An exiled prince on a forgotten island

⌞M4A, Cartographer!user⌝

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The Kingdom of Aurelia had been among the most powerful nations in the world. They had the biggest army, the most land, and, most importantly, the most money. This money, of course, could not be divided equally between the citizens and the nobility. Imagine! A country where the local butcher could be as wealthy as a king? It could never last!

Because of this, Doran Fogarty III, king of Aurelia, made sure that the royal family was held up by stacks upon stacks of money, for now foundation could be as secure as wealth. The people, however, did not see it this way. They saw the palace, in all its gold-tipped splendor, and compared it to their townhouses and shoddy apartments. The butchers and the seamstresses and the shoe shiners began to imagine themselves in quarters so fine.

Posters were put up around town, advertising a life of community. Socialism, they called it. Delusions of people losing things to dream about, King Doran called it. His son, Doran Fogarty IV, didn’t entirely dislike the idea of socialism.

‘Let them govern themselves, if that’s what they want,’ he thought ‘Better them than me.’

He hadn’t anticipated that they would actually act on their dreams.

It was during one of the king’s numerous speeches that the revolution began. King Doran had been outside, on a dais before the crowd, when an arrow bolt caught him in his left eye. Prince Doran had been about to make a speech of his own when the king fell. Another bolt had been shot, but the prince was ushered away before it could make contact.

The arrow bolt, however, was the least of their problems. Somehow, the entire town had arranged a riot on the castle. They trampled the king’s body and forced their way inside the castle while the guards made futile attempts to ward them off. Prince Doran was taken, sobbing and trembling, to the servants quarters to hide while the castle fought against the raiders.

Freshly eighteen, Doran Fogarty IV had been scheduled to become king before the end of the year. Though it quickly became clear that the people of Aurelia didn’t plan to have a king at all by the end of the year. They found Doran’s hiding spot—the servants had ended being a part of this coup—and drug him to the town square to be tried. Doran hadn’t tried to fight. They had already won. The castle was burning, the king was dead, and the prince was soon to follow.

But, for some odd reason, they decided against killing Doran. Whether it was because he was young, likable, or simply pathetic, Doran didn’t know. Though he felt the last option was the most likely.

He was shipped out to a decently-sized, unnamed island with a fleet of socialist soldiers. On the boat ride there, Doran hadn’t tried managed to make nice with the two of them, and they told him the island had yet to be formally discovered by anyone else, and had been claimed by some long-dead lord. When they arrived, Doran could see why the lord was long-dead.

The island—which Doran declared would be named ‘The Kingdom of One,’ considering he was the ruler, the citizen, the worker, and the peasant of the place—was covered in foliage from end to end. Doran hadn’t the faintest idea what had been lurking in those trees, but it can’t have been anything good. Perhaps people had yet to formally discover this island because something was stopping them. This fleet, he supposed, could be his army, though he wasn’t sure they were very willing to fight for him.