1 the prince and the pauper (I)

Four o'clock, by the marble fountain, surrounded by a bed of bluerose flowers.

That was when Darian first laid eyes upon him.

The boy was young, around the same age as the prince himself. But instead of donning fancy jewellery and garments that spoke of royalty, the boy was dressed in clothes so tattered, it would disgrace the palace floors even as mere rugs. His hands were filthy and rough, evidence of labour and grunt. His silver hair was pitifully dull and tainted with soot, and it was rather unkempt, with stray tufts poking out like whiskers.

Yet, this did not deter him, for the young prince was mesmerised by his eyes. The boy's eyes were focused, thinking, and determined. Of the sapphires were his colours, and how brilliantly they gleamed with concentration. The boy would stare intensely at the pieces of paper in his hands, then, with an exclamation, scribble with furious enthusiasm, before returning to ponder.

With careful steps, prince Darian approached the boy. He hid his insignia and undid the ribbons on his shoulders, worried that the boy might figure out who he actually was. But thankfully, the boy was too engrossed in his own work to notice the royalty inching towards him.

His first words to the boy were, "what do you have there?"

The young boy, now alert, turned to the stranger next to him. "It's a musical piece."

"For strings?"

"Why, yes. I'm composing," said the commoner boy with a proud smile. "I've always written and played my own songs, and I find a lot of fun in it. This one, I'm writing for my family." He brought over the papers for Darian to see. "But I feel like something's missing."

The prince took the scores and read them. For a few moments, silence transpired, with the young boy looking earnestly, while the prince recalled his musical teachings. Then, with resolution, the prince gave his opinion.

"I think if you move this verse down, and repeat this bar here, it will sound more complete," suggested Darian. "There's no need to omit the bridge here, unless there's a piano accompaniment, which in that case may sound messy."

Amazed, the boy noted down his words, and pictured the piece in his head after the amendments. Darian watched as his left fingers dipped and pressed, and his brows narrowed in deep thought. After a while, the boy's eyes snapped open, and turned to him with a huge smile.

"That sounds so much better! Thank you so much, um..."

The prince cleared his throat. "You can address me as… Rian."

"Rian! Oh, thank you for helping me! My name is Michael. How old are you?"

"I'm twelve years old."

Michael beamed with respect. "Oh! I'm a year younger than you. I take it you like learning music too?"

"It's more like music is the only thing I enjoy learning."

And Rian would've loved to stay and chat, but the ever familiar footsteps that marched from afar alerted him, and so he quickly got on his feet with a nervous chuckle.

"I'm sorry, but I must be going," he said, glancing left and right. "Will you… will you be here tomorrow?"

To his pleasant surprise, Michael nodded. "I'll be here to practise my violin! My family doesn't think too well of it, so I come here to not bother them."

"Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow." Rian extended his hand, but Michael shook his head.

"I mustn't dirty you. You… seem to be of noble birth, right? It's already a privilege to be talking to you." he said sheepishly.

Rian scoffed, and proceeded to clasp the commoner's hand in his own. "Nonsense. Handshakes don't discriminate."

Out of the corner of his eye, the uniforms of the palace guards were getting more and more noticeable, so Rian quickly announced his leave and took off, speeding into the town's streets with a wave.

Michael waved back, and as he did so, something warm blossomed in his heart. There was something about that noble boy that seemed so charming, so endearing. The way he held his hand, with such firm belief and goodness, was something no one had ever done before. Not even his own family showed that much emotion, let alone someone high-born.

Before he knew it, the young composer was singing away his music, and was eagerly waiting for the next day to arrive.