Whitehall Palace, 1610
I am two years old now.
At least, that is what they believe.
In truth, I have lived far longer—through time, through history itself. Yet, here I am, trapped in the fragile body of a child, forced to play the part of a helpless prince while the court watches my every move.
By now, I have learned that Whitehall is not just a palace. It is a battlefield.
There are no swords drawn, no open wars, but beneath the golden chandeliers and marble floors, the true fight is waged in whispers, alliances, and betrayals.
And I am at the center of it all.
A Mother’s Protection
If there is one person in this world I can trust, it is my mother—Queen Anne of Denmark.
She is young, but her spirit is fierce. She is not a mere ornament in court; she is a force.
She visits me often, holding me close, whispering words in Danish that the courtiers do not understand. Sometimes, she sings to me in the candlelight, her voice laced with an emotion I cannot yet name.
One evening, as I sit on her lap by the hearth, she brushes a strand of hair from my forehead and murmurs, “You will be wise, my son. Wiser than them all.”
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Her words linger in my mind long after she leaves.
Did she sense something? Did she see the unnatural intelligence in my eyes, even though I try so hard to hide it?
Or was it simply a mother’s love, blind to the truth?
Robert Cecil’s Game
I am not the only one playing a role.
Robert Cecil, the king’s chief advisor, is a man who thrives in shadows. He never asks direct questions, but he watches. Always watching.
I have seen him whispering to the king, seen his calculating gaze settle upon me whenever I am brought before the court. He hides his suspicions well, but I know they are there.
And then, one afternoon, he decides to test me.
It is a small thing—a wooden toy, simple in design, placed before me during a gathering of nobles.
“A gift for the young prince,” Cecil says, smiling.
A test.
I am meant to react like a child, to fumble and play. But the trap is deeper than it seems.
The toy is designed to be a puzzle. A twisting mechanism that, if turned correctly, reveals a hidden compartment. It is meant to be solved by someone older, someone with the mind of a child who has already grasped problem-solving.
If I solve it too easily, I will confirm his suspicions.
If I struggle too much, I may be seen as slow or weak.
Carefully, I reach out with chubby fingers. I push at the toy, watching it spin. I twist it slightly but feign frustration, my brow furrowing as I make a small sound of complaint.
Laughter ripples through the court.
“The prince is still too young,” a noblewoman chuckles.
Cecil does not laugh. He simply nods, his smile thin.
The game between us has begun.
An Unlikely Ally
Not all eyes in the palace seek my downfall.
One evening, as the sky darkens and the halls empty, I find myself alone in the nursery. The nursemaids have stepped away, and for a moment, silence fills the room.
Then, a soft voice breaks it.
“You are not like the others.”
I turn my head.
A boy, older than me but still young, stands in the doorway. His clothes are plain, his posture relaxed but observant.
He is not a noble.
“Who are you?” I ask, my voice still small, still carrying the lisp of childhood.
He smirks. “A friend, maybe. If you need one.”
I study him, searching for deception, but find none.
This boy—this stranger—has noticed something different about me. But unlike Robert Cecil, his gaze does not hold suspicion. It holds curiosity.
And perhaps, just perhaps, loyalty.
The Path Ahead
The court is shifting. I can feel it.
I am no longer just a prince. I am a piece in a greater game.
Robert Cecil is watching. The king is testing me. The queen is protecting me. And now, an unknown boy has stepped into my life, offering something I have not yet had in this time—an ally.
The storm is coming.
And I must be ready.
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