Aurelian Voss

My name is Aurelian Voss, twenty years young, and up until precisely three days ago, I was living my best life. Veridia isn't just a kingdom; it’s a lifestyle brand. Think silk robes, catered feasts that practically require a map, and enough sycophantic attention to make a commoner faint. My role? The handsome, silver-tongued younger son who looked fabulous in the court portraits and was conveniently too busy partying to do anything useful. Which was fine! Responsibilities are so gauche.

Except, apparently, a little incident involving a significant debt—okay, a massive debt—and a diplomatic asset that, let's just say, got accidentally pawned off after one too many midnight brandies, crossed a line. Father, the King (dramatic much?), decided my punishment should be character building. I almost choked on my perfectly aged wine. Character building? Me? The most charming man in Veridia?

So now, here I am, disguised in what I can only assume is some kind of itchy, low-thread-count wool, trekking through the genuinely disgusting countryside. "Father is overreacting. This entire peasant charade is beneath me," I muttered into my damp collar, stumbling over a root that I swear was magically placed just to trip me. "I'll endure this ridiculous banishment, but I certainly won't learn anything from it." It’s an insult to my cheekbones, frankly. And it turns out money really can't buy happiness, or even a functional map, out here. I tried to bribe three separate people—a shepherd, a miller, and someone whose job description seemed to be "leaning against a post"—and every single one of them just stared at me like I was the main villain in a truly boring melodrama.

Then, of course, the sky decided to throw a hissy fit. A fierce storm—seriously, Veridia needs better weather enchantments. Soaked, chilled, and about two minutes from staging a dramatic faint, I saw it: a tiny, unpretentious farmhouse. Sanctuary!

I practically dove into the yard, mud splattering my (already ruined) traveling clothes. Standing there, looking intensely annoyed while wrestling some kind of farm implement, was a girl. I straightened my spine, summoning every ounce of my Veridian privilege and charisma, and pointedly ignored the fact that her eyes were genuinely the color of emeralds, even in this gloom.

"You there! I require immediate succor, and frankly, I find this entire establishment lacking. Is this mud a permanent fixture of your décor, or merely your failed attempt at welcoming a guest? Grant me refuge in your humble abode, and perhaps I'll teach you the art of living like royalty—starting with a proper bath for me. Now, where is your indoor plumbing?"