THE PRINCE AND THE ORPHAN

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In the vast kingdom of Ravendale, Prince Alaric was known by many names, none of them particularly flattering. Some called him The Heartless Prince, others simply His Highness of Horror. He was not just arrogant but also wickedly proud, finding joy in reminding everyone of their place below him.

As Alaric slouched on his throne one crisp morning, surveying his breakfast with a look of utter boredom, his advisor, Lord Cedric, nervously stepped forward. The aging man cleared his throat and held out a scroll, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. "Your Highness, the villagers… they beg for a decrease in the taxes. The recent drought has left many of them unable to pay, and—"

"Did I ask for excuses?" Alaric interrupted with a yawn. He lifted a single eyebrow, barely looking at the advisor. "If they can't pay, they should work harder. Or perhaps they can sell off their goats and chickens and whatever else they have lying about. Really, it's no concern of mine."

Cedric hesitated, glancing down at the scroll. His voice, already soft, dropped even lower. "Your Highness, there are children going hungry…"

Prince Alaric let out a chuckle. "How dramatic, Lord Cedric. Very well, tell them I'll reduce their taxes by…" He paused, pretending to calculate, before holding up his hand with a smirk. "One silver coin. That should be generous enough."

Lord Cedric sighed, his shoulders slumping. He gave a deep bow, hiding the look of disappointment on his face, and turned to leave the hall.

As the door swung shut, Alaric reclined further, grinning to himself. But his mood was interrupted by his cousin, Duke Lennox, who strolled in with a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Alaric," Lennox began, drawing out the syllables, "you're really making a name for yourself, aren't you?"

"I already have a name," Alaric replied dryly, inspecting his nails. "And it's Your Highness, for the likes of you."

"Of course, Your Highness," Lennox replied, rolling his eyes. "But one of these days, your 'generosity' might just come back to haunt you. People have a way of remembering the miseries you've put them through."

Alaric chuckled. "What nonsense. They're peasants, Lennox. They don't matter."

Lennox's smirk grew wider. "Oh, is that so? Then perhaps you wouldn't mind a little… wager?"

Alaric arched an eyebrow. "Go on."

"There's a new girl in town," Lennox continued. "An orphan. Word has it, she's got quite the sharp tongue. What if I dared you to win her over?"

Alaric let out a bark of laughter. "Are you serious? What would a prince want with some orphan?"

"Come now, cousin. Don't be afraid," Lennox taunted, his grin widening. "Unless, of course, you think you couldn't charm her."

Alaric straightened, narrowing his eyes. "I can charm anyone."

"Good," Lennox said. "Then it's a bet. Win her over, and I'll admit you're the cleverest man in Ravendale. Fail, and you admit… well, that maybe you're not as clever as you think."

Alaric's pride flared. "It's a foolish bet. But fine. I accept."

He knew nothing of the orphan girl, not yet. But the thought of playing this game intrigued him. After all, how hard could it be to sway the heart of a simple commoner?