Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 23: Dig deep

Change of POV chapter!

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Growing up as a prince was lonely business. That was a way of life. But it was particularly lonely for the young Robin Ironspear.

Robin had always been a shy, sickly boy, even from birth. Bound to colics, fevers and general illness, from the very first moment, he'd been surrounded by nursemaids, medics and all sorts of shamans who claimed they could cure the young heir to the throne. As such, in his very short ten years of life, Robin had had an even less-than-normal childhood.

It didn't help that when he wasn't bedbound, he had no one to play with. No siblings in sight, and the children of the nobility avoided him on a general premise, advised by their parents not to interact too much with the prince, lest they accidentally offend him, and by proxy, his mother, the ruthless Queen Mair. It was simply survival, but the boy couldn't understand this. To him, these children simply shunned him, as if he were contagious.

And the servant's children weren't an option either, because though they weren't prejudiced against him and gleefully included him in their games of marbles and hopscotch, this was a grave offence. No matter that the young prince loved playing with his little friends, it was unthinkable that the heir to the throne would cavort with the children of maids, cooks, and stablers. It only took one scandalised aristocrat to spot Robin, muddy and giggling with his newfound friends, to raise the alarm. Soon afterwards, the children of the servants were no longer allowed to frequent the Queen's gardens, and Robin never had the chance to play with them again.

Yes, life was lonely for the young heir. Regardless, this hadn't managed to knock Robin's spirits, for he continued to be a sweet, affable and curious boy who found joy in the smallest of things.

As it was, the biggest joy of his young life was the months he spent in the Yellow House.

It wasn't a large house, nor was it extravagant or particularly special, but it was Robin's favourite place in this world. Warm white wooden floors, large windows, fresh country air, a stable full of nickering horses and a muddy-green pond full of ducks. Miles and miles of shaggy green lands for him to run around until the sun came down. It was heaven.

No one watched him with pervasive interest when he went by, like they did at the palace, inspecting him as if he were a particularly rare breed of bug. No one whispered, no one gawked, and no one hurried away from him when he tried to make contact. No, at the Yellow House, Robin could be what he truly was--a boy.

It was one of those particularly good days then. His mother was gone, away for business, and though Robin missed her dearly, he made do fine in the meantime. The sun was bright, a rare occurrence for mid-winter, and though Missus Eliza--the housekeeper--would have a fit if she saw him, he'd ditched his heavy winter coat somewhere near the pond, where he'd spent the last hours fishing tiny minnows with a makeshift rod Mister George, the groundskeeper, had gifted him.

Robin, red-cheeked and windswept, smiled broadly as he swung the small basket he'd filled during the day. It wasn't much; pretty pebbles and pinecones, blackberries, and five little minnows he'd managed to proudly fish. Yes, it had been a good day, and he was proud to return with his small bounty, eager to present it to Miss Grace, the cook, who'd promised to fry any fish he managed to catch. Never mind that the five tiny minnows he caught wouldn't manage to whet a fat cat's appetite, Robin was pleased nonetheless.

He looked around the ground then, as the wind picked up, ruffling his golden curls. He hadn't quite noticed, as enthused as he was with berry-picking, but he'd managed to wander out a bit more than expected. He'd wandered into the forest, after hearing the best berry trees lay in there, and now, he was surprised to find he'd made his way deep into the woods.