It happened three days after my arrival in Rand.

  Ugo invited me on a hunting trip. According to him, it was the best way to get to know the domain; and also the last opportunity before winter drove the game deeper into the mountains.

  I really didn’t want to go.

  I should have refused.

  However, I also had to maintain the prince’s persona, at least on the surface.

  After spending three days holed up in my room making plans, people were already beginning to whisper. The famously loud and gregarious prince had suddenly turned into a reclusive hermit. He refused women and had his meals brought to his chambers. And not once did the maid who delivered his food see him drunk.

  Originally I planned to slowly change the prince's personality as he supposedly slowly realised the situation he was in. But in the end I’d simply gotten carried away. Given the chance to essentially build a civilisation from scratch, I’d lost all sense of time. Days and nights blurred together as I sketched schematics on parchment, calculated resource flows, planned logistics, and mentally branched out entire technology trees. The start would be very rough with 80 or so people and no real tools, but once things picked up steam, I hoped I could push this world to early twentieth-century within my lifetime.

  I did hope to find a way back home much sooner than that though.

  And speaking of home, the whole thing reminded me of that one time I’d become hopelessly addicted to a strategy game—staying awake an entire weekend optimising every element, only to spend the following week barely conscious in lectures. Or countless times that I spent the night researching some obscure topic that caught my fancy and was forced out of my bed by first rays of morning. Every time I’d sworn I would learn to keep better track of time.

  Apparently, I hadn’t mastered that particular skill yet.

  So when the bailiff suggested a hunt—an activity the prince was supposedly fond of—I couldn’t refuse. I was already getting suspicious looks from Adalbert whenever we crossed paths, especially when I stumbled half-asleep toward the courtyard latrine.

  And gods, the latrine. I hadn’t realised how much I took running water for granted. Yuck.

  In the end, I put on a forced smile and rode out with the bailiff and his squire- We headed deep into the forest, chasing after a deer herd.

  And honestly? Despite my anxiety and a fear of falling off the horse, it was surprisingly enjoyable. Even growing up on a farm, I’d never had the chance to simply ride through untouched woodland. The crisp scent of autumn leaves. The rush of cool wind against my face. Birdsong echoing between the trees. It was all refreshingly peaceful after four years of cramped city living.

  Before I realised it, I let myself relax and just enjoy the moment.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" Ugo remarked as he pulled alongside me. "This domain may be small, my lord, but it has its charms."

  "It certainly does."

  "A shame you won't have long to enjoy it."

  His words were pleasant. His tone was not.

  Confused, I turned to ask what he meant—

  Arrows flew.

  Pain exploded through my thigh.

  I looked down, confused, at the arrow shaft protruding from my leg. Blood was already soaking through my pants.

  "Wha-?"

  A second impact tore through my shoulder, sending me off my horse.

  The world spun. I hit the forest floor hard.

  “Now, now—nothing personal,” when I heard him next, Ugo's voice had lost all pretense of servility. He dismounted his horse, crouching beside me. He roughly pulled the signet ring from my finger. “It’s simply that your brothers offered better terms. I get to keep all that gold you brought and no one will ask about the ledgers anymore. Or you.”

  “Y-you…” I spat, though the pain made even speaking difficult.

  You idiot! I was the best chance this world had—and you are throwing it away for simple greed?!

  I wanted to scream at him, but words struggled to come out of my mouth.

  “Think of it as a lesson in noble intrigue,” Ugo chuckled as he mounted his horse. “Too bad it’s your only one.”

  “I—I…”

  I wanted to hit him and wipe that smug of his mug. But my limbs barely responded. Overwhelmed with pain, I was reduced to just pathetic twitches.

  “Let’s go,” he snapped to his squire. “Leave him. The wolves will handle the rest.”

  “Won’t that look suspicious?” the squire hesitated. “What will Adalbert say?”

  “The prince is a brash and naive brat.” Ugo replied with a shrug. “It won’t be strange to say he ran off chasing a quarry and got mauled by a bear. These things happen..."

  Soon their voices faded beneath the sound of hooves.

  “S-sto—”

  Stop. Come back. Don’t leave me like this.

  I dragged myself against a tree, alternating between clutching my wounds as my vision blurred.

  Is this really how it ends?

  “H-help…”

  “Anyone…”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  I thought about my mother's face when I didn't call her back.

  I had so much left to do.

  To industrialise and fix this damned world. To return home and start my job. To visit my parents...

  I could feel the warm blood staining my fingers.

  How could some ugly backwards noble get the better of me?! Damn you, Ugo…

  I could feel a torrent of rage cutting through the shock.

  No, I wasn't going to die here.

  I started crawling.

  ***

  I don't remember most of it.

  Pain. Leaves. Blood. The sound of my own breathing.

  At some point, the light changed.

  I'd propped myself against a tree, tearing parts of my clothes to use as bandages.

  My lips were cracked. My hands were shaking. I could feel darkness creeping up on my eyesight. How much long did I have?

  But then—voices.

  At first I thought I was hallucinating. But they grew closer, accompanied by footsteps.

  "...something over there..."

  "Probably just a deer, lad."

  “Deer don't have two legs and two arms, boss.”

  Figures appeared out of the growing dark. There were four of them, dressed in rough clothing, weapons ready.

  Bandits, probably. Or poachers. Or both.

  I tried to speak and catch their attention but it came out only as a croak.

  The nearest one—young, muscular, carrying a cudgel—jumped back. "Shit! He's alive!"

  "Barely," another said, kneeling beside me. He was the oldest, with a grey beard and careful eyes. He examined the arrows and made a low whistle. "But they are lucky whoever wanted them dead didn't hit anything vital."

  "U...go..." I managed.

  "The bailiff?" The old man's expression darkened. "Yeah, that tracks."

  He looked at his companions. "Wulf, can you patch him?"

  One of the others moved forward. He examined the wounds with practiced efficiency and simply nodded.

  "Right. Let's get these out and stop the bleeding. Ralf, get the fire going." The old man looked back at me. "This is going to hurt. Try not to scream—sound carries, and we don't need the bailiff's men coming back to finish the job."

  I nodded weakly.

  He was right about the pain.

  ***

  I woke to a flickering light and the smell of woodsmoke.

  Everything hurt, but it was a duller hurt, the kind that made me hopeful about my chances of surviving.

  The four men from before sat across a small campfire, flames flickering across their faces.

  The youngest, Ralf, kept an eye on some kind of meat that was cooking over the fire. A bit further behind him sat a wiry man with a narrow gaze dressed in a worn brown tunic. He was leaning back against a log while carefully carving an arrow, occasionally turning to make casual conversation with the old man who spoke to me earlier. Finally, there was Wolf, the man who patched me up. Wrapped in a dark, heavy cloak, his face hidden behind a scrap of reddish cloth, he remained tense and alert—his hand firmly gripping a longbow.

  “He’s awake,” Wulf said flatly as he noticed my gaze on him.

  Weapons came up instantly. Ralf raised his cudgel. Another drew a dagger.

  Only the old man raised his hands unarmed.

  “Easy lads. Don’t go murdering our guest after Wolf spent so much effort patching ‘em up.” He turned to me and offered a waterskin. Pain flared as I reached for it, but I ignored it, gulping greedily.

  “I am Dietrich, by the way. And you... are lucky the bailiff is such a lousy shot. A little further to the side and you would have been food for bears.” The old man then remarked as he pointed to a piece of cloth tied around my arm and leg. The bandages there were clearly improvised, but they were much better than my earlier attempts. And there wasn’t any more blood on them. For a moment, I could feel acid tickling at the base of my throat as I recalled the feeling of warm blooding staining my hand earlier.

  "T-thanks"

  "Don't thank us yet. You're not safe." Dietrich settled back against a log. "Want to tell us who you are and why the bailiff wants you dead?"

  “Yeah, who are you, anyway?” Ralf asked in a crude tone, “Whatdya do to get on that fat pig’s bad side?”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering. Telling the truth was dangerous—but so was lying.

  "We already searched you," Dietrich said. "Found the jewellery, the good clothes. You're somebody."

  "Somebody the bailiff tried to kill. Which makes me inclined to like him." the wiry man added with a chuckle. "Also, name's Kurt. Pleased to meet you."

  If they were outlaws, revealing I was a prince could mean being held for ransom—but depending on their disposition towards royal, it could also mean they’d finish what the bailiff started. On the other hand, fabricating a convincing cover story without knowing the village and the surrounding well enough felt impossible. And being caught in an obvious lie would spend any good will they may have.

  In the end, I chose honesty.

  “I—I am a prince. Prince Karl Ludwig von Austmark. Son of Duke Friedrich. I was sent here as part of a succession trial... Though it seems I wasn't meant to compete for long.”

  Silence.

  "A princeling," Ralf finally broke it. "We saved a fucking royal."

  "Watch the language. And keep your voice down," Dietrich said mildly. "As for you, that's a tall claim, boyo."

  "It's the truth."

  Another bout of silence.

  "Hurm, let's say I believe you. The question is what we do about it."

  "What do you mean?" My head was still foggy from blood loss.

  "I mean," Dietrich said patiently, "that we're outlaws. Poachers. Men with prices on our heads. And you're a prince who could have us hanged with a word."

  "Or," Kurt said quietly, "a prince who owes us his life and has a mutual enemy."

  They looked at each other, some unspoken communication passing between them.

  They then repeated the same with Wulf.

  And after a few more moments, Dietrich finally smiled. "Well, how about a deal, Your Lordship?"

  "What kind of deal?"

  "We help you survive this—maybe teach you a thing or two along the way. And in return, if you win this contest of yours..." He leaned forward. "You give us a pardon. A chance to go home. To go to our families... for those who have them left."

  This time I didn't hesitate for even a moment before answering.

  They were soldiers. Skilled ones. And without loyalty to the system.

  In other words, exactly what I needed.

  "Deal," I said. "But I'll need more than survival lessons. I'll need allies. People I can trust."

  "Trust is earned," Wulf said. They were his first words since I'd woken.

  "Then let me earn it." I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest from my wounds. "Help me take down Ugo. Help me win this succession. And I'll give you more than pardons—I'll give you a place in something new."

  "Something new?" Ralf laughed. "What, you going to overthrow the duchy?"

  "No." I met his eyes. "I'm going to make something better."

  I could see it in their faces that they didn't believe me. But they were curious. And for now, that was enough.

  Because even though I still felt quite terrified after realising this world was much more dangerous than I had allowed myself to believe, I was still resolved on not giving up my ambitions.

  And looking at the four men in front of me—a plan was starting to form in my mind.