Runaway Prince

Runaway

RUNAWAY

By Mariaroland

Sweltering air crushed Daniel and suffocated his lungs as he struggled to draw breath. The sun blazed in the blindingly blue sky as the run-away prince dragged his feet through the desert sand. He could feel sand everywhere: gathering behind his ears and around his eyes, coating his throat, rubbing irritatingly in the crooks of his elbows.

Through blurry vision, Daniel saw the pointed peaks of tents in the wavering air on the horizon, like tiny red mountains. Where there were tents, there were people, and where there were people, there was water. If he could just reach that camp, he would survive. He had to keep moving.

Daniel's clothes clung to his sweaty body, and his aching feet were torn, blistered, and bloody from trudging across desert terrain. Wrapping strips of cloth around them had done little to protect them from the harsh desert. He had long ago lost track of the days since he'd gone AWOL and deserted his army. His plan must have been successful, because to his knowledge, no one had come looking for him. The news of his death must have reached the castle by now. Daniel wondered if his parents would be more upset that they had lost an heir, a future ruler, than a son.

It had been all too easy. His parents had sent Daniel on a military campaign to placate a small group of invaders that were terrorizing their southeastern villages. Forced to comply, Daniel saw the perfect opportunity to escape his birthright. He played the part of the obedient crown prince, and led his troops to the southeastern borders of Iryliss. When they were halfway there, Daniel paid an unimportant soldier to report the story of his death: that he had gone for an early morning walk and been killed by rogue bandits. He left while his men slept soundly, and fled due east into the desert.

Now, he was dying. He felt the life seep out of him with each trembling step he took. But it was worth it. Even if he died out here, among sand dunes and cacti and carcasses, it was worth it, because he could die knowing he had finally made a decision for himself and taken charge of his life. And somehow, he kept going. But each step took a monumental amount of effort, and eventually his shaking legs gave way. Panting, Daniel fell to his hands and knees.

He hissed and jerked back when the hot sand burnt his palms. He ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around both hands to help with the burning, then began to crawl. Head throbbing from dehydration, he raised his gaze, hoping that he was close to the distant camp. Strands of curls stuck to his sticky forehead. To his dry, crusty eyes, the tents seemed even farther away. Despair weeded itself around his heart, and Daniel had the jolting thought that maybe he was hallucinating, and there had never been any tents in the first place.

His vision spun, and he collapsed onto the ground. The heat seeped into him, burning his skin with a fierce pain that he began to relish. It reminded him that he was alive. He had escaped from the clutches of the crown, and he was alive. With a grunt and burst of adrenaline, Daniel pushed himself to his feet. He hadn't faked his own death and betrayed the crown just to give up in the desert. No, he would go on. He would make it. He would make a life for himself. . .pick up a trade. He could learn to be happy.

And so, with the sun baking, the sand scorching, and the hot wind choking, he trudged on.

***

Valeria wiped sweat from the back of her neck and sighed. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, was just so heavy, and it did nothing to help with the heat. She took a strap of leather from her wrist and tied it around her hair, then started pulling the bucket up from the well.