As the world halted, not a single limb moved. And Thom was too afraid to break the standstill. The terror was like being surrounded by a pack of wolves waiting for him to act—daring him to challenge them. But after a brief moment of contemplation, Thom was certain he didn’t have a drop of courage. Thankfully, as though heaven had seen his helplessness, a familiar someone made the first move.

“Leave the boy alone,” the strange old lady said. She hobbled through the crowd and reached for him. This time, he didn’t resist.

No one spoke against her, as she led him through the stiff bodies toward her home. And while the people dispersed with murmurs, Thom was pulled into a low-ceilinged one bedroom house. It was ample times smaller than his bedchamber, with a rattan bed, a small wooden table, and an unlit ash-filled fireplace.

When the old lady sat him by the table, she handed him a brown, wet cloth and said, “For your leg.”

Thom took the cloth and glanced at his legs, discovering a gash across his right knee. Having not noticed it before, the pain was non-existent. But now that he saw, his brain sent a splitting sting to the wound, as warm blood trickled down his shin. The blood was turning his polished, white shoe crimson, leaving him with no choice but to place the unsanitary cloth over the cut. Clenching his teeth as he did, Thom held back a yelp as the gash burned worse than it looked.

The old lady, who had nothing to patch him up with, suggested he tie the cloth around his knee. He hesitated, but ended up doing so tightly. She then offered him a glass of murky water, before sitting across him with the same toothless smile on her face.

“I want to show you something,” the old lady said.

“Oh,” Thom muttered, shifting his body to face her but not daring to move his leg.

“Do you want to see it?”

“Yes,” Thom answered, with an eyebrow raised.

“You must want to see it. If not, you can’t.” The old lady waited for him to respond again.

Being in her presence felt unnatural and perturbing, and Thom’s only wish was to leave. But despite not caring what the old lady had to show him, he wasn’t sure if it was safe to excuse himself yet. So, he nodded in reply. As though she’d seen his response through her glassy eyes, she reached for his hands and held on tightly.

“Look at me,” the old lady prompted, when Thom took all effort to divert his attention elsewhere. “You must look at me.”

Unwillingly, he brought his gaze to meet her lifeless eyes. He stared at the hollow vessels for a few good seconds. And then, he saw the strangest thing. Like crystal balls, white wisps of smoke swirled within the irises as moving images faded in between. When he leaned in for a better look, an invisible force yanked him by the collar and pulled him into the smoky world.

Thom had no idea what was going on. One second he was staring into the old lady’s eyes, and the next he was standing outside a slave’s house. Looking through the fogged window, he saw a young woman in a brown, shin-length dress. She was of average stature, with deep-set eyes, and dark brown curls tied in a ponytail. Cuddling a baby in swaddling clothes, she sang an inaudible lullaby, hoping to put the baby to sleep. When the baby slept, she tucked it in a brown basket and closed it in. Then pulling a scarf over her head, she hung the basket on her arm and hurried out into the chilly, dark morning.

Thom tried to follow after the woman, but when he willed his feet to move, they wouldn’t budge. It was as though they were glued to the ground. A second before he gave up trying, Thom blinked and found himself outside the black gate. Just as he’d realized where he was, he spotted the same woman hurrying across the street. By then, the sky was brightening, as day was about to clock in.

The woman met a stocky man by a nearby shop. When the man saw her, he gestured and yelled. Then giving her a hard slap, he pointed at the baskets of fresh fruit on the ground. Quickly, the woman started loading the baskets onto a cart, with the cocooned baby still in the basket hanging on her arm. In the brief moment when the man looked away, the woman carefully placed her basket in between the rest before continuing with her job.

Once the cart was fully loaded, the woman lifted one end and pushed it up the street. The man led the way with a mouthful of seemingly angry words Thom couldn’t lip-read. And yet again, when he tried to follow after them, Thom failed.

As the pair disappeared from sight, Thom sighed and blinked. And when he did, he reappeared in a different spot—still in full view of the master and his slave. It took Thom long enough, but he eventually understood. He was tailing the woman. He was following her story, but not by foot. He wasn’t in his own body—he was borrowing the eyes of different passersby. That thought was as exciting as it was disturbing. But since he knew what was transpiring, he didn’t attempt to move his feet again.

After a series of different perspectives, the pair arrived at the palace’s golden gates. The guards let them through without question and they disappeared once more. Moments later, Thom saw the woman and the man stopping outside the princes’ palace, where two servants came to greet them. One took the cart, and the other told them to wait.

From where he stood, most probably watching as a bored palace guard, he could see the woman’s face. Her eyes were fearful, sad, and undeniably full of regret. He didn’t need a scholar to tell him why. Unfortunately, the reason she hid and brought her child there was still a mystery he needed to solve.

As the woman waited stiff and mute for the return of the servant, the man began pacing. He clearly did not have the patience of a saint. Thankfully for the woman, the wait wasn’t long. Shortly after the servants left, they returned and handed the man a bag of gold. Now jolly, the man thanked the servants and started to leave. The woman, however, hesitated. Her eyes remained fixated on the palace doors, where the cart was pushed through earlier. When the man realized she wasn’t following after him, she received two hard slaps and a rough shove. After that, she waited no longer and left.

Thom stood where he was, even after they were gone, and wondered if there was more. Alas, the story ended there. One last blink and he returned to the small house, seated in front of the old lady once more.  

“What just happened?” Thom asked.

The old lady unclasped her cold hands but made no reply.

“What did I just see?” Thom continued.

“Magic,” the old lady said.

“Magic doesn’t exist.”

“It does in you. All who glimpse the past have magic within them.”

“Right.” Thom didn’t know where he stood on the premise of magic. However, there was something about the vision that troubled him—a kind of inkling he couldn’t shake off.” But who was that woman?” Thom had to ask.” Why did she give her baby away?”

“It’s going to rain,” the old lady merely replied.” You might want to hurry back before the cliff gets too slippery, your highness.”

How this stranger knew so much about him was disconcerting. But despite the need to douse his doubts, he caught the scent of rain’s arrival. And if the old lady were right about one thing, it would be the slippery cliff. So, he bade her farewell and promised he’d return.

As he exited the grungy neighborhood, dark clouds gathered overhead in soft grumbles. Just as he reached the marketplace, it began to drizzle. Thom pulled the cloak around him, while he limped on his pain-free leg. The wound on his right knee sent a sharp, nerve-tugging pain to his hip whenever he put the slightest pressure on it. And he was starting to worry about the return climb.

Once he was sheltered in the cave, Thom oscillated between proceeding and waiting for the rain to stop. But as the clouds darkened further, with flashes of lightning, he knew it would be a while before the sky cleared. Then deciding that death was already outside his door, he took the chance and hoped that if he were to die, the secret of his identity would remain as that—a secret.

Though Thom was not yet entirely convinced, it was starting to make sense. For one, he had never been able to find the Majestas Regia—the constellation only royals could see. He also didn’t resemble his father or his brother. And to top it off, the vision in the old lady’s eyes felt real. Thom might as well write a welcome letter to death. And just as he expected, death entertained his offer.

As Thom ascended, he had little grip on the rock crevices. His feet struggled to find firm footing—it didn’t help that his right leg was useless. And, not a single utterance of being a chosen prince left his lips in attempts to cajole himself. But, miracles do happen. And miraculously, he made it. When he climbed over the balustrade of the reading chamber’s balcony, Thom lay on the ground gathering his remaining strength. He needed just enough to make it to his bedchamber, as it was better to die comfortably than bleed out on the cold marble floor.

When Thom eventually stumbled into the warmth of his large, cozy bedchamber, he was as pale as a corpse. Upon his arrival, his young, chubby steward gasped in horror. Thom would’ve laughed at the shock on the preteen boy’s round face, but it required too much effort.

“Your highness!” The boy scrambled to his side, and guided him to an armchair by the fireplace. “Your highness, what happened? Should I call for the royal physician?”

“I fell. I need a bath and someone to clean this up for me,” Thom muttered.

“But . . . why are you all wet?”

Thom hissed in reply and the boy bowed. “Sorry I asked, your highness.”

“Don’t call for the royal physician. I don’t want my mother to know about this.”

“But . . .”

“Aren’t you the physician’s fifth apprentice . . . or something?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then do your job.”

“Yes, your highness.”

As the boy hurried in and out, Thom watched the flames dance among the logs in the fireplace. It soothed him that by the time more logs needed to be added, he was in clean clothes and his knee neatly patched.

Night was still far from arrival, but the torrential downpour had sent day under the bed covers. Both mentally and physically exhausted, he called for his steward to help him onto his bed. He ate the warm meal the kitchen prepared, while growing fond of the pattering on the windows. The weather was a perfect depiction of his confused and lost state, and he felt one with it.

Unfortunately, day couldn’t end on such a dull and quiet note. Oh, how he wished it had. Thom grumbled when he was told his brother wanted to see him. Attempting to turn his brother away, the crown prince pulled rank and Thom was powerless. Giving in, he watched as Dedric strode into the bedchamber and dismissed the steward. It was only when Dedric sat by the bed that he noticed the bandage on Thom’s knee.

“What happened?” Dedric asked, looking rather concerned—an expression Thom wasn’t sure was genuine; truth had become a confusing subject.

“I fell.”

“Where?”

Fear swept across Dedric’s face. Once again, it was on the blurry line between truth and fiction.

“Not on the cliff.”

“Did you climb when it was raining?”

“It was drizzling when I did. Why do you care?” Thom lied, hoping to end the conversation there. He was tired of deciphering Dedric’s expressions. And he was tired of having to speak with him altogether.

“You should’ve waited it out.”

“I would’ve gotten in trouble.”

Dedric nodded. Then there was a short moment where the crickets chirped and the owls hooted, as neither of them knew what else to say. All Thom wanted to do was sleep, while Dedric seemed to be contemplating his next words.

“Did you come to tell me something?” Thom finally asked.

“Yes. Mother says it would be good for you to go riding tomorrow—to get some fresh air.”

Thom shrugged in agreement. Riding sounded like a good way to make sense of the surreal events. He also missed Ironheart—his handsome black stallion.

“But with your leg in such a state . . .”

“I’ll go,” Thom said.

“Mother asked me to accompany you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I don’t want you there,” Thom blatantly stated.

“Well, you don’t have a choice.”

“Fine.”

“You get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Dedric said before he left.

Thom was glad Dedric didn’t stay any longer, as he found the conversation distant and unpleasant. And despite coming off bratty, he knew it was harder for Dedric to face him. Silently, in hopes no one heard his internal thoughts, he gave Dedric credit for his willingness. At least Dedric wasn’t acting on the truth, and perhaps they had a chance of amending the crack in their relationship.

Rest that night was in a straight position with his right leg propped on a pillow. It was difficult trying not to move, with his dreams revolving around what he had seen earlier that day. The memory played like a broken record, waking him at the end of each cycle. And after many failed attempts at having a decent sleep, the sun arrived.

Putting his dreams aside, Thom called for breakfast in bed and chomped down his bready meal in a jiffy. When his brother came to see him, despite his little rest, Thom was pumping and ready. They exchanged an estranged greeting before heading to the army training camp together. This time, there was no need for sneaking. They exited the palace gates with the royal escort and took a left turn toward the camp.

The camp was separated from the public by tall wooden planks. Upon their arrival at the thick, heavy wooden gate, the guards on the towers saluted and waved for the gate to open. Once it was wide enough to fit two people, they entered without hesitation.

Inside, a long line of canvas tents stood from left to right. Before the tents were groups of robust soldiers clashing swords, cooking and eating, sharpening blades, and up and about their daily routines. There were also slaves at the far right end, working on building new watchtowers. Thom decided he’d seen enough slaves in his lifetime and stalked toward the stables on the left.

That morning, his knee tingled with the memory of the wound. But since he’d done well walking, mounting a horse wasn’t a problem. It had been a week since he’d last ridden. And having longed for the wind in his face, he didn’t wait for Dedric as he sent his black beauty galloping from the stables and down the line of tents.

When Thom reached the end, he pulled his stallion to a stop. He was about to turn back when his eyes inevitably fell upon the working slaves. Shirtless men, covered in sweat, dirt, and blood pulled bricks up to a temporary wooden bridge that connected an old stone watchtower to a new one. Those who were supervising the slaves carried long sticks, which were used when they weren’t satisfied with a slave’s performance.

Against his better judgment, and against his sensible will, his body dismounted the horse and strode toward the construction site. It was a cloudy day, and he didn’t need to squint at the tall towers where the slaves risked their lives.

“Your highness, it isn’t safe here,” a supervising soldier said when he spotted Thom.

“I want to go up,” Thom replied. He had no idea where the odd desire came from.

The soldier swiveled his head in search for his superior. Seeing his response, Thom assured, “Don’t worry.”

He then headed to the old watchtower and ascended the long winding steps. Even his leg didn’t protest, as the pain had resided greatly. When Thom reached the landing, a cooling breeze brushed across his face. He closed his eyes in its embrace, while he caught his breath.

The watchtower overlooked the forest outside the kingdom’s walls. One could see the glistening Suduratt and the colossal North Mountains in the distance, too. When the pattering in his chest calmed, he absorbed the picturesque view for as long as he could, until the yells of a slave interrupted his mental getaway.

It was at the bridge that Thom saw a teenage soldier beating a slave. The slave begged for mercy, but the soldier was deaf to his pleas. On most days, Thom would’ve turned a blind eye. But that day was different. He felt restless, and he had an unusual urge to act. Suddenly, he couldn’t stand and watch the brutality. So, he spoke.

“Stop that, now,” Thom ordered, heading toward the pair.

The soldier was about to hit him, too, until he saw who he was and quickly apologized. The soldier, square-jawed with broad shoulders, looked a little older than Thom.

“I’m sorry your highness, but he was idling.”

“He looks tired. Let him rest.”

“He already has. He knows you’re here and is putting on a show. I’m pretty sure of it,” the soldier insisted.

Thom turned to the cowering slave. With blisters on his hands, and blood trailing down his nape, Thom felt sorry for him.

“P-p-please your highness, I only wish for some water,” the slave bravely requested.

Without waiting for Thom’s reply, the soldier swung his stick at the slave’s head—sending the slave on his back. The soldier was about to give another blow when Thom grabbed his wrist to stop him.

Annoyed, the soldier briefly forgot who Thom was and attempted to yank his hand free. Immediately, it became a struggle of ego and pride between two juvenile boys. Thom held on tightly and tried to pull the stick out of the soldier’s hand. At the same time, the soldier attempted to free his stick from Thom’s grip. Their tug of war went on for a few minutes. But just before Thom was about to win, the soldier tugged back and hit himself on the head. Hearing the loud crack, Thom released his grip.

Thom didn’t want anybody to get hurt. He didn’t know why he had gotten himself into such a childish tussle to begin with. But before he could regret his actions, the soldier stumbled and lost his balance. Arms reaching out a second too late, the young soldier crashed through the thin wooden handrail and fell to his death.