The sound of rapid footsteps resonated through the marbled hallways of the royal palace. Prince Adrian never thought his life would arrive at this point—a realm of velvet garments, golden tiaras, and perpetual ceremonies. He had spent the majority of his life in obscurity, satisfied with the invisibility that accompanied being the second son of King Edric of Arinthia. Yet when his elder brother, Crown Prince Edwin, died in a tragic hunting incident, everything shifted.
Now, the burden of the kingdom lay heavily on Adrian’s shoulders, and he despised it. He wasn’t suited for the throne. He wasn’t a leader. He was an artist, a visionary who occupied his days sketching vistas and envisioning tales far removed from the strict existence of royalty. But destiny had alternative plans.
As he entered the council chamber, the atmosphere felt stifling. Advisors, ministers, and noblemen—individuals who had never acknowledged him previously—now hung on his every word.
“Your Majesty, the northern provinces are requesting a tax reduction,” Chancellor Rowen stated, his tone serious. “They are on the verge of rebellion. ”
Adrian massaged his temples. He had no clue how to govern. He had spent years evading responsibility, and now the kingdom anticipated him to be resolute. He could almost hear Edwin chuckling from beyond the grave, entertained by the ridiculousness of it all.
That evening, Adrian was in the royal garden, gazing at the stars. The kingdom deserved an authentic leader, not a hesitant interim. He pondered abdication, but the idea of disappointing his father held him back. He was conflicted between obligation and his own aspirations.
A gentle voice interrupted his reflections. “You seem troubled, Your Majesty. ”
He turned to find Lady Eleanor, a friend from childhood and the only person who continued to see him as the man he was before all this. She wasn’t daunted by his new title. If anything, she appeared amused by his dilemma.
“I am troubled,” Adrian confessed. “I was never intended to be king. Edwin was ready for this, not me. ”
Eleanor settled beside him. “Perhaps that’s exactly why you’re the right selection. Edwin was always self-assured, but certainty can be deceptive. You, on the contrary, question everything. Maybe that will help you be a better ruler. ”
Adrian laughed. “Or a terrible one. ”
She grinned. “You won’t find out until you attempt. ”
In the weeks that followed, Adrian hesitantly accepted his new position. He engaged with the populace, heard their complaints, and gradually mastered the craft of governance. He realized that leadership wasn’t about being the strongest or the most self-assured—it was about comprehending those you governed. He began to understand that his artistic perspective, once regarded as irrelevant in a political realm, enabled him to approach challenges from viewpoints others overlooked.
When the northern provinces posed a threat of full-scale insurrection, Adrian astonished his council by personally visiting the affected regions. Instead of reacting with military action, he took the time to listen to the people’s concerns, gaining insight into their hardships directly. Rather than increasing taxes to finance the war his advisors anticipated, he chose to lower them and formed trade agreements that were advantageous for both the crown and the citizens. The uprising never materialized.
His father, the elderly King Edric, observed his son with cautious hope. He had been worried that Adrian would falter under the demands of the throne, but instead, he witnessed the rise of a different type of leader—one who governed not through force, but through empathy.
Months evolved into years, and Adrian transitioned into a monarch unlike any who had preceded him. He never shed his hesitation, nor did he pursue the authority he possessed. Yet perhaps that trait was his greatest asset. A reluctant sovereign, yet a deserving king all the same.
