Chapter 2: The Forgotten Prince

The palace was a labyrinth of cold stone and whispered secrets. Cedric wandered its halls, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floors. Servants scurried past, their eyes darting away as soon as they saw him. He was used to it by now—the sidelong glances, the hushed murmurs, the way people seemed to shrink away from him as if he carried some invisible curse.

He wasn't sure what bothered him more: the way they avoided him or the way they pretended he didn't exist.

Cedric's chambers were tucked away in a quiet corner of the palace, far from the bustling heart of court life. The room was modest compared to the opulent suites of his siblings, but it was his sanctuary. Books lined the walls, their spines cracked and worn from years of use. A small desk sat by the window, cluttered with parchment and quills. It was here that Cedric spent most of his time, poring over maps and ledgers, trying to make sense of the world he now found himself in.

Today, however, he wasn't alone.

"Your Highness," a soft voice called from the doorway.

Cedric looked up to see **Master Wyntor**, the royal archivist, standing in the threshold. The old man's robes were frayed at the edges, and his spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. Despite his unassuming appearance, Wyntor was one of the few people in the palace who treated Cedric with genuine kindness.

"Master Wyntor," Cedric greeted, setting down his quill. "What brings you here?"

Wyntor stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "I thought you might appreciate some company. And perhaps… a bit of guidance."

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Guidance?"

Wyntor smiled faintly. "You've been spending a great deal of time in the archives lately. I couldn't help but notice your interest in the kingdom's tax records."

Cedric's heart skipped a beat. He had been careful to keep his activities discreet, but it seemed Wyntor was more observant than he let on.

"I'm just trying to understand how things work," Cedric said carefully.

"A noble pursuit," Wyntor replied, his tone approving. "But tell me, what have you learned?"

Cedric hesitated, then decided there was no harm in sharing his thoughts. "The system is inefficient. The tax records are disorganized, and the distribution of resources is… uneven, to say the least. The nobility hoards wealth while the peasants struggle to survive."

Wyntor's eyes gleamed with interest. "And what would you do to change that?"

Cedric leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. He had spent countless hours thinking about this very question. "I'd start by centralizing the tax collection process. Establish a standardized system to track income and expenditures. And I'd redirect resources to areas that need them most—agriculture, infrastructure, education."

Wyntor nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Ambitious ideas. But you'll face resistance. The nobility won't take kindly to losing their privileges."

"I know," Cedric said, his voice firm. "But if I'm going to make a difference, I can't afford to play it safe."

Wyntor studied him for a long moment, then smiled. "You remind me of your mother."

Cedric's breath caught in his throat. "My mother?"

"Lady Eleanora," Wyntor said softly. "She was a remarkable woman. Brilliant, compassionate, and fiercely determined. She saw the flaws in our system and sought to change them. But the court… they feared her ideas. Feared what she represented."

Cedric's chest tightened. He had heard whispers about his mother, but no one ever spoke of her openly. "What happened to her?"

Wyntor's expression darkened. "That is a story for another time. For now, know this: you carry her legacy. And if you're half the person she was, you'll do great things."

Cedric swallowed hard, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He had always felt like an outsider, a shadow in his father's court. But now, for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope.

"Thank you, Master Wyntor," he said quietly.

Wyntor inclined his head. "You're welcome, Your Highness. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some work to attend to. But remember, my door is always open."

As Wyntor left, Cedric turned back to his desk, his mind buzzing with thoughts. He had so many questions, so many ideas. But one thing was clear: he couldn't do this alone.

---

Later that evening, Cedric found himself in the palace gardens, the cool night air a welcome respite from the stifling atmosphere of the court. The gardens were one of the few places where he could think clearly, away from the prying eyes and whispered judgments.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the figure approaching until they were almost upon him.

"Well, well," a familiar voice drawled. "If it isn't the half-blood prince."

Cedric turned to see **Roland**, his second eldest brother, leaning against a tree with a smirk on his face. Roland was tall and broad-shouldered, with a mane of golden hair and a perpetual air of arrogance.

"Roland," Cedric said evenly. "What do you want?"

Roland pushed off the tree and sauntered closer, his eyes glinting with malice. "Just thought I'd check on my dear little brother. Heard you've been spending a lot of time in the archives. Planning something, are we?"

Cedric clenched his fists but kept his expression neutral. "I'm just trying to learn."

Roland barked a laugh. "Learn? What for? You'll never be king, Cedric. You're a stain on our family's honor. A reminder of Father's… indiscretion."

The words stung, but Cedric refused to let it show. "Is that all you came to say?"

Roland's smirk faded, replaced by a look of cold disdain. "No. I came to warn you. Stay out of my way, little brother. Or you'll regret it."

With that, Roland turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Cedric alone in the garden.

For a long time, Cedric stood there, his mind racing. Roland's words echoed in his ears, a stark reminder of the challenges he faced. But instead of feeling defeated, Cedric felt a surge of determination.

"Alright," he whispered to himself. "If that's how it's going to be, then I'll play the game. And I'll win."