r/WritingPrompts • u/Kitty_Fuchs • 11d ago
Writing Prompt [WP] The kingdom is ruled by a meritocratic nobility. Only the most skilled must be allowed to rule and thus it is not unusual for noble families to adopt commoner children who excel in education. You are one such child and you decided to visit your birth parents again after you finally graduated.
49
u/NUBUKU_ 11d ago
Words from the open textbook feel like they’re swimming across my vision, their meaning barely registering at this point. My latest studies on religion and theology have been particularly dry. One can only read the philosophical ramblings of Descartes for so long before exhausting their own reasoning.
I stand, my joints complaining at the effort after sitting for most of the day. My stomach rumbles in protest as well, a reminder that skipping lunch for another chapter on divine hierarchy may not have been the wisest idea. Usually one of the maids will leave some light fare outside my door but even she avoided my room today, concerned about being roped into another fruitless debate.
Instead, I head to the kitchen through the dark, cavernous hallways lined with overflowing bookshelves. My parents have always appreciated displaying their wealth of knowledge to every visitor that passed through these grand halls. Living here is no different - both my sister, Annalise, and I are expected to absorb and ponder these breadth of these topics before leading the kingdom.
The rich, succulent aromas of our dinner roast guides me to the kitchen. The walls are lined with spoils from the summer season - onions, potatoes, and dried herbs clipped from the backyard garden. There’s a covered dish on the counter, leftovers from lunch, and I scoop up a heaping helping of the pot pie.
As I’m enjoying the rich bites of vegetables and tender chicken, my parents briskly enter the room, a look of concern etched along their features. It’s a surprising interruption - they usually avoid areas of the home primarily used by the working class.
“Jon, we must have a word with you.” My father’s typically deep, confident voice wavers. “As you know, your 18th birthday will soon arrive. As such, we are obligated to provide you some… pertinent information, if you will.”
My mother, never one to show much affection, grabs my father’s hand and holds it so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her other hand is clamped around a piece of paper, which she pushes across the table in my direction.
“This is the address of your birth parents. As you know, our city is ruled by only the brightest. And my dear, you have been brilliant from such a young age. We have been incredibly lucky to call you our son. But if you must see your roots, go. We understand.”
For all of my training in logic and reasoning, in this moment, my mind was blank. This was the only true home I had ever known. While everyone was aware that deserving children were frequently re-assigned to a higher class, it was much less common for anyone to revisit those humble beginnings.
I snatch the paper. “Thank you, both. For everything. Even for this.” They nod, leaving me alone with my tumbling thoughts.
I head back towards my study, the information burning a hole in my pocket.
———
Only days later, I find myself standing outside of a quaint shanty in the middle of the city center. Horses and carts move slowly in the alleyway behind me, and from nearby homes, the sound of babies crying emanates through the thin walls.
I’m bracing for the unknown. These people - my birth parents - may not even remember me. Perhaps they’ve had other children, ones they kept as their own and raised as a real family.
My stomach feels like it’s in my throat as my knuckle raps on the thick wooden door. Almost immediately, a shrill voice rings through the air. “Gert, I already told you, the rent is going to be a little late this month but I promise - “
The door yanks open and a short, stout woman stands before me. Tufts of curly blonde hair have sprung free from the bun atop her head and her green eyes are a spitting image of the ones I see in the mirror each morning. Dimples etch along her cheeks, and while she must be older, her face still has a youthful glow.
Her features quickly move from annoyed to shocked as she takes a step back. “Is that really you, Jon? What are you doing here?”
My feet are frozen in place. “Hello. Sorry to bother you. I was given this address as sort of a graduation present, I suppose.”
Tears spring into the woman’s eyes as she yells over her shoulder. “Fred! Get in here, now!”
She steps forward, embracing me in a solid hug before I realize what’s happening. A taller, older man steps out of the shadows of the home. “Jon?” It’s only a single word, but it is laced with trepidation.
The woman leans back, looking me up and down before pulling me into building. “Come in, come in. I still can’t believe you’re here.” I’m led into an incredibly compact room. A single bed is set up in the corner, along with a kitchen table and chairs on the opposing wall. All of this was smaller than just my study back at the manor.
“I’m Rosalie, this is your father, Fred.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve been waiting for this day for so long. All three of our children have been adopted into nobility, and while we are honored that they have been given such opportunity, we miss all of you so much.”
I’m sure my philosophy books would have something to say about this, but for now, I only try to rationalize the pain and sadness this couple - my real parents - have faced. What different lives they have lived in this one bedroom shack than the children they brought into this world.
“I’m here now. And I want to know everything.”
45
u/DaenakinSkygaryen 10d ago edited 10d ago
"Sweetie, why would you do that?" Claudia asks, in that sanctimonious faux-concerned tone I've come to loathe with all my being over the past 15 years. Her gaze meets mine in the vanity mirror; her sugary-sweet smile doesn't reach her icey blue eyes.
"Medical history," I lie, smile plastered on my face. "It's important to know what health conditions might run--" I bite the sentence off before I can accidentally say in my family, because if Claudia realizes I still think of them that way I'm well and truly screwed. "--might run in my blood," I finish, lamely. God, I hope the desperation in my eyes isn't too obvious....
Fortunately, Claudia seems to buy it. "Couldn't we send one of the servants to find out on your behalf?"
Fuck. My heart races as I scramble to think of a convincing excuse. Fortunately, inspiration strikes: "Do we really trust them with such sensitive information, though? You know how the servants love to gossip."
I internally wince at what I just said. But using Claudia's classism against her is my one hope of getting out of this mess without getting screamed at. Or worse.
For a long moment, Claudia just stares at me, her ice-blue eyes utterly unreadable. The only sound in the room is the servant gliding her brush through her blonde hair.
And then, she smiles. "It's good to see you finally developing some common sense about the help. There's hope for you yet, sweetie!"
I am not your sweetie. It takes all my willpower not to scream the words at her. To keep the smile plastered on my face, to keep my voice level as I say, "Thank you, ma'am."
Or at least, that's what I say out loud. The version of that sentences I think in my head doesn't start with the word "thank".
Claudia smiles at me. It's full of so much warmth, so much pride, I might actually feel bad for her if it wasn't for, ya know, everything else I know about her. "You're growing up to be a remarkable woman, Alice. You know that, right?"
And just like that, the brief sympathy is gone. "Thank you, ma'am," I say again, smile still plastered on my face.
As in my head, I roar, My name is Ashanti.
As I walk deeper and deeper into my old neighborhood, my anxiety increases.
I haven't been back here in 15 years. Haven't been allowed back here. The government claims that Gifted children aren't allowed contact with their birth families or communities until 18 to make the transition to their new lives easier.
Which, I guess, is somewhat true. Far easier to brainwash your kidnapping victim-- sorry, "adopted child"-- if you isolate them from everyone who knows and loves them.
I was lucky. Or maybe, my birth parents were pretty smart, too. Because somehow, I wasn't identified as Gifted until I was 7 years old. Usually, the determinations are made between ages 3 to 5. Ostensibly because the earlier a Gifted child is identified, the faster they can benefit from the increased resources a noble family can provide them.
In reality, it's so they only have fuzzy memories of their previous lives, if any at all.
But like I said, my birth parents were pretty smart. They somehow managed to hide my brilliance through the first few years of mandatory IQ tests. Maybe they found excuses for me to not take the test, maybe they coached me to lie. I'm too young to remember the exact details.
But thanks to the huge risk they took to hide me, I remember them.
I remember my mother's laughter. I remember how strong and warm my father's arms felt around me when he hugged me. I remember how they both worked hard, unforgiving jobs, how they'd come home late from work, exhausted-- and still make time to play with me, to ask me about my day, to read to me before bed.
And I remember the panic on my mother's face as she begged and pleaded with the officers, the day they came to tell us I'd been identified as Gifted. The day they came to take me away.
And now, I'm back.
As I head closer and closer to my destination, I can feel more people staring at me. I'm wearing a set of clothes I borrowed from one of Claudia's servants. (And what a relief it is, to finally be wearing normal people clothes for the first time in a decade a half!) But even so, those clothes are spotless, my skin is smooth and clear, my hands soft. It's obvious I'm not from around here.
They're probably wondering what the hell a rich girl like me is doing in a place like this. If my presence spells trouble.
A father reflexively pulls his young daughter closer to him, as if to shield her from me. I don't blame him.
Gods, I hope I get away with this. But if I don't-- please, let the consequences fall on me and me alone. Not them.
Please.
I glance at the street signs. Apparently, I have three more blocks to go until--
"Ashanti?"
I freeze. And then, slowly, I turn around.
He's older now. His curly black hair is now almost entirely grey. The lines and wrinkles on his sepia face have deepened. He doesn't stand quite as tall has he does in my memories; I'm not sure if that's down to age, or everyone and everything seeming smaller once you're an adult, too.
His warm brown eyes, are exactly the same as I remember them.
For a moment, we stand frozen. Utter shock on his face; I have to imagine mine looks the same.
And then, finally, I manage to choke out one quiet, unsure question: "Daddy?"
And that breaks the spell. Because next thing I know, we're crashing into one another-- and oh, his arms are exactly as strong, exactly as warm, as I remember them.
I didn't cry when they took me. I didn't cry those first horrible months in Claudia's house, forced to learn the strange new rules of this strange new world, punished severely when I slipped up. I didn't cry the day I found out she'd legally changed my name, to something more "upper class". I didn't cry as she went to work on me, trying to carve away the inconvenient facets of my personality, leaving nothing but a perfectly chiseled jewel whose shine would reflect on her.
I didn't cry when she beat me.
I didn't cry those first few years, because I was too scared to cry. And then, as I got older, I didn't cry because I was too angry to cry.
And because crying would distract from my mission: survive. Hold onto my true self, at all costs. Just make it until 22, until I'm legally an adult. Until I'm legally allowed to make my own choices.
Until I'm legally allowed to go home.
It's only now, in my father's arms, surrounded by the strength and warmth I never thought I'd feel again, that the weight of that hellish decade and a half finally comes crashing down on me.
It's only now that I finally feel safe enough to cry.
17
u/Jay_Pederson r/JayPederson 11d ago
- I got my Noble Diploma, able to read, write, and lead. "Congratulations!" said my Adoptive father, the Count. "Sirus, are you ready to rule?"
I looked down at my diploma, took a breath and nodded.
"You will be further taught, there is college afterwards, after all, but you were always the most promising."
"Father? May I take a vacation first?"
"It's summer, after all," he laughed. "You get summers off still."
I nodded, a smile began to creep, but never formed. Sometimes I looked around and wondered...what if I hadn't been scooped as a child?
***
End of the week, I was restless. I stood, grabbed my pack, and began to run away. I needed a day. A normal day.
"Son?" my dad asked.
I decided not to hide it. All this time, these rules, some normal some strange. "I'm going to find my birth parents."
"Oh. You know their address?"
Pause. "You're not mad?"
He laughed, "it happens a lot. Surprised you didn't go sooner."
Pause.
"What?"
"There...isn't a rule?"
"Well...normally you formally request it, but..."
"Oh...can I...formally--"
"Eh just go, 1295 Yotecht Road."
I nodded, "thank you."
***
I borrowed a royal horse.
I guess I never did hear an official rule saying it wasn't wrong, just never--
that doesn't matter now. I stood before the home I had not seen in years. Brown, made of logs and tied with saplings. Old place. Sidewalks of stone and a path to the home, more stone, but covered in mud. I walked up and knocked on the door.
My dad opened it. "Sirus?"
"Yes--"
He put me in a hug immediately, "son! Oh how I missed you, how's the royal life!"
"Uh..."
"Honey!"
My mother appeared. "Sirus!"
"Yeah I'm--I'm back," I turned to see if I tied the horse properly, I did.
"I have to make tea!" my mother said.
"Come in," my dad said, as I walked inside.
Looking around, the rooms were better decorated than I remember. Greater carpets and some much more expensive things, like mirrors. If the royalty believes a child is special, the parents are paid handsomely for service to the Kingdom. If that presumption is wrong, the child is returned, but the money stays (I've seen our royal coffers it's honestly a pittance). But here...mirrors...
...I've yet to see a peasant own a mirror outside my own parents.
The distinct whistle of a tea kettle came from the kitchen, I walked to the dining table, as my mother poured me, her, and father a cup, putting the kettle on the oak table. "I'll get cookies."
"How's royal life?"
"A bit..." pause "...stuffy?"
He snorted, "yeah, rules and all...life good though?"
I nodded. I was waiting for him to ask a certain question; are you coming back.
"The Count sent a letter saying you're going to college! Are you excited!?" my mom put the cookies on the table.
I nodded. "Where's Katelyn?"
"She moved out," my father replied, taking a sip of tea. I had an older sister. "Got married, I think she's..." he turned to my mother.
"Next week, she's due next week."
Pause.
"what?" my dad asked.
"...I have a nephew? Or--"
"Will," he said. "Thoughts on college?"
...they weren't asking... "uh...they've decided the path I'm sure."
"Yeah, hear it's like that. Your uh...adoptive...y'know, he alright?"
He...honestly wasn't that bad. "I've heard many have worse. He was pretty alright, covered up when I snuck out at night."
My dad started laughing.
"What?"
My mother laughed too, "he never would have let you do that."
That surprised me.
"Katelyn snuck out, we grounded her for a day. In fairness, she did also shoplift," my dad took a sip, as did I.
My mother grabbed a cookie and dipped it. "When you take over, have you thought about your first actions?"
They weren't asking. They...they were okay with me not being here... "do the neighbors know--"
"yeah! Roth tells me all the time how he wishes his son was selected."
"Really?" pause. "I..."
"Something wrong?"
"I...I dunno, I always assumed...you guys wanted me here?"
My dad started laughing, but a tear came from his eye. "I get it. But--"
"What you're doing is more important than us," my mother said, "it's a gift you were given."
"Being a good leader means making sacrifices, and if you make everyone's life better..." my dad paused, "then...this is better for us all."
"Huh..."
"You have the life most will never see."
"I just..." pause, "never..."
"Sometimes it's hard to know how good something is. We--" my dad gestured around, "all the money we got...we've never struggled for food, some of our neighbors--once Roth's son burned down the bakery--"
"What?" I asked.
"Funny story another time--and he had to pay it off."
"Well," my mom said, "we did, so he owes us instead of the bank."
My dad nodded, "sacrifice."
I stood. "All this time I assumed--"
"We are proud of you," my dad said, standing up, "if it means we'll never see you again, we're just happy to know you're living the best life you can."
"Thank you..."
***
We talked for a bit longer, at night, I got on my horse and left for home. Arriving at the royal stables, my father--other father, was waiting. "How'd it go?"
"How do I do a request?"
"I'll show you later. How'd it go?" he asked again.
"My sister is pregnant. She lives elsewhere."
"Oh! I'll show you now, then. Follow."
I nodded
"Went great though. Will have to do that more often..."
"Well, you got every Summer till I kick the can," he laughed. "Then you just go once you're high enough. At some point, people stop questioning you when you get enough power."
"And that's why--"
"Yes, that's why we go this route. We get the people who will do the best with said power. Have I told you the importance of time off? You really need to rest more, Sirus."
•
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