A Prince Tried to Expel His Half-Brother from a Royal Arts Competition, Not Knowing the Medallion Proved His True Bloodline
Part 1
👑 **A Prince Demanded My Expulsion From His Royal Competition, Mocked My Humble Tunic—Not Knowing the Secret Lineage That Tied Me to His Own Throne.**
I just entered my name into the Grand Starlight Exhibition, a competition I’d dreamed of since I was a boy. Three days later, Prince Alaric Vesper himself stood before me.
He was demanding my expulsion and mocking my simple artisan’s tunic.
He called my craftsmanship “crude, unworthy of the Court of Starlight,” despite my work being judged by its own merit. I kept my voice steady, asserting my application was valid under the Old King’s Royal Edict for all skilled citizens.
Under my worn tunic, the ancient Vesper family medallion, a gift from my mother, pressed against my skin. It was a silent promise. The prince’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something beyond arrogance crossing his face as a court official, Sir Gideon, quietly confirmed my entry. I knew then this wasn’t just about a competition; it was about a secret he feared.
I stood firm. The murmur of other participants had died down, replaced by a tense silence.
Alaric stepped closer, his voice low, but carrying enough to turn a few heads towards us. “An artisan? In *my* exhibition? The Grand Starlight is for noble talent, Finch, not common labor.”
I met his gaze, refusing to flinch. “My application met all criteria, Prince. Under the Old King’s Royal Edict, every skilled citizen has the right to compete on merit.”
Alaric scoffed, a dismissive sound that drew a few nervous chuckles from his entourage. “The Old King’s Edict? A dusty relic no one remembers. You think you can hide behind ancient laws for your crude trinkets?”
“The law stands,” I stated, my voice unwavering. My hand instinctively touched the smooth, cool metal of the medallion beneath my tunic.
Sir Gideon, the Registrar, who had been observing from the side, stepped forward. He held a weathered scroll, unrolling it with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes, usually timid, held a quiet resolve.
“Prince Alaric,” Gideon said, his voice clear despite its low volume. “The artisan Kaelen Finch’s application is, by the letter of the law, valid. The Old King’s Edict for universal artistic entry remains on the Royal Registry and applies to all.”
Alaric’s face tightened, his usual regal composure cracking. His gaze flickered from Gideon, whom he seemed to respect more than me, back to my face. A flash of something akin to panic, quick and unsettling, crossed his eyes before he masked it. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly unnerved by Gideon’s unexpected public support.
“Very well,” Alaric bit out, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched. “But do not mistake this for welcome, artisan. Your work will be scrutinized more harshly than any other.” He turned sharply, his purple-clad retinue scrambling to follow him as he strode away, leaving a strange, lingering tension in the air.
Later that evening, as the exhibition hall emptied and I packed away my tools, Sir Gideon found me near my display. He spoke in a hushed tone, his eyes darting to the few lingering guards. “You cited the Edict well, Kaelen Finch. Few remember it, fewer still know its true depth.”
“What do you mean, Sir Gideon?” I asked, my brow furrowing, the prince’s earlier panic still fresh in my mind.
Gideon leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “Prince Alaric’s fear… it is not merely for his pride in the Court of Starlight. That specific Edict, and your precise knowledge of it, hinted at a secret known only to those truly familiar with the Old King’s true legacy.”
Part 2
Puzzled, I left the exhibition hall, Gideon’s words echoing in my mind. The old king’s true legacy. I returned to my small workshop, the familiar scent of wood and metal doing little to calm my thoughts.
My mother Elara’s dying words came back to me. “Never reveal this medallion, Kaelen, or my name, within the city.” The cool metal against my chest suddenly felt heavy.
I began sifting through her few cherished possessions, tucked away in an old wooden chest. There, beneath a faded embroidery and a handful of dried herbs, lay a worn leather journal.
Its pages were filled with her elegant script, but tucked deep inside, I found a single, faded sketch. It depicted my mother, younger, her belly noticeably swollen with child.
Standing beside her, unmistakable even in the simple drawing, was the Old King himself. And on her neck, resting above her pregnant belly, was the exact Vesper family medallion I now wore. My breath caught.
My mother’s secret, her lineage, it wasn’t just tied to the royal family; it was the royal family. Alaric’s deep-seated fear was for his own claim to the throne.
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