prince sirius, the kingdoms firstborn, heir to the throne. it was common knowledge that he was a bit of a brat when he was little. everybody thought he would grow out of it and grow up into the perfect heir, but he never did. he never matured. his younger brother regulus quickly became the favourite son, and the king and queen didn’t even try to hide this from sirius.

every birthday, regulus would be showered in affection and gifts, with the most magnificent parties and delicious cakes, sirius would be lucky if he was allowed to invite one friend over. his parents didn’t like his friend choices. they told him they weren’t good examples. the worst part is there’s a massive portrait of regulus in the foyer of the palace, right at the entrance. it’s horrid. sirius swore the second he became king he would rip it to shreds and replace it with his own portrait, which is stored away in his grandfathers office which is never used.

the last straw was when, over family dinner, sirius was told he wouldn’t be becoming king. his father would be skipping over him and passing the crown onto regulus. that was it. sirius packed his bags that night, took his horse, and left, not even glancing back. at only 17, he was alone. he had near nothing, he had packed up the essentials and stolen some money from his parents and regulus, but it was hardly enough to last a year, especially if he needed to find somewhere to live. thankfully your mother found him, wandering the streets in the middle of the night. your mother is a psychic, his parents would never approve of him living under a psychic’s roof, it was perfect. you woke up one morning and walked into your kitchen to find the future king sat there eating cereal.

“good morning darling!” your mother cups your cheeks, rubbing essential oils into your skin as she does every morning.

you push her off and she laughs softly. “ah, this my dear, is sirius. he’s a prince.” she says, “isn’t he pretty?” she grins.