I was talking to the boy in the prison. I wasn’t supposed to, but I was the king. The boy in the prison doesn’t like me much, but he listens. None of my advisors listen.
“I hate being king. They say being king means supreme ruler, more like supreme figurehead. They don’t ask me my opinion, they just make me read a script that I don’t agree with.”I told the boy.
“Who’s they?”he asks.
“The nobles who live or spend a lot of time in the castle, of course,”I replied.
“Yeah, well they didn’t ask me my opinion when they shoved me in here,” he answered.
There were a few moments of pindrop silence. A rustling came from the cell.
“I feel lonely here,”I told the boy.
He smiled humorlessly, “Who doesn’t.”
I fell silent again hurt.
The boy must’ve figured out what I was feeling because he said, “Why you feel lonely.”
“Mostly, people just ignore me except when they need me to read a law or something. I feel proud in those moments even though I’m saying things I don’t believe. They smile at me, but after I’m done they criticize every word. All the servants hate me with a fire and the people outside the castle want me to make a decision to benefit the land. I don't know how,” I said shaking my head sadly.
The boy looked at me. At first he didn’t say anything, but then he asked, “How old are you?”
“8 years,”I replied.
This time he was the one who lapsed into silence. We sat like that in the shadows for the rest of the day.
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