London, The Republic Queendom of New Britain, March, 2057

  A cool morning. A good morning.

  They were a week or two away from things getting more vibrant and sunny with the coming of a proper spring.

  A prince walked the halls of the palace.

  Open windows allowed the cool breeze to ruffle the feathers of the large, dark brown wings sticking out of his back.

  He greeted guards and staff as they greeted him.

  One might expect a lot of bowing and such, but there were none.

  His mother had never been one for abasement from people that she liked.

  That was reserved for the vast majority of the nation’s small nobility and about half of parliament.

  “Prince Harold, I’m glad I caught you before you could escape. Rather, fortunate.”

  Shit!

  “Yes, Phil. Fortunate.”

  The old man was a lord, but what he really cared about was being the queen’s left-hand man.

  The prince supposed he couldn’t complain too much about the bother seeing as how there was exponentially less of it for him than for his adoptive brothers and sisters. The true heirs of their mother.

  It always made him chuckle when others suggested that he must’ve been so upset or sad or disappointed that as a mere adopted son he had no path to the throne.

  Ha!

  Like he wanted that headache.

  His mother didn’t really want it and out of his siblings only Meghan, his oldest sister, wanted it, but even then it was out of a sense of responsibility to see that their mother’s hard work wouldn’t be undone by the greedy and power hungry nobility or greedy and power hungry member of parliament or the greedy and power hungry generals.

  Honestly, what was it with people in power being the worst kinds of people to be in power?

  The prince stopped his long stride.

  The old man had been struggling to keep up.

  “Before you say anything… can it wait? I’m on my break from the fighting, which you know.”

  “Yes, of course, prince. The queen made it clear to me that you are to be exempted from the ‘crown stuff’, as you and your siblings call it.”

  “Great! Good to see you! Let’s catch up later… after my break.”

  When he wouldn’t be in the palace.

  Phil cleared his throat.

  “It’s a request from your mother.”

  “From Mum? And not Queen Lilly?”

  “Very much the former.”

  Shit!

  “Does she know that I’m planning to hang out with friends? For the first time in, like, three months?”

  “Of course, the queen sees all, hears all, knows all that takes place in her domain.” The old man’s eyes had widened and his voice took on a reverent and rather threatening tone.

  “That’ll never not be creepy.”

  The old man’s craggy face broke into a wide smile.

  “Still got it?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” he said flatly. “I know I’ve suggested this before, but…”

  “Apologies, Prince Harold, but it’s not something I can turn off and on. The staff knows I mean them no harm so long as they remain loyal to your mother.”

  “See, it’s that last part that scares them.” He shrugged. “So, what’s this chore Mum needs doing?” He tapped his wrist watch, bringing up the holographic display to inform his friends that he would be delayed.

  “No need to cancel your plans completely. The queen suggested you spend some of your time down at the bake-off festival.”

  “That’s still going on?”

  One would’ve thought that it would be postponed on account of the war with the outworlders raging in the northern portion of the nation’s pre-spires territorial boundaries.

  “You can’t smell it?”

  He sniffed with a superhuman sense of smell.

  “Nope. I’m smelling the kitchens. Good as always. Alright, I think we can do that. Mum’s at her usual spot?” He poked and swiped at his holographic interface.

  “Yes.”

  “Great. I’ll let her know I’m on my way. Phil,” he fixed the left-hand man a piercing stare akin to an eagle’s, “this isn’t one of her ambushes, is it?”

  The old man mimed zipping his lips shut and ambled away in that smug way that told the prince that, yes, it was indeed one of his mother’s ambushes.

  It was a young man with a darkened mood that walked through the palace, though he showed not an ounce of it on his face to the many smiling people he encountered. He had learned to master the outside to show what he wanted rather than what was on the inside years ago.

  He found his friends waiting outside.

  “Ah… I forgot.”

  It was the bake-off festival.

  Eyes and ears saw and heard far. Across the palace ground’s huge expanse of greenery.

  Thousands of people.

  Hundreds of colorful tents underneath which hundreds of bakers and the like where busy baking and selling their best.

  Bread, pastries and everything else.

  Sweet and savory.

  Odd flavors and colors only possible with Skills and spells.

  A donut with the taste of a cherished childhood memory sounded good.

  He licked his lips.

  “The prince finally awakens!” Dickie said.

  His childhood friend played keepy-uppy with a glowing red ball that was just a little too small to be a proper football.

  The power was new.

  Discovered when the prince had been fighting on the front.

  “About time, Gryph! We were going to leave you. The scents in the wind are just too divine to resist for long,” Trajan said.

  The prince’s eagle-eyed gaze caught the slightest tightening of the eyes when his other childhood friend glanced at his other friend’s glowing red ball.

  He suppressed a sigh.

  He was going to have to deal with that before it festered into something worse.

  The green-eyed monster needed to be killed before it leveled up.

  But the question was how?

  He’d have to ask his mother later or maybe one of his siblings.

  They always had good advice when it came to interpersonal relationship stuff.

  “Well, lads. How about we get this on, then? I’m getting proper famished with all these heavenly scents in the wind.”

  They walked and talked toward the festival under the watchful eyes of dozens of guards, obvious and less so.

  He eyed his friend keeping the glowing red ball up in the air with barely a break in his stride.

  “Doing good there, Dickie? Sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you about it.”

  “Eh, nothing to it, Gryph. I can’t bloody well complain when you’re out there fighting a war for us, can I?”

  “We’re going to need more information about that than you’ve been putting into your messages, by the way,” Trajan said. “And don’t give us that bollocks about the secrets of the crown.”

  He grimaced. “Sure, but not here on account of…” he waved vaguely.

  “Leave off it, Traj,” Dickie said. “I’ve been commanded not to ask. And I know your parents talk with mine.”

  Trajan sighed. “They were rather clear and forceful about it. It wouldn’t be an issue if my father didn’t keep his damn lips tighter than a nun keeps her legs when it comes to news about the front. I’m his heir. How can I learn to do what he does if he still treats me like a child?”

  “To be fair, we are kids. Technically,” Dickie said.

  “Sure, sure, but I’ve fought in real battle. Even led.”

  “Bit of gap between our experiences and what Gryph’s been doing up north, right, lad?” Dickie eyed him expectantly.

  “I’ll tell you what I can, but not here. More importantly, you going to answer my question or are you going to faff around? How does it feel? You’re never going to get a class and I know how much you’ve looked forward to that.”

  Trajan slapped Dickie on the shoulder.

  “At least it’s settled and you don’t have to keep wondering.”

  “True enough,” Dickie said. “Better to shit or get off the pot as my dad’s captain says all the time. Don’t have much to say, Gryph. Been practicing, trying to push my limits, hell, trying to find what those are. Had a bit of a cry when I boxed up all my potential class notes and such, but I went through the mourning process pretty quickly. It didn’t hurt that I’ve got a cool superpower!”

  “Not to mention getting instantly stronger and tougher, right, Dickie?” Trajan said.

  “I can wrestle my mum’s lioness like she was a cat. I mean, a regular cat.” Dickie grinned. “She scratches me up good, but she is a lioness.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m going to have to test you out later, Dickie!”

  His friend chuckled.

  “Not nearly on your level, lad.”

  “How’d they take it?”

  “My mum and dad?”

  The prince nodded.

  “Mum took a week to get over it. Dad was already modifying his plans that night.”

  “It’s going to be tough for your house without a lord’s Skills once you take over,” Trajan said.

  The prince didn’t think his friend said that as an attack.

  Dickie shrugged.

  “Mum and Dad are sharp. Whatever they plan is good enough for me.”

  “Even if it’s your sister becoming the lady of the house instead?” Trajan said.

  Dickie shuddered as his eyes went wide.

  His younger sister by two years was intense. Especially for a fifteen year old. One could only dread what she’d be like with the class and power as an adult.

  “Best not to go down that route prematurely, lads.”

  “Sorry, Dickie,” Trajan said. “Didn’t mean to trigger bad memories of her doing… things to you.”

  Dickie actually missed the next kick-up of his ball.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  It hit the path and bounced down into the maintained grass before vanishing in a puff of red light.

  “Remember when Jumping Jenny Kid-bagger put us into her sack?” Dickie said.

  The three shuddered in unison.

  That had been a nightmarish night best left a distant, unremembered memory.

  “Yeah, well, let me just say that I wouldn’t be surprised if my sister got to that level of intensity one day. And I’m not even saying that day is a long ways off. I’m saying we could see it in a year, maybe three tops,” Dickie said.

  “Well, that’s a scary thought,” he clapped his hands. “There! It’s banished from my head! Let’s enjoy this day! I haven’t seen my lads in a couple of months and I need to catch up on all the fun you’ve been having.”

  “Kinda feeling a little guilty now. How about you, Traj?” Dickie said.

  “Lad, I imagine you’re feeling about as low as a giant rat in the sewers, which is how I’m feeling,” Trajan said.

  “Don’t make this weird, lads. I’ve got no complaints, so I’ll not be hearing any from you lot.”

  “Fair enough,” Dickie grinned, clapping the prince on the shoulder. “So, where to for breakfast? Pig’n’out? Corny’s Pies? Happy Jester’s Pastries?”

  “My father’s fighters suggested Miss Cheaterly’s Scrumptious Wares,” Trajan said.

  Dickie perked up.

  “I’ve heard my house’s guys talking about that place too.”

  The prince frowned.

  He had never heard of that one before.

  “Sorry to disappoint, lads, but my mum’s requested my presence. You don’t have to come along. I can see what she wants and hopefully it’s quick so I can catch up with you lot.”

  Dickie and Trajan exchanged a glance that conveyed an entire conversation in a span of seconds that was only possible between friends that had been friends for longer than they could remember.

  “That’s the queen,” Trajan said.

  “Agreed,” Dickie said.

  “The request was from my mum,” he said flatly.

  “Well, then it’d be rude not to at least greet her,” Dickie said.

  “Proper like,” Trajan added.

  “Is she baking today?” Dickie said.

  “I don’t know. I just flew in last night and I haven’t seen her or anyone, really.”

  His friends exchanged another look.

  “Best not to keep your mum waiting,” Trajan said.

  …

  The Queen’s Ye Olde Bake Shoppe according to the crudely painted sign.

  The prince recognized his young niece’s and nephew’s hands in the work.

  “That is a long line,” Dickie said.

  It snaked many times in front of the massive tent and that was just to get inside.

  “Alright, I think it’s my turn to fall on the grenade.” Trajan sighed. “I’ll get in line. Give your mum my warmest regards.”

  The prince shook his head and beckoned them around to the back of the tent.

  His mother was big on not taking advantage of one’s social station for selfish wants.

  The lesson had been stamped in his and his friends’ heads from a young age.

  It was the inescapable outcome of them having spent plenty of time in the palace where his mum could get her queenly talons into them.

  The crowds had thickened and it took effort for him to tighten his wings into the narrowest profile he could so as to not inconvenience the people walking near and around him.

  Thankfully, no one had done a full bow yet.

  He had walked the festival since its first year and he had always been taught to be accessible.

  A smile, a wave, a slight nod.

  Such small greetings were more than enough for him.

  Honestly, he would’ve been perfectly pleased with no greetings at all.

  Sadly, he always stood out.

  They might not have recognized his face, but the wings were a dead giveaway for the Gryphon Prince.

  But, not everyone gave a shit that he had wings and superhuman strength.

  Some went the opposite way.

  Away from respect or reverence into the realm of ball-busting and peg taking down-ing.

  The guards at the back waved him through after a quick check.

  They had to make sure he and his friends weren’t shape-changers or flesh clones or… well, one gets the idea.

  They weren’t the problem as they were always professional and respectful.

  He remembered the treats they’d slip him in his younger days.

  In a way he missed being restricted in sweets consumption.

  Ill gotten gains tasted sweeter now that he could just get what he wanted when he wanted.

  No, the problem was the pointy hat-wearing woman balanced on the back legs of her chair with her muddy combat boots propped up on the table.

  She was hot in an objective sense. A grown woman with a grown woman’s charms as some said. They couldn’t be missed on account of her tight jeans and tighter shirt, which bared her arms and a lot of her upper chest.

  She pointed black-painted fingernails from her chest to her eyes hidden in the shadow of her hat’s brim.

  “Eyes up here, lads. Don’t want to be rude, do you? What would your mummy say, Prince Birdy?”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat.

  They swallowed the lumps in their throats.

  “Well, can I help you with anything or are you here to catch flies?”

  The prince snapped his mouth shut, having just realized he had it open.

  Trajan and Dickie were a beat behind.

  “I greet you with good intentions, witch…” He bowed.

  “I greet you with helpful intentions, Winged Prince.” She remained seated.

  Dickie and Trajan greeted her on behalf of their houses.

  She laughed at that, seeing through their mortal terror at greeting her on their own behalf.

  “Relax boys. I’m not a man-eating type of witch.”

  He couldn’t help but think of Witch Mary.

  His mother’s long-time court witch had taught the young, more arrogant version of him many lessons about humility. And she still did.

  The ageless woman felt more like a distant aunt these days, although one that could turn scary if she thought you needed to learn something.

  His friends knew Witch Mary almost as well as he did.

  Every young noble, hell, every young person that had spent any amount of extended time in the palace knew her well.

  So many scary lessons.

  “Don’t let me keep you, Prince Flies-a-lot.” The nameless witch gestured toward the interior of the massive tent. “Mystery awaits,” she intoned.

  He stepped through the next door and was greeted by the bustle of efficient activity akin to a hive.

  The bakery with its main ovens was at the far end.

  The prep stations were closer to him near where the raw ingredients where being stored and delivered through yet another door to his left.

  The space was enormous.

  He could have actually spread his wings and flown laps around the outer edges with plenty of room to spare.

  The ten meter high ceiling would make it easy.

  Not that he would do that.

  Scattering all the flour, sugar and what not would’ve ruined everyone’s day and hard working people didn’t need a dumb, reckless kid making it even harder.

  Once had been one time too many.

  His mother had actually spanked his bottom red that day.

  In front of everyone.

  People still joked with him about it.

  “Lads, I feel like we may get in the way,” Dickie said.

  “I’m not going to wait with that witch,” Trajan whispered.

  “That wasn’t what I was suggesting.” Dickie shook his head rapidly. “Not one bit.”

  “Why’d your mum want to meet you in this, Gryph?” Trajan said. “Seems a bit, chaotic.”

  “It’s my mum. She does what she wants. C’mon, let’s find her so we can go do what we want.”

  His mother. The queen. The radiant. The strong. And any number of superlatives they liked to put on her.

  She stood at the counter barking orders at the busy hive of staff taking orders, filling orders and handing out orders to the many people waiting in the snake-like lines winding through one side of the massive tent.

  The other side was filled with tables filled with people. So full, in fact, that people were forced to head outside the main tent to one of the secondary tents to enjoy their pastries, breads, pies and what not on the grass.

  He would’ve taken that choice in a heartbeat.

  The tent with all its human movements, scents and noises wasn’t for him.

  He needed open spaces where the wind could caress his feathers.

  “Lads, are my eyes lying to me or is that—” Dickie began.

  “Lady Jane Johnson herself and that’s the Lady Deianira Thornton and that’s…”

  He listened to Trajan list off the many young lords and ladies of the realm around his age and younger serving as his mother’s staff.

  They were doing everything that he knew many of them saw as beneath them.

  “Ha!”

  It never got old.

  He had fond memories of doing the same in the past.

  Indeed, it had been two years ago that his mother had pronounced he would serve the people in different ways when she had retired him from working her bakery tent.

  “Dickie, I believe we shall wait in the back. Give your mum our warmest regards.” Trajan sensed the trap and tugged Dickie’s arm, but he was too late.

  The queen had seen them.

  She had seen them long before they had entered the tent.

  “There’s my darling boy and friends!”

  She swept toward him with impossible grace.

  Even the motherly hug was poised and perfect.

  His two friends went next.

  She was always radiant even when dressed down for baking.

  Her dark hair was tied in a simple bun and kept out of her face and out of the baked goods by an un-royal hair net. No crown or tiara on this day.

  She wore a simple white blouse and blue jeans along with an apron with a cartoon drawing of a winking bee baker.

  “Mum. Had I known you were going to have us serve I would’ve told the lads to dress in the proper uniform.”

  He hadn’t missed out that all the staff, including the normally fashion-forward Lady Thornton, were dressed the same in white shirts or blouses and blue jeans. The jeans weren’t even tailored.

  Lady Thornton’s, for example, looked to be men’s jeans and much too large for her svelte shape. She resembled a child wearing her dad’s clothes with how baggy they were.

  To the credit of her training, the lady didn’t show one iota of the displeasure the prince knew was inside her. She remained the picture of poise, smiling pleasantly to every common man, woman or child she interacted with.

  He knew what his mother intended.

  Force the nobles to interact with the so-called commoners often and early and perhaps they might turn out to be good adults.

  Whether her plan would bear fruit was questionable. He supposed that they’d start finding out in five years or so when the first of her noble projects were projected to begin taking over from their parents.

  “It’s only been a few months, but look at you two. Sprouted like weeds, have you, lads?”

  The tent was warm, yet his mother didn’t sweat like most of the others.

  Nope, she glowed.

  Her tan skin positively radiated all that was good in the realm.

  She took her complexion more from her mother than her father. The former had been some kind of creative artist from America and her father had been a prince. Second or third born? He wasn’t entirely sure.

  She didn’t talk about them much.

  Granted she didn’t remember them much.

  They had died in the early days of the spires along with their older son and the majority of anyone with noble blood.

  Only his mother, a baby, had managed to survive thanks to a desperate and surprisingly physically capable nanny.

  “Um, thank you, your majesty. My, um, my house sends our warmest regards and hopes for your eternal rule.” Dickie’s eyes widened progressively as the words spilled out of his mouth.

  The queen flicked his nose with a laugh and tousled his hair like she always did except this time she had to reach up rather high to do so.

  “Yes, my house also wishes for your eternal rule.” Trajan rolled his eyes at Dickie. “But, what my mum and dad would really want me to say is that you are looking as radiant as always and that I can’t wait to sample every last one of what you’ve baked, your majesty. The scents that have beckoned me here are akin to that of Titania herself.”

  “Careful, Trajan. I’ve crossed paths a time or two with Titania or something that named itself that and it would devour you like you’d devour a pie… not in the fun way. Best not to invoke things by naming them.”

  “Yes, your majesty. I gathered that. I promise to be more careful.”

  “Here! Have some donuts! Chocolate iced glazed in the Krispy Kreme style, but done by my humble hands! I recently learned it might have been my mother’s favorite. To think, that I could’ve felt this close to her this whole time by just having a stupid Krispy Kreme donut.”

  The prince’s eyes widened. He knew there was a shop nearby and he remembered having them a time or two, but found them too sweet for his tastes.

  “How, mum? I mean, how did you remember that?”

  “I met this delightful young lady with spells relating to memory.”

  “Mum, isn’t that dangerous? I don’t like the sound of a mage manipulating your memories.”

  “Oh, don’t be a Camille. There was, like, an entire room of people making sure there were no shenanigans. Plus, Eron recommended her.”

  He shrugged.

  Uncle Eron wouldn’t do anything bad to his mother.

  “Wow. That’s wonderful news! You can remember Gran and Grandad. And Uncle!”

  “One day perhaps. She’s a bit lower leveled and what she can pull out tends to be brief and random.” She graced him with a smile.

  Only he could see the full truth in her expression with the benefit of his eagle-like vision and his experience as one of the handful of people that she allowed herself to be unguarded with.

  She smiled, but her eyes contained sadness as deep as the channel.

  He didn’t know how deep the channel was, but it was the ocean, so it had to be deep.

  He did what she always did for him when he felt that way and wrapped her up in a hug without care for the susurration of awwws that went through all the people watching and listening.

  It surprised him a little that the top of her head didn’t even reach close to his chin.

  “My precious boy. When did you get so tall?” she murmured.

  “I dunno.”

  “It feels like you’re growing much too fast.”

  “Mum, it’s only been, like, two months.”

  “Seventy-one days.”

  “Okay… seventy-one days. Point is, I don’t think I grew that much.”

  “As much as I’d like to hug the rest of the day.” She reluctantly freed him from her vise and stepped back. “I do have a favor to ask.”

  Shit!

  Keen ears picked up the tapping of fingers on screens and the scratching of pen on paper.

  He scanned the crowd like an angry griffin.

  His mother slapped his arm.

  “Leave the gossip reporters and the spies alone,” she said lightly. “They need to make a living, earn points and gain levels.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Hush. Now, my favor?” She raised an expectant mum brow.

  “Of course, anything. Where do you need me? Um, inside seems crowded and I don’t want to get in the way with my wings. I can carry heavy stuff. Are you using the same supply warehouse? I can fly a truck straight here and back. Maybe two if we can figure out a way to tie two trucks together. I mean, I can do more, but then it’s an issue with the chains or ropes and the trucks themselves being strong enough to handle the strain.”

  “Oh no. Nothing quite so simple. I would like your help with her.”

  His mother’s gaze led him to near the middle of sit-down half of the tent.

  Where a vision of beauty instantly ruined his drama free, relatively, life.