding... as we entered. The scent of crushed petals and dried lavender filled the air, masking the bitter reality outside. The shopkeeper looked up, waved us forward without a word.
I dumped the herbs from my bag onto the counter. He inspected them, fingers tapping across parchment as he calculated.
"Kay, 24 coins," he said, sliding the stack toward me. "Garet, 32. Lynet, 24 coins."
We nodded, whispered our thanks, and slipped out, pockets heavier, but not by much.
The sun was starting to sink when we passed through the orphanage gates. That's when I saw the carriage gold-trimmed, polished clean even in a place like this. The courtyard was tense. From the window leaned a boy with white hair and cold black eyes.
Prince Tristan.
He looked just like me. Same age. Same face, even. But that was where it ended. An irony i had dirt under my nails and he wore silk.
"Prepare everything quickly, don't waste time!" he barked, voice echoing across the yard.
The head of the orphanage scurried to him, hunched and sweating. "Everything will be ready, Your Highness," he stammered. "Just… don't forget the price I asked for."
The prince narrowed his eyes. "Insolent," he spat. "Do as I command. Now go."
His carriage groaned forward. I felt something cold settle in my chest.
Back in our room, I dropped my things and turned to the others. The blankets hung from the walls like dead skins, the air damp with rot. "Why would a prince come to a place like this?" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. "Do you two have any idea?"
Garet scoffed, not even looking at me. "Who cares? It's not our business."
Maybe he was right. But my gut told me something was wrong.
I crept down the hallway, each step slow on the worn floorboards. I knew where to look the room near the orphanage head's office. That's where he would've taken him.
And then I heard it.
A scream. Raw, sharp, muffled through the walls. My chest tightened.
I scanned the hallway. There an old section of the wall, where time had rotted the planks enough to leave a narrow hole. I crouched, pressed my eye to it.
And there he was.
Prince Tristan, standing over one of the younger boys, whip in hand, eyes gleaming. The boy's back was already red and raw. The prince laughed laughed.
"Scream louder... hahah…!!" he shouted, cracking the whip again.
I couldn't breathe. My hands curled into fists.
"We're just your playthings, huh…" I whispered. "You'll see…"
Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Heavy. Metal boots.
The guards.
"huh... I hissed, backing away from the wall. I had to leave.
But I had seen enough.
I stormed back to our room, fists clenched so tight my knuckles ached. My chest burned not from running, but from rage. That bastard… whipping a child like he was nothing. Laughing. Enjoying it. That wasn't a prince. That was a monster in silk.
I knelt beside my cot, lifting the loose floorboard where I kept my things hidden. My fingers brushed over the dried leaves and stems, the familiar texture of my little collection of herbs. I didn't grab them blindly no, I knew exactly what I was looking for.
"Nightshade," I muttered, holding the dark, wrinkled berries to the light. A rare variety. It looked harmless, and the taste… if crushed and mixed right, it would blend easily into rich flavors. Almost sweet. Almost undetectable.
"This should be enough," I whispered. "But the real problem… is getting him to eat it."
My mind raced. The kitchens. That's where I'd start.
I slipped the berries into a pouch and tied it close to my belt. My steps were quieter now. Focused.
"Let's see how royal he feels when his own feast turns on him."
The kitchen was dim, lit only by the dying glow of embers in the hearth. I slipped in without a sound, my bare feet pressing lightly against the cold stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, sweet spices, and freshly baked bread none of it meant for the likes of us.
My eyes scanned the counters. Then I saw it.
"Spices... and something expensive," I murmured under my breath. The plating was too fine, the ingredients too rare. "Who else would eat this if not a prince?"
I moved quickly. My fingers found the small pouch hidden in my sleeve. I loosened the string with practiced care. The powder inside looked innocent pale, fine like crushed rosemary. It wouldn't smell, it wouldn't foam, it wouldn't warn.
I tipped the contents into a pot of soup already portioned and waiting near the back of the counter. Thick, fragrant, and still steaming just the right temperature to mask anything strange.
"Only the soup," I told myself. "Any more would be reckless."
watching the powder disappear into the golden broth. No change in color, perfect.
The orphanage hallways were quiet, save for the faint clatter of dishes in the distance. I waited near the corner, hidden behind a broken wall panel, until I heard the creak of the dining room door opening and closing. A servant's voice murmured something probably delivering the food. My time was now.
I crept forward, hugging the shadows until I reached the hallway outside the guest quarters. I had watched the routine, memorized when the guards stepped out or looked away. But tonight, one remained inside loyal, or maybe just not hungry. Either way, he was in my way.
The door wasn't locked. Why would it be? No one expected danger in a place like this, especially not from a child.
I eased it open slowly, just enough to slip inside. The air was heavy with the scent of wine and meat. The prince was there, lounging in a chair near the table, half a bowl of soup already gone. He hadn't noticed me. But the guard he did.
Steel scraped from a sheath.
I dove behind a shelf, barely avoiding the swing of his blade. I had prepared for this. My hand reached into my pocket and pulled free a small satchel. I snapped it open and flung the contents into the air.
A pale, herbal powder burst like dust between us.
The guard staggered. He coughed, his eyes beginning to water, and his stance wavered just enough. It was now or never.
I lunged forward, my small hand gripping the sharpened kitchen skewer I'd hidden beneath my tunic. With all my weight, I drove it up into his neck, aiming just beneath the jaw.
He gurgled. His sword clattered to the ground. He dropped like a sack of flour, twitching once before going still.
My breath was ragged. My hands were shaking. But the way was clear.
I turned my gaze toward Prince Tristan sigh with a pale face
He looked up and saw me.
And I didn't run.
My hands were trembling as I looked down at his lifeless body Prince Tristan, the boy who had everything, now silenced by a spoonful of poison and a few inches of steel.
But I wasn't done.
I needed more than his death. I needed his identity.
I pulled off his robe heavy, embroidered, and far too long for me. Still, with some adjustment, it fit well enough. The fabric scratched against my skin, but it carried his scent lavender oil and arrogance.
Then I glanced at his face. My face.
We looked too alike. Too dangerously alike.
I gripped the kitchen knife tighter.
This isn't him anymore."
The blade came down fast once, twice enough to ruin the recognizable shape of his features. Blood pooled quickly, but I didn't flinch. I had made my choice.
Then I screamed.
Loud. Panicked. Just like a frightened child caught in the middle of chaos.
"HELP! He attacked me!!"
I shoved open the chamber doors as footsteps thundered down the hallway. Two guards burst in, blades drawn, eyes scanning.
"are you okay?"
"You fools!" I roared, my voice cracking not from fear, but fury. "You were outside the door where were you when I was fighting for my life!?"
They froze, eyes wide. I could see the confusion begin to twist into panic.
"Silence!" I snapped
He lowered his head immediately, fists clenched at his side. The other guard dropped to one knee.
"I want this cleaned up. we will be back soon".
"Yes, Your Highness," they said
I was no longer kay
I am Tristan Bedwyr.