“You seem troubled sire,” the maid observed as she brought him in some fresh clothes. “Is something the matter?”
   “You mean other than the fact that this morning I was a thief, and now I’m suddenly a prince?”
Eliroh watched as she placed the clothes on a chair, neatly folded and pressed. The shirt was brightly coloured blue, the kind of colour that would cost a lot for any regular person to even find, and the trousers were a deep, majestic black. It was impossible to tell without handling them, but he was almost certain that they would be made of as rich a material as the bedclothes were.
   “You were always a prince, sire. Just didn’t know it.”
She seemed a friendly young lady, not dissimilar to the many girls he knew of her age around the town. Of course, they had treated him more of an equal than she ever would now.
   “Maybe not, but it never did me any harm. But now… now I don’t even know what to think.”
   “It’s just the transition sire. You’ll get used to it. And once you do, as I believe your sister said, you’ll be the prince you were always meant to be.”
   “The prince I never asked to be. The prince I never wanted to be.”
   “Sire?”
   “Please. Stop calling me ‘sire’. I have a name - it’s Eliroh.”
   “But I thought your sister called you-”
   “I know what she called me. But that is not my name. And as long as I have a say in it, it never will be.”
   “They are not going to let you change your name so easily.”
   “Maybe not, but I can take comfort by keeping it as and where I can. So just, let me keep my name.”
   “Certainly si- Eliroh. But you know, I’ll have to call you ‘sire’ around everyone else. I don’t wish to be whipped for insubordination.”
   “No… that I can understand.”
She opened her mouth to speak again, but was cut off by the door opening. An elderly woman entered the room, a woman Eliroh vaguely remembered being there after his lashes. She must be the healer, he figured.
   “Girl,” she addressed the maid, “what are you still doing here? Can’t you see his majesty needs his rest? He doesn’t want to be troubled by the likes of you!”
   “Yes, madam Rael.” She shuffled, hurriedly, out of the room.
   “I apologise for that irritant, your highness. I’ll be sure to make sure she doesn’t bother you again.”
   “Actually,” he corrected her, “I quite enjoyed her company. It was refreshing.”
This was true enough, she seemed the easiest person to talk to here. Someone he felt was on his level, the kind of person he understood, not just some stuck-up noble. And he had no desire to see her vanish quite so soon, he needed someone like himself in order to keep his sanity, and in this place, she was the closest he could hope for.
   “Oh,” the healer tried, and failed, to hide her shock, and, as far as Eliroh could tell, her disappointment. “Very well sire. As you see fit. I am here to fix your wounds, as you should already know, but I must warn you, it will draw on your own energy, the same amount as it would for them to heal naturally, so you may feel a bit drained afterward. I will, however, put in some of my own energy, which should take some of the strain off of you, your highness.”
Already sensing that arguing against the status she placed on him would be pointless, he decided to ignore it. If he was going to lose energy in this healing process, there seemed little point in wasting it on her.
   “Before you start,” he ventured, as she peeled the bandages from one arm, “are you able to fix my eye? And my hands?”
This was something that had been nagging at him since he’d learned he was to be healed. That faint glimmer of hope that his full sight could be restored. But that glimmer was extinguished with one look at the healer, paused in her work. She didn’t have to say anything - her face said it all.
   “I’m sorry, your majesty,” she apologised, “but it is just not possible to save your eye. I can clean up the wound as best I can, but it will still just be a hole. As for your hands, I‘m afraid the same rule applies. I can heal wounds, but I cannot re-grow what has been lost.”
   “Just wait ‘til I see those guards again,” he mumbled, more to himself than to the healer. There was a threatening hint in his voice, though it wasn’t his new status that put it there.
   “You won’t have to, sire.”
   “What do you mean?”
   “The only place you would see them would be swinging from the gallows. But, by my reckoning, they should’ve been taken down by now.”
   “They were executed?”
   “Well, yes. After what they did to you, the prince of this land? They were hardly going to walk free.”
   “But they were following orders.”
   “Sire, you of all people should be pleased at their fate.”
   “Well, yes, but being executed because they followed orders is despicable! It’s just wrong that anyone would deny their own responsibility like that.”
She didn’t respond, clearly not sure which stance to take. Why couldn’t she think for herself, instead if just thinking about who it would be most beneficial to agree with?
   He watched as she healed his wounds, his skin knitting together neatly, leaving nothing but pink flesh, not even a visible scar. He felt the drain she’d warned him about, small as it may be, and had that been it he doubted it would’ve made a difference. But with the amount of wounds he had, he could tell it was going to mount up. His skin itched slightly from the magic, but he daren’t scratch it, for fear that it might reopen the wound, as irrational as that sounded.
   She worked quickly, his wounds rapidly disappearing, and he found his muscles, which he now realised he’d been unconsciously tensing, relaxing as his energy ebbed away.
   “You should get some sleep, majesty,” she advised him. “As quickly as I can work, this will still take some time, and forcing yourself to stay awake will only tire you further. And you’ll need all of your energy for this afternoon.”
   “This afternoon? What happens this afternoon?”
   “I’m sure your parents will give you all the details at lunch. For now, just rest.”
Eliroh had no desire to sleep, just lying in bed letting everyone do everything for him - it just wasn’t like him to be so self-important, so lazy. He’d rather do things for himself. But while he wanted nothing more than to climb out of this bed and work for himself, he knew that it wasn’t really an option. He wasn’t in any kind of condition to even get up, this he knew, and he wouldn’t be able to fix his injuries as the healer was doing anyway. But besides this, he realised that even if he tried to do something for himself, would anybody let him? With servants insisting on waiting on ‘his majesty’, hand and foot, and his supposed parents no doubt refusing to let him do any ‘dirty work’, would it even be possible?
   Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he found his eyelid drooping, and a sudden, fresh wave of fatigue hit him. The black cloud that framed his vision seemed to invade the room, and any sense of awareness he had, left him as he fell into sleep’s oblivion.

*

   Unhappily, Eliroh sank into the warm, scented water that filled the silver tub he’d been brought. He hated being given all these things, and more so, he hated himself for having to accept them. But he’d already concluded that he had no choice. He doubted he would be allowed to do anything for himself in this place, the best option would be not to fight it, and to just go with the flow. That is, until he worked out a way to escape.
   Despite the fact the healer had treated his wounds, he was still bound to his room like a patient. The tub had been brought up specially, which was now hidden behind a white, lace screen, though what it was supposed to be screening him from, he had no idea.
   Examining his skin, he saw that not a single scar had been left on him, and despite the fact he knew it was only because he was the prince, he was grateful to the old woman who had fixed him. His hand ventured to his face. As she’d said, it seemed repair to his eye had not been possible, finding only what seemed to be its old home. Just the socket, healed over with skin. He was alarmed to find that the eyelid, useless as it now was, was still there, curtaining the entrance to the cave, though he couldn’t move it any more. He wondered what it looked like, at that moment both wanting, and hoping he never found a mirror. The fingers he was missing were little more than stumps now, too, though looked a lot more presentable than he imagined his eye did.
   “Sire?” a voice he immediately recognised as the maid’s floated through the room. He hadn’t even heard her come in, how long had she been there? “Oh, I mean, er… Eliroh.”
Without warning, she appeared from around the screen, laden with towels, flannels, and soap. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub as he strove to hide himself, alarmed.
   “What are you doing?!”
   “I have been ordered to help you bathe.”
What? Help him bathe? What was wrong with these rich snobs that they couldn’t even wash themselves anymore?
   “Well, er, I’m fine doing that myself, thanks. Um, you can leave now.”
   “But if I leave, I’ll be punished for not following orders! Please sire, er… Eliroh. Please don’t make me go!”
Seeing the frightened look on her face he felt his resolve slipping. He guessed this was just another thing he could expect to be forced on him.
   “Okay, fine.”
   “Oh, thank you!”
   “Just, leave those things here. I said I can wash myself and I meant it. You just go and wait on the other side of the screen, okay?”
   “Are you sure?”
   “Positive!”
He could see her try to stifle a giggle as she retreated behind the screen, no doubt due to his alarmed response, though he didn’t mention it.
   Relaxing slightly, though not completely, lest she should reappear, he reached for the soap and flannel she had left him. He was already relatively clean, and had he been with the Black Rats still, he probably would’ve left it for a lot longer, so he didn’t really see the point in this. But there didn’t seem like there was much else for him to do, and he didn’t see the harm.
   As he washed, he let his mind drift. He had no intention of staying here, that much he’d already decided, but exactly how to escape was a different matter. He had a better chance now than when he had been in the prison, but still, he knew it wouldn’t be easy.
   A scuffling sounded behind the screen as the maid did whatever it was she was doing, although Eliroh couldn’t see what that was, and the reminder of her presence made him slightly uncomfortable. ‘Anything’, he thought, ‘to make this situation more bearable’.
   “You know, I never did get around to asking your name,” he said, hoping that conversation might help.
   “Sir?” her confused voice wafted over the screen. “Why should you wish to know my name?”
   “Why wouldn’t I? And didn’t I say not to call me ‘sir’?”
   “You told me not to call you ‘sire’.”
   “True. But don’t call me ‘sir’ either. Or anything else that is not my name, okay?”
   “Okay.”
   “So what is your name?”
   “My name is not important.”
   “Well if it’s not important, what’s the harm in telling me?”
   “S-Eliroh, forgive me if by not answering your question I seem rude, but for you to call me by my name, as you have told me to do for you, would implicate my being equal to you. And while I understand that your past would lead you to feel that that is not a problem, if anybody above me should even think that I consider myself your equal, the consequences for me would be dire. Such is why I cannot call you by your name before others. So it would be easier if you do not know my name. However, if you see fit to order my name from me, then I shall tell you.”
   “I’m not in the habit of ordering anything from anyone. And don’t worry, I can see where you’re coming from, but if I don’t know your name then what do I call you?”
   “Just call me Girl.”
   “Girl? That’s a bit… disrespectful, isn’t it?”
   “I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. It’s just easier.”
   “Fine then, I’ll call you Girl. But I’m not happy about it.”
   “Thank you, Eliroh.”  
Rolling his eyes, he continued his bath.
   “Hey, Girl,” he called her after another few minutes. “How well do you know this castle?”
   “Well, I’ve been here for five years now. So I’d like to think I know it quite well.”
   “And the servants’ passages. Are they in all parts of the castle?”
   “Most parts. But why do you want to know?”
   “You don’t honestly think I’m gonna stay here, do you? I’m out of here as soon as I get a chance! But keep that to yourself.”
   “How are you going to manage that?”
   “I don’t know yet. But with your help I’m sure I can think of something.”
   “I’m not sure about this. If anyone should find out that I helped you…”
   “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to help me with the actual escape. All I need from you is information. Mostly on the castle layout. Surely there’s no harm in you telling me that?”
   “I suppose not. But this castle is complicated, especially the servants’ passages. It’d take more time than I would ever be assigned to serve you for to explain it all.”
   “That doesn’t matter. I’ll figure something out.”
   “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you wish to leave? I know you don’t like it here, I know it conflicts with how you’ve been brought up, but here you’ll want for nothing. Your every desire will be granted you. Perhaps it’s not how you imagined your life would turn out, but you’ll get used to it. And besides, surely you know that, even if you do escape, they will come after you. You may be able to escape the castle, but you won’t escape the people in it so easily.”
   “You think? I don’t want to become used to this place, I don’t care about all this stuff. And I will not stay here. And anyway, they’ll never find me. I know that town like the back of my hand. Every corner, every alley, every abandoned building, hidden passage, and secret hideout. They can come after me if they want, but as long as I can breathe, they won’t get me.”
Climbing out of the tub, he wrapped a towel around himself and walked around the screen. Girl was sat on his bed, twiddling her thumbs while she waited to be assigned work, barely noticing his emergence, or if she did, she didn’t give any indication of it.
   Taking a cursory glance around the room, his eyes fell on the clothes she had brought him earlier, folded neatly on a chair. Picking up the shirt, tentatively, he examined it, before letting it fall back to where he had found it. These were not his clothes.
   “Um, excuse me, er, Girl,” he said, drawing her attention. “But where are my clothes?”
   “They’re right there,” she replied, indicating the garments on the chair.
   “Yeah, I get that. But what I mean is, where are my clothes? These are just clothes I happen to have been given by whoever the underworld wants me to wear them.”
   “You mean the clothes you were wearing before?”
   “Yes, those clothes.”
   “I’m not sure what happened to them. It wasn’t me that took them. But unless you want to wander around the castle naked, looking for them, it may be best to just wear what you’ve been given.”
   Rolling his eyes, he conceded, taking the clothes behind the screen to change. His lip curled in disgust as he pulled the garments on, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the thought of what he was becoming. Only, he told himself, he was not becoming one of them. Merely posing, as they wanted him to.
   Ignoring the surprisingly irritating feel of soft cloth on his skin, Eliroh cast a sideways glance at Girl through the screen, though he could not see her. She seemed to be becoming more comfortable around him, treating him more like the equal he was. Perhaps even, in time, she could become a friend.
   His thoughts were cut off by three loud raps at his door, followed by the sound of someone entering without waiting for a response.
  “You, girl!” A prudish, proud woman’s voice radiated around the room, like the morning bell that wakes you from your peaceful slumber. And about as welcome. “Where is his majesty?”
   “H-h-he’s changing,” Girl mumbled in reply. “Behind the screen.”
   “And tell me, why, I repeat, why are you sat here twiddling your thumbs instead of aiding his highness?”
   “Because,” Eliroh said before Girl could answer, buttoning the rest of his shirt as he walked around the screen. “I am not retarded, and I am more than capable of dressing myself.”
   “Oh of course, sire,” the woman, who he know saw to be middle aged, already greying slightly on top, bowed, suddenly losing the barking authority in her voice that she displayed before Girl. “I hope I did not offend you. I assure you, that was not my intention. I merely came to deliver a message from your parents. They wish for you to join them for lunch, sire. This maid will show you the way. Oh, and they gift you with this. They hope you to wear it with pride.”
   Holding out her hand, she showed him an eye patch. It was beautifully crafted, the black fabric neatly sown, quality you wouldn’t find anywhere outside the castle. Emblazoned across its face, embroidered in gold thread, jewels embedded where appropriate, was the royal crest, proudly boasting his newly found heritage to the world.
   “It’s very… grand. Isn’t it?”
   “Yes sire,” the woman cooed, clearly missing the distaste in his voice. “The royal seamstress is the best around, nothing can beat her work. Your parents insisted that you not have just any old rag for your eye.”
   Shoving it into his hand, she shuffled out of the door, leaving him to stare at the patch.
   “A simple cloth would’ve done,” he mumbled.
   “Perhaps,” Girl agreed, “but the king and queen would never have allowed it.”
   “I get that - people like them never settle for anything less than grandeur in anything. But I don’t need all this, I mean this is not me.”
   “Maybe not to you, but as far as your family are concerned you are a prince. And regardless of your upbringings, this makes you exactly the same as them, in body, mind and spirit.”
   “That’s bullshit,” Eliroh spat as she took the patch from him and tied it over his eye, as he would not have allowed himself to do. “I am nothing like them. And they are not my family.”