It was a quaint little town, strange and utterly unique. It held a diverse array of people, all different in their own way but still the same. A patchwork of houses lined the rough cobbled streets, constructed from a variety of materials and none similar. They reflected the people who called them home-stone held the quiet, wood the traditional, brick the outgoing, and so on. I often wondered if this was intentional or fate's way of entertaining herself. On some nights the town would light up with those celebrating, running through the streets and dancing late into the night. It didn't seem to matter what the occasion was-Hallow's Eve, the summer solstice, or the birth of a child-the townsfolk took every opportunity they could to make merry.

My home is far less grand. The castle is of cold stone, the lavish halls dull and unwelcoming. It lacks a certain warmth and vitality that the town embodies so fully, which is impossible to replicate with the rues that dominate the life of the throne's heir.

My father Geoff is a good king, fair towards his people and relaxed around his sons. He is proud of us, my brother Ryan, the younger, especially. Ryan follows our father like a lost puppy, taking his words as gospel and never questioning orders. He would make a good ruler one day. I cannot say that I was never the same, for I was. When I was first old enough to know I was next in line to be king I was excited, in awe of the power I would hold when I took the throne. I listened to my father, for he is wise, and made it my goal to become like him when I was of age.

However as I grew older that excitement faded and I began to draw interest from the town that held so much which was unexplored to me. It grew to be habit that I would slip the castle guards with a cloak's hood hiding my face and make my way to the commoners' streets. Perhaps it began as a need to be alone, to escape for even a short while, and to learn about what was foreign to me. I made certain that no one would recognize me, for I wished to be treated no differently than any other, and if I could move amid the people unnoticed then I wouldn't complain.

I'm not certain exactly how it happened that I made friends in the town. Perhaps I looked a little lost or somehow found myself in one of their shops. However the fact remains that I did, and I became closer to them than any acquaintances I had made while in the castle walls. I escaped more often, spending any time I could spare in their company, and any time I couldn't they wouldn't fail to seize my thoughts.

As I practiced swordplay on the requests of my father I would think of Jack, the bearded man with the kindest eyes of anyone I had or would ever see, who looked tough but had a heart crafted of pure gold. He was the most adept woodworker in the kingdom; ask anyone and they would tell you that if you needed something constructed, Jack would be more than capable of accomplishing it.

I thought of Ray, the poor man who was barely scraping by but didn't particularly case because he could find the beauty in everything and grew the most magnificent roses. The smiles of his customers were all the payment he required, and it was more than enough for him.

As I was taught kingly duties and matters of state while sitting bored, I would tune out my tutor and wonder how Lindsay was faring that day. The fiery redhead refused to be pushed around by anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way, but those closest to her or anyone in need knew she had a sense of humor that could brighten the blackest of days.

If my tutor would admonish me for not paying attention I would nod absently and wish I was running through the streets with Gavin. The lovable idiot would always appear as if he had just tumbled out of bed, hair sticking up in all the wrong places. He was the sort that would pickpocket for fun but always return what he had taken before it was missed.

Even when the practice dummies had been shredded beyond repair by my blade, or when the lessons and council meetings had been adjourned for the day and my eyes were heavy with fatigue, I would visit the town. I would sit and admire Jack's handiwork and Ray's garden as we spoke of the day's events, wishing I had skills as appreciated and exquisite as theirs. I would grow to become one of the most feared warriors in the kingdom-few had the courage to challenge me and those who did lacked the skill to best me in battle. I was told by my father that I had the potential to become one of the "Greats" I would read about in dusty old tomes that had sat untouched for years in the castle library. I could be fair and just, a good ruler for the people, like my father and his father before him. But I would never feel sawdust coating my finely made clothes or witness a child beaming when presented with a velvety rose and know I had worked for that brilliant smile. Princes were taught how to be kings, not how to work with their hands.

In my moments of solitude or when I simply couldn't listen to the drone of the council any more I would wish to hear Lindsay's laugh. I would wonder why I couldn't race Gavin through the town, waiting for the moment when he would trip over his own feet and we would lay in the middle of the path, out of breath and grinning amid laughter. Was it so wrong to wish I, too, could be so free and without care? But whether or not I wished, I was to be king, and kings are bound by rules and law.

The townspeople taught me more than I could have dreamed, my friends most of all. I was taught that it was a joy and a privilege to work with your hands, not an ability to be dismissed lightly by nobles too arrogant to understand. That freedom was my favourite feeling and laughter is a welcome reprieve from duty, no matter of rank. But most importantly I was taught that a king should do more than rule his people-he should learn from them. A visit to the town was most valuable than a tutor trained to instruct in matters of state, and certainly more than any amount of gold. My friends were all kings, in their own right, and they wore their life stories with pride.

If someone had told me the townspeople in their patchwork houses were happier than I, a prince living amongst riches and in line to be king, as a child I would have laughed. But now I would have agreed without hesitation and decided I had been away from the tough cobbled streets for far too long.

I was crown prince, of age to become king when my father either retired or passed on to the realm of the unknown, but now if I am ordered to attend my royal duties, lacking my blade I battle with the decision to say "no". And if I miss my father's knowing smiles when my back is turned, perhaps it is fate's way of saving her final cards for the next round.

As always, comments and critiques are most welcome and highly valued. Thanks for reading!

-TheGameIs0n