Chapter Text
"Prince Marin!"
The young man jolted upright in his single desk, as if he had been zapped by a thousand volts of electricity. He faced the front of the room, where a stern looking man in a powdered wig looked at him with a disciplined stare. "Are you paying attention?" Marin straightened his itchy button-up shirt and dusted off his ill-fitting slacks. "I'm listening!"
The man raised one eyebrow at his pupil. "Really? Then recite the lesson I just said back to me."
Marin wore an expression that looked like a deer caught in headlights. He picked up some papers off his desk, his blue eyes scanning the scribbles on the tope page. "To balance out the economic instability of the kingdom, one must...calculate...calculate the sum of...something, something, something?"
It was no use pretending.
Professor Uriah marched over to the young man and snatched the papers right out of his hands. He took one look at what was on them and groaned loudly. "I knew it! You're drawing clothes again instead of focusing on my lesson!", he said in a snarky tone, pointing to the sketches of tops and skirts on the margin of notes.
Marin sighed. "I'm sorry, I can't help it!" The lessons were all the same. Economics. Politics. Courtly etiquette. It was all mind-numbingly boring.
Uriah slammed the papers back on the desk. "You better start helping it! You're going to need to know these things when ypu are King!" He walked back to the blackboatd. "Now, I'm going to repeat this one more time, and you better listen closely, because your dancing lesson starts right after pur session!"
Marin groaned, but one strict look from his tutor put him back in his place, as he braced himself for another lecture.
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Marin shuffled back from his ballroom dancing lesson, exhausted and worn out from a full day of being told what to do, how to behave. He entered the dining hall, where supper was waiting for him, as was the rest of his family. His doting parents, Tom and Sabine, sat side-by-side. Sabine wore a lovely dress of gold and seagreen, with lace-trimmed sleeves and lovely embroidery, while Tom wire a fancy suit and slacks similar to his son's attire.
However, at the head of the table sat the head of the family, the master of the castle, the King of Coccidellnae, Ronin Cheng III. He saw Marin enter the room, then, out of nowhere, stopped him with a hand up. "Ah, ah, ah! Remember your training!" Marin suddenly remembered. "Of course." He stood tall, straight as an arrow, hands behind his back, looking straight ahead as a herald announced his entry. "Presenting, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Marin Dupain-Cheng."
Marin then did a small bow at the waist before going to sit down at Rong's right hand. "That's a good boy." He quirked a brow. "We still have to work a bit on your posture." Marin rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Whatever." Ronin's face grew dark. Marin remembered his tongue. "I mean, yes, Uncle Rong." He sat up straight in his chair as the cooks served the royal family their supper.
Marin tried to remember his princely manners as he ate slowly. Rong started a conversation. "So, Sabine...how was your work at the orphanage today?" Sabine smiled warmly at Rong. "I'm glad you asked. It was wonderful. The children were so sweet." She looked back at her son. "I wish you could have been there, dear."
Marin was about to answer when Ronin cut in. "I'm sure he would have. But, he had his lessons." Marin frowned as he cut himself a piece of meat from his plate, muttering under his breath, "I could've skipped one." Rong whipped his head to stare him down. "A prince does not talk back. And your tutors say you're still far behind in your lessons. We're already trying to make up for all those years you spent in common education!"
Marin didn't like the way he said "common", as of the mere word left a bad taste on his tongue. "I learned some valuable lesson at my old school!" Rong sighed in frustration. "I'm sure whatever they taught would have been useful to you as a peasant, but they'll be very little use to you when you are ruling. You need to start taking your new lessons here more seriously, not wasting your time on designing attire. That's what we pay people to do for us."
Now Marin was really getting cheesed off. "I like making my own clothes.", he said, trying his hardest to sound civil. "I know you do,", said Ronin, slicing his meat. "But its a frivolous hobby. One you will have no time for after you ascend the throne." Marin scowled deeply. "What if I refuse the crown?" Rong dropped his utensils with a loud clank and shot his nephew a glare so deadly, the poor boy felt his soul leave his body.
"Do not even joke about that, young man!", he bellowed at Marin. "You are going to become King someday! Its high time you started acting like one! And that means accepting any responsibilities the position requires!" "But why me?", griped Marin, looked sad. "Why do I have to be King? There are a dozen other relatives who would kill for the crown! Why not give it to them?"
"As the only son of the former Princess and nephew of the King, it is your destiny to rule Coccidellnae!", Ronin told him, as if he hadn't a thousand times already. "And while we are on the topic or your royal duties, tne court is badgering me on when ypu are going to take a bride!" Marin moaned loudly. "Seriously? This again! I'm not even eighteen yet!"
"But you will be very soon!", Ronin reminded him. "And so far, you have zero prospects for marriage! You've turned away every unwed lady of the court they've presented to you!" "Because I don't love any of them!", Marion said. Ronin scowled. "Oh, not this whole 'love' business again! You're a prince! You don't marry for love!"
Sabine looked shocked at her brother's words. "Rong! How could you say that?! I thought Catherine and you—" "Catherine was a princess!", Rong said sternly. "Our marriage was arranged. We were the lucky ones. Not all princes can have that." A heavy silence followed his words. All was still for a few moments before he spoke again.
"Marin...I am not getting any younger. I need to be sure you're ready to take my place as King by the time my time comes. So far, you have done nothing to put my worries to rest. Whether or not you want the throne, one day, you will have to sit on it. I know it is not what you truly want...but it is what you must do."
Marin was quiet for a minute. Then, he pushed his chair away from the table. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." He hurried out of the dining hall before his parents or uncle could bid him goodnight.
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Marin went into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Flopping on his king-sized bed, with the thick velvet covers and the feather-stuffed pillows, he screamed into his sheets. His kwami, Tikki, flew out of hiding in his shirt and sighed. "I'm sorry, Marion."
Marin lay his head on the side and sighed. "Its just not fair, Tikki. No matter how hard I try, I'm always falling short. I want to be a good King, I don't wanna let my family down, but it always feels like I'm falling short of everyone's expectations. And if I meet their expectations, that would mean giving up who I am."
He pulled himself upright and looked at his nightstand, littered with sketches and trinkets. He reached over and picked up the framed photograph that sat there, pulling it over in front of him to gaze at it longingly. It was a group picture of him, normal boy him, with his three best friends, Alim, Nina, and Adrienne. They were all laughing and smiling at the camera, looking as if they hadn't a care in the world.
Everything had been so simple back then. No royal lessons. No uncomfortable clothes. No royal duties. He could just be himself, no strings attached. Marin stroked the glass of the frame, his fingers grazing the faces of his old friends, and remembered the day that his life turned upside-down.