Everything was falling apart.

You were the child of one of the palace servants. You had just been minding your business when terrorists had bombed the castle. You managed to escape in the chaos to the tunnels below the castle. Servants and royals alike were being evacuated by carriage through the tunnels.

Now you lay in a covered wagon, along with ten or twelve others. It’s uncomfortable and smelly, and you can hear a child crying a few wagons down. But you’re still a day or two from the safe rendezvous point.

It’s dark, the sky starlit above you.

It’s almost cruel how beautiful it is, eh?

You look over and see a hooded figure sitting near you, looking out of the wagon’s back. But his voice? It’s the prince.