This is the kingdom of Aveb.
There is no emerald green sign that says "Welcome to Aveb" or a meticulously-painted arrow directing travelers to the palace. There are no sets of hastily-scrawled instructions on visitors' hands or arms. In Aveb, there is no need for any of those things. Our palace is set high upon a hill, so high and intimidating that one would need to be dead ten years before there is even a shadow of doubt as to what the castle is.
It isn't that the palace is exceptionally big, as palaces go. It is enormous, of course, but no bigger than your ordinary palace. What makes it look so huge is the fact that dotting the landscape of Aveb is a long line of tiny huts, the cottages in which villagers live, and the wide-open field where the market is. Underneath a particularly leafy tree live the merchants without enough money to afford their rent, nor the legal assistance required to stand up before the king and queen. Aveb's rulers are conservative to such an extent that there is little located to the right of the castle, with everything else awkwardly placed to its left. King Benjamin and Queen Alison do not like to be outdone in their conservative ways, and thus are right-wing rulers physically as well as in their actions.
In every story, there is a tragic hero. Aveb has gone hundreds – no, thousands – of years without one, but every now and then a promising young boy will crop up, eyes sharply attentive to the troubles of his homeland. Usually, it is a lower-class son of a merchant, his goals and expectations for himself far beyond fulfillment. In the end, the boy always fails, usually moving on to another, more liberal land.
However, never before has this unlikely hero been the prince.
Perhaps it would be more efficient to begin at the beginning. Once upon a time, about twenty years ago, a seventeen-year-old girl by the name of Alison sat in the palace, gazing out the window longingly, waiting for a prince. Her father would bring home many, many suitors, all either upper-class citizens of Aveb or princes from other, more exotic lands. To each, Alison would be polite as could be, courting them all with the utmost grace and charm. In the end, however, she would decline their marriage proposals, sweeping her long blond hair back in dissatisfaction. "I want someone better," she would proclaim, and return to her window.
A few months shy of her eighteenth birthday, Alison began to lose hope in the men of the world – more specifically, of upper classes. Having always been clever, the young princess made a deal with her father. "If," she proposed, "I can find someone I love, someone of any class, you shall hold a tournament." Her bright blue eyes ablaze, Alison continued, "You shall put him through three tasks: courage, loyalty, and charm. Should he fail to impress, I shall marry the suitor of your choice. However, if you find him to be a satisfactory companion for yours truly, Daddy, you must allow me to marry him."
And the king agreed. Little did he know, however, that young Alison already had a man in mind. Every day, she would see a young man leaving his tiny cottage to pick up groceries at the market. His eyes were of a deep brown that Alison adored, his hands scarred from manual labor. Alison pitied the man greatly, but she also knew that she loved him. She loved him from his worn, shabby shoes to his deep brown eyes, her affection unaffected by the fact that the color of the man's skin was several shades darker than her own. Rather than heed her father's wishes for her to stay away from men of such a race, Alison approached the man and made her feelings clear. Although shy and cautious at first, eventually, he began to court her. Before long, the tournament's results proved him to be an acceptable husband for Alison, and the two were married.
A year after the wedding, Alison's father died, and she and her husband Benjamin ascended to the throne. The two were young and deeply infatuated with one another, not so concerned with the welfare of the people. They wanted an ordinary life, but deeply cherished the luxuries of wealth. Still, they tried to live in an ordinary manner. After two years of marriage, Alison and Benny had their first child, a tiny, pale boy with Alison's hair and his deceased grandfather's jade eyes. The boy, named Roger, became the prince of Aveb, looking over the hilltops with his sharp little eyes and surveying the land he would one day rule.
When Roger was three, a lively little boy with manic energy and a deep curiosity about the world, his sister was born. Though she had her mother's skin, the princess Maureen looked very like her father, possessing his dark eyes and calculating stare. Roger peered at his sister from time to time in his early youth, wanting to know who this creature was who dared to invade his space.
The years flew by, Roger's tiny frame growing into that of an unofficial athlete's in his race to grow up. Tall, with short hair unable to distract him from his endeavors, Roger was of such a physique that his father predicted, early on, that his marriage would be no problem whatsoever. However, his body was not all that Roger had for others to envy. His lifestyle, his sense of adventure, and his ability to follow his goals were all traits easily applicable to the prince.
At six, Roger made his first trip to the marketplace, admiring the stands and asking his father in a calm voice exactly why the merchants weren't as clean as he and his family were. King Benjamin had no reply, leaving Roger to wonder until his distraction flew him to another topic. At eight, the boy took to singing in the courtyard, creating games of make-believe with Maureen in which he was a lower-class boy, his sister a princess, and the two of them were deeply infatuated with one another. Their fantasy world, surprisingly, was not based upon tales of their parents' courtship; in fact, the king and queen never dared to share the details of their early history with their children. Therefore, the background of Roger and Maureen's make-believe merely sprung from their own imaginations and creativity. However, their ideas matched the king and queen's early romance so perfectly that, upon first witnessing the game, Roger's father immediately confronted his wife, asking, "Did you tell them?"
When Roger was ten, he saw from his bedroom window a ship docking at the pier. In his haste to leave the house, Roger leapt from the castle to go to the docks of the river, wanting to know what was going on. He discovered, much to his horror, that the boat contained a shipment of slaves for Roger's very own home. Maintaining the pretense of calm that he always had observed his father upholding, Roger calmly browsed through the terrified individuals to lay a hand on one's shoulders, proclaiming, "This one's mine." Although the officials stationed on and around the ship had no idea what to do with the boy, King Benjamin's familiar voice sounded from behind Roger, declaring that, well, if the boy wanted his very own slave, a responsibility, why not? Thanking his father, Roger took the young man from his chains and escorted him home.
"What's your name?" Roger asked upon reaching the palace, taking the teenage boy to be fitted for a slave's uniform.
"Tom," the boy replied. "Tom Collins." When Roger asked how old he was, the slave answered, "Fourteen." Spoiled though he was, Roger sighed in distaste. Although not aware of the specifics of slavery, Roger knew full well that there was something to be said about a boy – a boy but four years older than the prince himself – already carrying out others' orders with no chance of having his own life to live. Sympathetic and deeply disturbed, Roger carried on in his mask of calm, issuing certain tasks to Tom that would soon become the slave's daily schedule. When he told the boy where to sleep, Tom turned to go. Roger, however, called him back.
"Can we be friends?" he asked shyly.
And friends they did become.
Come morning, Maureen discovered Roger's new acquisition. Jealousy flared up inside her, and the seven-year-old demanded compensation. Although exasperated, King Benjamin offered Maureen a slave of her own, or as he eloquently put it, a "personal attendant." Maureen accepted the offer and looked up and down the rows of slaves, finally pointing to one. "I want this one," she declared loudly, and inquired sweetly, "What's your name?"
"Angel," the child whispered. He was tiny, almost as small as Maureen herself, and was soon discovered to be only nine years old. Maureen, not understanding slavery half as well as the undereducated Roger did, became Angel's friend in an instant, delightedly dragging her "new brother" around the palace excitedly. After several weeks, Maureen announced that Angel was a girl's name, and the slave shrugged and said he could be whatever Maureen wanted as long as he didn't have to play pretend all the time. Maureen agreed.
So the siblings and their new friends became a common sight around the palace, flying through the wings like a balled-up rainbow hurtling through the sky. In an unheard-of move in young monarchs-to-be, Roger and Maureen took at an early age to socializing with those of a lower social standing than them. By the time Maureen was eleven and Roger fourteen, an extremely detailed mental code of respect was established between the heirs to the throne and those of a lower class. Rumors flew around Aveb, people asking if maybe Roger would become a better, kinder, more fair king than those before him. Terrified as were many people to get their hopes up, it seemed that at last, a truly kind king was on his way to the throne.
In his early teenage years, Roger would regularly travel to the marketplace, "Collins" leading his master's horse without a word of objection. (Truth be told, if ever Collins objected to a certain order, Roger would simply suck it up and do his own work.) While traveling along the road to the market, Roger would encounter villagers and swiftly think back to his father's early teachings about how to handle such individuals – forcefully, powerfully, making it clear who had the higher standing. Roger, however, never bothered to do such a thing. Both he and his sister had a deep appreciation for those living in harsher conditions than they did, and would respectfully acknowledge their subjects by greeting them pleasantly and wishing them a fine day, even occasionally taking the time to ask them about their lives and families. In return, Roger was treated with the utmost respect, receiving, if not bows, certainly adoring glances – mostly from the young girls in the marketplace.
One day, Roger, Collins, Maureen and Angel embarked on a playful journey to the docks, hoping to find an unattended boat that could be hijacked and stolen – by them, of course. (The two siblings and their slaves, who were more their friends than, well, their property, swiftly became notorious troublemakers in Aveb, and were appreciated for their ability to find humor in anything and everything. Although King Benny would never display his amusement in his children's behavior, the truth was that he knew just how rare true entertainment was in the days of war, and would allow Roger and Maureen to mostly avoid all punishment.)
On this particular journey, instead of discovering a boat that could be taken out for a trip, Maureen's sharp eyes detected a ship heading for the docks. The four children sat and waited, eager to know what was coming to Aveb.
It was, as it turned out, a ship containing many slaves, as was the norm for Saturday afternoons. While Collins and Angel shied away from the ship due to, of course, previous experiences and a lingering fear, Roger stepped forward to investigate. He had long since perfected the art of checking a ship captain's license to transport slaves, and did so. Upon verifying that all was in order, Roger swiftly walked onto the deck of the ship, browsing the slaves that would soon be brought to auction.
While most of the people were of dark skin and cold glares, there was a single body that Roger found to be out of place. In a corner was a tiny boy, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head buried between his knees. His body shaking with either terror or tears, the boy was rocking from side to side, obviously very afraid. Struck by pity, Roger laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and the boy jerked back in panic, his head smashing into the wall. Tears fell from his eyes down his face, and Roger could not help but wipe one away with his thumb. "I'm keeping this one," he announced loudly, and without another word, scooped the tiny boy into his arms.
The boy began to flail around wildly, but as Roger stroked his back reassuringly, the slave-to-be quieted. "Hey, shhh," Roger said softly. "It's okay. It's okay. You're safe, I promise." He allowed the boy to shift in such a way that his chest was pressing against Roger's, his heels locking against the small of the other boy's back. "I'm Roger," the prince told the younger child. "What's your name?"
"M-Mark," the boy replied, and his blue eyes fluttered open and looked upward to meet Roger's eyes. "I… I'm scared," he confessed, and Roger nodded in empathy.
"I know," he said. "It's okay. It's okay. Don't worry. You're gonna be fine, okay? I'm going to take you home and get you cleaned up."
"Okay," Mark whispered, and without thinking, wrapped his arms around the back of Roger's neck as he was escorted off the ship, onto Roger's horse, and back to the palace.
"You're going to be fine," Roger whispered to Mark again and again, caressing the boy's bare back and shoulders. "You're going to be fine."
After a time, Mark began to nod in acceptance of this fact, that he was going to be fine. Upon reaching the palace, Roger gently carried Mark to the healer, letting the many wounds on the boy's back be swiftly removed. Mark looked up at Roger with wide eyes, unable to comprehend that this was being done for him, and immediately developed a liking for the boy that truthfully became his caretaker more than, heavens forbid, his master. Though officially Roger's slave, Mark really became Roger's charge over the next few weeks, taken to be outfitted and nursed to health.
On the twenty-first day after Roger brought Mark home, all necessary clothing had been purchased, all wounds healed, and emotional scars, of course, left untouched. However, that aside, Mark developed a loving affection for Roger, admiring him greatly and possessing a swift motivation to do anything the prince asked. His duties at last were outlined and put into place, his schedule created. "Okay," Roger told the young slave. "Here's what you're going to have to do for me." Rather than looking puzzled or offended, as Collins did on his first day of slavery, Mark drew his head up to meet Roger's eyes and nodded in acceptance.
Mark's first morning as an official slave involved many tasks etched in ink on his palms. The first was to help Angel tidy Maureen's suite. Expecting the worst, Mark journeyed to the east wing of the palace and located Maureen's set of rooms, painted a blinding pink. "Hi," he said softly. "Um, I'm supposed to help with this…?"
"Yep," said a cheerful voice on the other side of the door, and Mark entered.
Angel turned to face her new semi-assistant, but upon meeting Mark's eyes, his body at last unscarred and normal, he gasped. "Mark?"
"Angel?"
The two former best friends, children who had enjoyed a deep friendship in their homeland, reunited with a hug and a resigned gesture towards their cleaning implements.