Chapter 2: Twenty-One Years of Theft

Darius hit the ground and rolled through grit and broken glass. The instant his momentum died, he pushed himself up and sprang to his feet. He planted them wide, fists rising instinctively before him as his gaze snapped toward his attackers.

Across the narrow alley, three thuggish-looking men lay sprawled on the filthy ground.

One groaned and rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach. Another sat slumped against the brick wall, blinking dazedly as blood dripped from his nose. The third spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirt and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring at Darius with naked hatred.

The remaining thugs circled him warily. A splintered baseball bat rested on one shoulder, a rusted iron pipe hung from another’s grip, and one man had a heavy chain wrapped around his fist. They spread out through the narrow alley, slowly closing the distance, but none seemed eager to make the first move after watching what had happened to their friends.

Darius looked like he’d been dragged through hell and kicked back out. His knuckles were split and bleeding. His bottom lip hung torn and swollen. One eye was nearly shut beneath a mass of bruises, while angry shades of purple and red stained his jaw and cheekbones. Blood darkened the collar of his ripped shirt and speckled the front of it.

Yet somehow, a pleasant smile graced his face.

"Come on," he said between heavy breaths.

His grin widened. "There’s still plenty of you left."

The men exchanged uncertain glances before one finally lost his nerve. With a curse, he charged forward and swung his bat in a vicious arc.

Darius reacted a fraction too late.

The bat clipped his cheekbone with a sickening crack.

Pain exploded across the side of his face.His vision flashed white for half a second before sharpening again. He lunged.

Before the thug could recover from the swing, Darius crashed into him and wrapped both arms around his waist. The impact drove the man backward, pinning his arms awkwardly between their bodies and leaving the bat useless.

"What are you idiots waiting for?!" the thug shouted, struggling against the hold. "Attack him!"

The others rushed in.

A bat smashed across Darius’s back.

An iron pipe slammed into his shoulder.

The chain cracked across him like a whip.

Pain detonated through his body from every direction. Darius gritted his teeth and held on.

The trapped thug cursed and thrashed wildly, trying to wrench free. Darius tightened his grip and bent his knees, attempting to lift him off the ground, but the bastard was too heavy.

Another blow crashed into the back of his neck.

His legs nearly buckled.

A fist buried itself in his ribs.

Something cracked.

A strangled wheeze escaped him as agony shot through his side. Every muscle trembled. Every breath felt like inhaling broken glass.

Still, he refused to let go.

The beating continued.

Bat.

Pipe.

Chain.

Fists.

Each strike drove him closer to the ground, yet his arms remained locked around the man in front of him like iron bands.

I’ll never let them win easily.

The thought echoed stubbornly through his battered mind. Again and again.

Then a sharp crack split the alley.

BANG!

BANG!

Gunshots.

The sound thundered off the brick walls, instantly silencing the fight and startling everyone.

The thugs froze, their weapons hovering in midair. They turned toward the mouth of the alley, some dropping their weapons to the ground with a clatter. Taking advantage of their sudden hesitation, Darius found a final surge of strength. With a guttural roar, he dug deep and finally lifted the heavy thug off his feet.

The thug’s eyes widened in shock before Darius slammed him into the ground hard enough to knock the air from both of them.

Darius’s knees finally gave out, he collapsed onto the dirt beside the groaning man, breathing in ragged, heavy gasps. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, laughing breathlessly despite the blood in his mouth and the agony tearing through his body.

"That lunatic..." one of the thugs muttered, staring at him.

"Step away from His Highness!" a booming voice commanded.

Darius blinked slowly.

His Highness?

What the fuck is going on?

Darkness swallowed him before he could find an answer.

xxx

Basil sat curled in the center of his bed, his knees pulled tightly against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen from hours of crying. Every few minutes, another tear escaped despite his efforts to stop them. He couldn’t understand how everything could go so catastrophically wrong within the span of a single minute.

Just a few hours ago, he was the Crown Prince of a kingdom, and now he had been told he was nothing more than an imposter living someone else’s life.

A strangled laugh escaped him before turning into another sob.

What kind of nightmare was this?

He wished with everything he had that he could just wake up from it, that the morning sun would find him in his room with his titles intact, and he would complain about the absurd dream to Linda over breakfast and spend the rest of the day worrying about his birthday outfit.

Instead, every second that passed only proved it was real.

What was he supposed to do now?

How could Nanny Linda do this to him?

How could the woman who had tucked him in at night, who had raised him with such devotion, ruin him so completely?

How could she spend twenty-one years pretending to love him while hiding something this monstrous?

His chest tightened painfully.

The King and Queen had said they would never stop loving him, but Basil knew that was all a lie. They had not even hesitated to leave him, rushing off the moment they received a call that their real son had been found.

More tears streaked down Basil’s cheeks as the memory clawed its way back.

When the Queen had first told him he was not their biological son, Basil had backed away, a harsh, defensive laugh escaping his throat.

"This has to be a prank, right?" he had asked his mother. "Is this some kind of bizarre test or what? Please, Mother, this isn’t funny."

He remembered the look his mother gave him. It sent chills down his spine.

He looked from his mother to his father, waiting for one of them to smile and admit it had gone far enough. Instead, his father remained rigid, his gaze fixed everywhere except on Basil.

Basil had pressed his fist against his mouth to stop himself from crying. The Queen looked seconds away from breaking apart.

When he couldn’t hold it together anymore, he screamed, "Someone please tell me this is a joke! What do you mean I’m not your biological son?"

The Queen had broken down, sobbing into her hands. "I am so sorry, Basil."

Even now he could hear her voice.

The King had raised his head then, blinking rapidly as he fought back tears of his own.

And Linda...God, the motherfucker made everything worse. Still on her knees, her loud, pathetic wailing filled the room. Basil had glared at them, his chest heaving.

Does this look like some kind of sobbing competition to her?

"Someone tell me what is actually going on before I start throwing things! Mother, please talk to me. What do you mean I’m not your biological son?"

The truth had unraveled like a nightmare.

Linda, who had been a trusted palace maid at the time, had switched the real Crown Prince with Basil, her own grandson, because she believed her grandson deserved a better life.

The thought still made his head hurt.

What the fuck did she even mean by that?

Did she think a child did not deserve to inherit his parents’ wealth and title, but some random peasant boy whose parents could not provide him with a better life did?

What kind of nonsense logic was that?

Who even thinks like that?

Basil had felt like strangling the woman right then and there.

Her own daughter had died giving birth the day before the Queen went into labor. When the Queen unexpectedly delivered the prince at the palace before she could reach the hospital, Linda had apparently been tasked with cleaning the newborn. How she had managed to switch the two infants despite the palace being filled with guards, servants, and staff remained a mystery. She had refused to say whether she had help or not. Basil refused to believe she could pull that off alone.

What was worse, she had abandoned the real prince at an orphanage. She had abandoned the prince of an entire kingdom in a fucking orphanage while secretly keeping tabs on him over the years to ensure he never stumbled upon the truth.

Meanwhile, Basil had spent twenty-one years enjoying a life that belonged to someone else.

And to think he would still be enjoying it while the real owner suffered, if Linda had not been careless enough to get caught on the phone telling someone there was no way anybody would ever find out she had switched the prince with her grandson.

Unfortunately for her, a maid had overheard the conversation and reported it immediately.

What kind of fool could be that careless?

If she wanted the secret to remain buried, why go around opening her mouth and spilling it so freely? Now everybody knew.

Basil had felt like the air had been entirely sucked from his lungs, his throat closing up as the world tilted beneath his feet.

Thinking about it now, that explained why Linda always tolerated him no matter how demanding he became. It explained why she always looked at him with that warm smile in her eyes, and why she was always the first to rush to do whatever would make him happy, no matter how trivial or difficult it was.

To her, she was just spoiling her grandson. Basil was the fool for believing she did all of that because she genuinely cared about him as her prince.

​"Very stupid of me," he muttered to himself.

Eventually, the King had finally stepped forward, his voice heavy as he said, "No matter what, Basil, you will always be our son. We raised you. That will not change."

The Queen had nodded frantically. "Nothing will ever change the love we have for you."

Total bullshit.

Basil had wanted to believe them. He truly had. Then the freaking phone rang.

A guard had answered.

The real prince had been found.

And everything changed. The King and Queen were on the move before Basil could even process what was happening.

Throwing useless apologies over their shoulders and ordering Linda to be locked up as they left.

Just like that.

Leaving him standing alone in the middle of the hall, broken and abandoned, while they rushed to meet the son they barely knew anything about.

Basil curled in on himself even tighter.

The palace suddenly felt too large and empty.

"What will happen to me now?" he whispered, sniffling as he pressed his forehead against his knees.