Knees buried in the cold snow, his left hand never stopped digging through the soil.
Usually, no matter how difficult the task was, he never found it burdensome. In fact, he would look forward to it.
But today's digging session felt different, as though something was wrong.
No matter how much he dug, he never found what he was looking for.
"Where in the world is my box?"
He expected to reach a hard surface, to hear the satisfying thud of his shovel hitting the box. But no matter how much he dug, he found nothing.
His eyes widened. He stared at the empty spot, then looked again, as though he had somehow missed it the first time.
But it wasn't there.
It couldn't be.
He was certain he had left it there.
Suddenly, his nape shivered not from the cold of the winter but because of a feeling that he had been watched.
"Are you perhaps looking for this?" an unfamiliar voice spoke from above.
Cleus lifted his head, his eyes attempting to discern where the voice had come from.
And there…
A mysterious silhouette sat on one of the branches. He could not see the person clearly, but he knew the stranger was looking down at him with a smirk.
"W-Who are you?!" the boy shouted.
The figure above suddenly vanished like the wind.
Then, he felt a presence behind him.
The boy instinctively rushed forward and turned, pressing his back against the old tree. His right hand gripped the shovel, its tip pointing toward where he reckoned the suspicious person was.
However, no one was there.
A gust of wind and a faint crinkle reached his right ear.
Immediately, the boy reacted, shifting his attention to his right side. The tip of his shovel pierced against something.
"Interesting…" the same voice spoke.
The boy, his stance unchanged, slowly looked up.
A tall man stood before him, unfazed by the tip of the shovel pressed against his stomach, his face concealed beneath a dark hood.
"How did you find me without fail?" the man asked, amusement and confusion mixed in his tone.
Cleus took a step back, his hand trembling as he continued to hold the shovel like a weapon. His eyes never faltered.
"Who are you?" the prince asked again.
The young prince noticed that the man was holding something familiar—a box made of Darkwood. A box that was meant to be buried underneath a tree, covered in soil and snow.
"Woah there, Your Highness… I have no intention of stealing your collection of… silverware." The man chuckled as he opened the box and took out a fork. "But I must say… this is quite a weird collection. And seeing that you had to bury this treasure so far away from the palace, I reckon that this is precious to you? Something you wouldn't want anyone to find?"
"I am under no obligation to tell you anything. However, that box does belong to me, so please… give it back."
The man paused, then suddenly smiled at the boy.
"Well, I say. The rumors seem to be wrong about you, Your Highness. You are not dumb at all. They said that you stuttered a lot, too. However, you seem to be quite well-spoken!"
Cleus winced and bit his lip when he realized his mistake.
The peculiar situation had made him forget that he was putting on a façade—wearing the mask of a prince who could barely speak properly. However, the young prince did not show his panic. He simply continued to stare at the mage, his shovel still pointing at him.
The man put the fork back inside the box, closed it, and held it firmly in his right hand. His left hand reached toward his hood, pulling it back and revealing his appearance.
"Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not mean to be rude."
Long black hair draped down the man's shoulders. His skin was pale like the snow around them, while his eyes glistened with gold. His face looked as though it had been sculpted with care by the gods above.
His build was on the leaner side, yet it was clear that he possessed a well-trained body.
This man was not ordinary.
This man was dangerous.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Pieter Bellevue. A mage." The man bowed.
Cleus looked at the hands holding his box. The man had calluses similar to those he had seen on knights from time to time.
He told me he was a mage, yet he possesses the hands of a trained swordsman, the boy thought.
"I do not believe a word you just said. Regardless, the box you have there is mine. Please give it back, and I will overlook your trespass and forget your rude remarks toward a member of the Imperial Family."
As much as Cleus disliked using his position to defend himself, he had no choice, especially with this strange, suspicious man standing before him.
Expecting the mage to retreat, the reaction the man gave was the complete opposite.
His eyes widened for a brief moment before he burst out laughing, his arms clenching against his stomach.
"Wh-What's so funny?!" the boy exclaimed, confused.
"I'm deeply sorry, Your Highness." The man let out a shallow breath, wiping a tear from his eye. "I just never expected such big words to come out of a six-year-old's mouth. I shall not tease you anymore."
The man slowly approached the little boy. With every step, the boy reacted, yet his body remained unmoving.
"Here you go, Your Highness." The man held out the box.
Cleus couldn't help but remain cautious. His hand flinched as he slowly reached for the box, half-expecting some sort of trick. But when his fingers finally grasped it, he found himself completely intact, with all his limbs still where they belonged. The box was finally back in his possession.
The boy pressed the box against his chest, his other hand still pointing the shovel at the mage.
"You can lower that tiny shovel at me now. I am not going to hurt you," the man tried to reassure him.
However, the boy showed no intention of lowering his guard.
The man simply sighed, finding the boy's lack of positive response understandable.
He looks like a stray cat, the man couldn't help but think as he watched the boy slowly step away from him.
The man also couldn't help but notice that the young prince, underneath his coat, was wearing clothes that were obviously too large for his frame.
The man's eyebrows furrowed as he looked the boy over, concern settling across his face.
For a prince, he was scrawny, unusually cautious of the world, and dressed in clothes far too large for him. He looked more like a stray cat than royalty. And then there was the matter of the young prince's inexplicable attachment to his silverware collection.
"Your Highness, may I ask?"
"What?"
"Your box full of… silverware. What is that for? Do you have plans for it, or are you simply obsessed with cutlery?"
The boy's face soured, and he reacted without thinking.
"What am I? Crazy? What kind of normal person collects cutlery?" he shot back defensively.
"So, does that mean you have plans for it?" the man asked, genuine curiosity—and perhaps a hint of relief—in his voice.
"It's none of your business," the boy dismissed.
The man took his time looking at the boy, trying to figure out what was going on.
"Don't tell me… Are you saving up so you can run away?"
The boy's eyes widened, unable to hide his surprise. He thought he had mastered the art of pretending, but in the direst situations, he still couldn't seem to keep his true feelings from showing on his face.
"Like I said, it is none of your business."
The boy finally lowered his hand and put his small shovel back into his pocket.
"I'll forget I met you today. I will now take my leave."
The boy turned away from the man and started walking back.
"Wait."
While he had the choice to ignore him, the boy halted and turned his attention to the man.
"I can help you get out of this place."
Rather than deny that he intended to leave, the boy looked at the man cautiously, his head tilted slightly to the side.
"And why would you do that?"
"Because I want to be your friend," the man replied without hesitation. "Is it bad to want to help a friend in need?"
The boy, still finding this man untrustworthy, simply turned away and continued walking.
"They will know," the man said.
Cleus stopped.
His head slowly turned, his emerald eyes narrowing at the man. The box in his arms was pulled tightly against his chest.
"Is that a threat?"
The words came out cold and sharp.
The man's expression shifted at the boy's reaction, and he immediately shook his head.
"No. That's not what I meant, Your Highness," the man explained. "Your eyes… It's hard to hide and escape into the outside world with those emerald-green eyes that only the Imperial Family possesses. When you go out, you'll simply be reported and returned to this wretched place."
"But that's just the best-case scenario. As soon as people figure out your identity, you could potentially be kidnapped and turned into a hostage. Or worse… people could take out their anger toward the empire on you."
The man's expression softened as he looked at the boy.
It was a look Cleus never expected to see from another person, especially a stranger.
And somehow, his concern felt genuine.
"It wouldn't be an escape. It would be a death sentence."
The boy turned his entire body toward the man, his composure finally cracking.
"Then what am I supposed to do?!" His voice trembled. "Stay in this hellhole where I'm always at death's door?!"
He clenched his fists at his sides, his eyes beginning to sting.
"There are always blades pointed at me. The food they give me is poisoned. Even the maids want me dead…" His voice faltered, but he forced the words out. "How am I supposed to keep living like this? How long am I supposed to endure it?"
He lowered his gaze, his voice growing quieter.
"I just… I just want to leave."
His eyes lifted toward the man again, tears threatening to spill.
"And no one is going to stop me. Not even you."
Cleus turned away, wiping at his eyes as he continued walking.
Pieter watched him for a moment before speaking.
"I never said I was going to stop you. I said I was going to help you, didn't I?"
Cleus gave no response and continued walking.
"What if I told you I can change your appearance?"
The boy paused and looked at the man again.
"Where your green eyes can be hidden, and you can live freely without having to overthink or hide your appearance. What do you say?"
A dark winter. Snow fell gently across the empty white field.
Two figures stood beneath the pale sky.
An encounter that the young prince would never forget.
A meeting that would change his life forever.
.
.
.
[Under the Willow Tree, Year 285]