Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 1: 1. The Unwanted Prince

Read chapter 1 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

1. The Unwanted Prince They say the second prince of Arcadia died the day he was born. But I didn’t die. I was buried, left to rot in a tower, treated like a curse. My name is Ren Drakemore. I’m five years old, and I am the unwanted prince. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/94d9f12d-768f-4ec3-a12d-51b487be4617 I race down the castle hallway as fast as my legs can carry me, each step echoing off the stone walls. Today is the day. Today I will finally escape my prison, finally see the world outside the lonely tower where I was discarded and forgotten. I skid around a corner just as a heavy thud reverberates through the hall behind me, the sound of the tower door slamming shut. She knows I am gone. I can feel it. Her cold dark presence closing in. Room after room flashes past, places I could hide, but I do not dare. She would find me. She always does. I fly down a staircase, slip, and tumble the last few steps. Sharp pain shoots through my knee and elbow as they slam against the stone. Tears sting my eyes, but I grit my teeth and force myself up. I cannot stop now. I have to be free. I have to know what the flowers in the castle courtyard smell like. Another flight of stairs, another hall. My excitement rises, blotting out the pain. Out of all fifty-four attempts, this is the furthest I have ever gotten. Yet at the same time I feel it, that icy aura creeping closer, like an unseen specter stalking me through the dark. I push myself harder, faster. I have to outrun her. I round another corner too fast and crash into a pedestal. The ornate vase atop it tumbles with me, both of us falling toward the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the crash. The vase strikes first. It shatters with a deafening smash, shards skittering across the stone. But the impact I expect never comes. Instead, I feel a tug upward, then warmth. I open my eyes to find myself cradled in the arms of a beautiful woman with long silver hair and bright blue eyes. She looks down at me with the patient smile one might give an naughty child, not an escaped prisoner. “Very clever, Young Master,” Lady Willow says softly, her tone calm and almost proud. “Timing the dishes to fall so I would go investigate while you slipped away. Very clever indeed.” As she speaks, the shards rise and drift back together until the vase sits whole again upon its pedestal, as if nothing had ever happened. Then Willow’s eyes lower to my scraped knee and bruised elbow. Her smile softens. She shifts me gently in her arms and lays her cool hand over the injury. A glow of silver light seeps into my skin, erasing the pain as if it had never been. “There now,” she murmurs. “All better.” “Can I just—” “I’m sorry, but no,” Willow says as she carries me back the way I came. “It’s not safe for you out there… not yet.” I cling to her, my chest tight with disappointment. She takes me back to my prison, the West Tower of my father’s castle, where I have lived every day of my life so far. Up the spiral to the second floor, where she sets me at a small round table beside a window. From here I can see everything, five stories above the castle courtyard on the steep hill at the center of Cairndorn. Willow pours tea into a waiting cup and sits across from me, calm as ever, as if nothing at all had happened. The sunlight filters through the tall windows of my tower, painting the room in a warm, golden glow. I cradle my cup, watching the steam curl upward in lazy spirals. For a moment, I stay silent, staring out the window at the sprawling capital of Arcadia, before finally breaking the stillness. “Willow, what is the kingdom like?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I lean on the windowsill, eyes locked on the distant horizon. She doesn’t answer right away, as if weighing her words, before settling back into her seat with that familiar, serene smile. “That depends, Young Master. Some parts are breathtaking. Others… not so much.” I squint toward the city. “What's past the