The Desert Prince

Eljas was grinning like a fool. “Jari! Look there!”
He jabbed a finger toward a group of village girls walking past the market stalls.

Jari snorted. “Is that all you think about? Women?”

“Of course,” Eljas said, proud as any young man with nothing to lose. “And you should too. You’re old enough to be married. Don’t pretend you haven’t an eye for someone.”

Jari hesitated. “There was one. A trader girl. She passed through last spring.”

Eljas laughed. “Aye, and she’s long gone. You’d sooner marry the wind.”

“Maybe,” Jari admitted. “But she was beautifully made.”

Eljas only shrugged. “Well, prince or not, we should get back to the castle.”

“We?” Jari raised an eyebrow. “You’re a farmer.”

“I’m your farmer,” Eljas said. “Your best friend. That ought to be worth a free meal.”

“That makes no sense,” Jari muttered, but he was smiling.

They climbed the long stairway to the Ashspan Bridge. The desert heat clung to them, heavy as a cloak, the air thick and wet with the strange humidity that plagued their lands. When they reached the top, the world opened. Two waterfalls thundered across from one another, each spilling into the deep blue channel beneath the bridge. Villagers far below hauled buckets and baskets of water—their only fresh source for miles. A kingdom living off a single throat of river.

“Eljas,” Jari said, “I don’t want to live here forever.”

“No one does,” Eljas replied. “And your father’s done little to ease it.”

Jari frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We’re starving,” Eljas said bluntly. “The heat kills our crops. The weapons we carry are scrap and rust. If we’re raided we’d be butchered. Your father raises market prices and calls it ruling.”

“We still have chickens, don’t we?” Jari asked.

Eljas gave him a look. “Your Highness, we haven’t had proper rations in weeks.”

Jari opened the castle doors, their wood thick as ship hulls. “Come eat. Maybe you can speak to him.”

Eljas followed reluctantly. He always did. But the awe hit him the moment he entered. Polished stone. Carved pillars. Hangings of red and gold. A home built by a king who cared more for walls than for people.

“You just going to stare?” Jari asked, already halfway to the table.

“You live in a palace,” Eljas muttered. “I live in a sand hut. Forgive me for admiring.”

Queen Avelyn appeared, soft-faced and warm, a woman whose kindness seemed misplaced among these walls. “Jari brought a guest, I see.”

“Eljas,” Jari said proudly. “Might as well feed him.”

Avelyn smiled. “Lucky I made extra. I suspected he’d come.”

She set out steaming chicken and a heap of strange green strips. “Kelp,” she said when Eljas stared. “From the riverbed.”

“Kelp?” Eljas felt anger stirring at the luxury. “We eat scraps, Your Majesty. Dirty chicken and stale bread. You eat like gods.”

A step sounded behind him.

King Rasmus II entered.

The room chilled.

“What’s this noise?” the king barked.

Eljas’ jaw clenched. Jari nudged him under the table, but too late—Eljas’ anger was already boiling.

“He was telling us how the people suffer,” Avelyn said carefully.

Rasmus sneered. “Nonsense. Our stores are full.”

Eljas slammed his plate down, rising so fast his chair tipped. “Full? You don’t see the streets. You don’t hear the hunger. If you spent one day living as we do, you’d drop to your knees.”

Rasmus stepped close, his voice thick with arrogance. “Help you? I built this kingdom. I saved it. And this is my thanks?”

He struck Eljas across the face. Hard.

Jari flinched but did not move. Fear pinned him deeper than any spear.

Eljas swallowed the pain. “Then remember this,” he hissed. “The people you ignore will rise. And they’ll tear your throne out from under you.”

He stormed from the castle.

Rasmus scoffed. “A pathetic boy, Jari.”

Jari said nothing. Shame choked him.

A small figure appeared in the doorway—Raollin, Jari’s little brother, sleepy-eyed and young enough not to understand the poison in the air.

“Back to bed, love,” Avelyn whispered, guiding him away.

Jari slipped into his chambers, hiding from the world.

Morning came with shouting.

His parents—bickering again. Accusations thrown like knives. Their marriage had rotted in silence long before the kingdom followed.

Jari dressed and walked out into the harsh sunlight. Sand burned the air, but he welcomed it. Better the cruelty of the desert than the cruelty of his own home.

He bought his usual breakfast—fresh carrot and a cup of oasis water—and sat on a bench near the market. But comfort never came.

Voices whispered nearby.

“…rebellion…”
“…tonight…”
“…kill Rasmus…”
“…kill Jari…”

His heart thudded. Sweat beaded on his neck though the wind was cool. They noticed him—of course they did. A prince among beggars.

For a moment he thought he would faint.

Then a shadow fell across him.

“Are you alright?” a soft voice asked.

He looked up.

It was her—the wandering trader girl.

The one he thought he’d never see again.