The Heir Apparent by Lauren DeStefano Page A

windowless, and the roofs were made of reeds. There was a horrible smell emanating from the buildings.
    The doors were wooden, rotted through by the damp; weeds had begun to sprout between the planks. Azure was not sure, suddenly, that he wanted to see what was on the other side.
    When he and Celeste had found the fox eating the rabbit, he had looked away. At first he thought it was because it sickened his stomach, and it did, but that night as he lay in bed he realized that it was the sadness that had disturbed him. The idea that one thing would kill another to survive. Celeste was the one who consoled him. She said it was the way things had to be sometimes. The fox would bring the rabbit to its young so they could live. It was the order of things, she said.
    He wished she were here now to explain what was on the other side of that door.
    The king lifted the latch and pushed it open. He positioned his son in the doorway and held his shoulders, either to steady him or to keep him in place, Azure couldn’t be certain.
    It took a moment for the prince’s eyes to adjust. It was dark in the building, and the only light came through cracks in the mud that held the walls together, and a flickering lantern that hung on a rope from the ceiling. There were more lanterns, at least a dozen of them, but none of them were lit.
    The building was very small, about the size of his bedroom, yet it held several beds all lined up along the walls. He thought the beds were being used for storage, because of the burlap sacks that were draped over them, and judging by the smell, the bags contained compost or rotted fruit.
    One of the bags moved, and a low groan reached feebly into the air. And with that, Azure understood. The bags were breathing.
    “Papa?”
    “Go on,” the king said. He was guiding him inside, and Azure forced himself not to dig his heels into the dirt to keep himself in place. He forced himself to take one step and then another. “They’re tied down. They won’t hurt you.”
    Azure was not afraid that they would hurt him. He was afraid that he would have to see them.
    They walked to the body that had moaned. It was directly under the lantern light, and Azure could see the surgical stitches that ran the circumference of his forehead. His head was shaved and the stitches continued around to the back of his head.
    The boy was only a little bit older than Azure.
    “This is a hospital?” Azure guessed, and he was proud of himself for not sounding as ill as he felt.
    “This is the recovery ward,” the king said. His tone was almost dulcet, as though he were reading aloud a passage from a children’s parable that would help the prince understand. “There’s an operating room farther down, but I won’t be able to take you there. It has to be kept sterile.”
    Azure didn’t want to see the operating room. He didn’t even want to see this room. He felt that somewhere along their hour-long walk from the clock tower to this gate, he and his father had crossed a bridge and found their way onto another floating city, under a different sun. This could not be the same kingdom where he and his sister spent so many frivolous hours giggling and chasing deer through the trees.
    Azure had never seen illness like this, much less in someone his own age. “What was wrong with him?” he asked.
    “He had a disease in his mind,” the king said. “He didn’t like the girl he was betrothed to.”
    This frightened the young prince. His sister hated the boy she was betrothed to; she referred to him in her brother’s confidence as Prince Ignoramus. Sometimes Iggy for short. Did that mean she was diseased too? Or maybe they both were, because he had never been especially fond of the girl to whom he was betrothed either. She was a bright, confident thing, almost taller than him, with a toothy smile. She treated him as though he were the most interesting thing ever to breathe, and Azure always felt that she was an actress in some elaborate