FSE

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“WHAT?! Are you kidding me?"

Ben spat out a portion of his steamed lobster all over the gigantic ornate table. He slammed his teenage paw firmly on the oak, his plate vibrating and his fist throbbing. He glared at his father, of whom faintly resembled the fat controller from Thomas the Tank Engine. He sat slouched merely metres away from his father at the head of the table; it was just them two at the moment, though Ben knew that the waitress could come in at any moment.

“I know this is hard to digest," burbled the older, chunky african wild dog, who was dressed in a generously sized purple robe with gold embellishments adorned all over, “but the carriage leaves tonight. You are to be wed in two days; of course you are free to choose any one of the 13 girls I have prepared for you. Some of them are rather lovely indeed," mused the king with a little smirk, who briefly adjusted his crown whilst he half-stared, half-glared at his son.

Ben solemnly shook his head, fighting back tears in his eyes. He couldn't believe it. He had actually been excited for his 18th birthday, but knowing what he was going to be forced to do, he felt his stomach turn. He looked at his half-eaten dinner and now, just the sight of it sickened him. He scraped the wooden chair against the floor and stomped his way out of the gargantuan diner hall. “I'll have Torna help you pack and prepare for the journey tonight. We leave in three hours sharp!" boomed the authoritative voice of the king, though Ben seemed to pay no attention.

Ben practically sprinted down the plush rug that ran all the way from the dining quarters to the East wing. By the time he arrived at the tall, heavy door that revealed his sleeping quarters, he was panting slightly. Letting it slam behind him, he leapt onto his super king mattress and curled up under the covers. He shook and whimpered, sniffled and sobbed, clutching to the covers tightly trying not to freak out even more than he already was.

“Master Ben?" came a meek voice echoing from the door of the room. Ben sighed, and rolled his teary eyes, still clutching the covers. Ben could hear the sound of Torna's footpaws pattering inside the room, the hefty door clunking to a close. “Master Ben, I'm afraid there is no time for an afternoon nap. Your father has made it explicitly clear that I am to help you pack for the trip to Porqua."

As the fennec fox shuffled towards the bed, dressed in what looked like a bright white dressing gown tied in a neat bun around his waist, Ben quickly cleared his eyes and shoved the covers away, giving Torna a death stare. “Can't I have a moment of peace whilst I comprehend how my life is being destroyed behind my very eyes?!" Viciously throwing a pillow at the fennec with surprising strength, to which Torna ducked in time, his posture sinking somewhat. “Yes, I know you're upset, but this is the price royalty pays, I'm afraid. Trust me, you're better off here than out in the streets in god-knows-where doing god-knows-what. You're lucky, and I hope one day you see it."

Ben growled lowly, glaring at the fennec. “You're a cunt sometimes, Torna. A real, prized cunt. At least you're not having to marry some femme imbecile that your father has picked out for you. No, you have choice," he spat, teeth baring, claws clutching to the next pillow available at his arsenal. Torna just shook his head slowly. “Tsk, tsk. Benjamin, I do truly feel sorry about your predicament, but there is nothing that can be done. Everything has already been circumscribed and is waiting at the holiday home. Aren't you excited for the beautiful beach views, like you usually are?" Torna pointed out in an upbeat tone. Ben's face fell yet again. “I can't even go there; not on my own. I'm on an arsehole, fennec-shaped leash."

“And who's fault is that?" snapped back the fennec, cringing slightly at the insult. He lashed around and thrust back in its place the pillow, fluffing it up effortlessly. It's true, of course; the amount of times that Ben had tried to leg it, especially at their holiday home, where security was looser and there was more space to run. This had meant Torna had to be on 'daycare duty' full time, even through Ben's teenhood. Neither Torna nor Ben liked it. Him and Ben shared a close relationship; practically raising the boy himself like some kind of surrogate father, but the king's orders were the king's orders, and Torna knew that if Ben escaped the whole island could be in danger. He was the only legitimate heir to the throne, and Torna knew that King Jeremy didn't have a whole lot of life left in him.

After pacifying the wild dog prince with a huge stack of chocolate covered profiteroles, Torna assisted the boy in packing everything. Unconventionally, they were travelling via horse-and-carriage. King Jeremy had claimed it was more discreet, but Torna knew that the king just wanted to travel off of the public highways; he understood the king had become more and more paranoid about public interaction, and suspected he might be afraid of assassination, or worse.

Soon enough, the palace servants had migrated all of the suitcases and boxes from the palace entrance into a wheeled hold-carriage trailing behind the royal carriage. Despite the carriage's diminished size, there was enough space to squeeze in 12 occupants. Ben grumbled to himself, yawning widely as he brushed shoulders with Torna on one side, and a gruff royal guard on the other. He wasn't sure if this evening could get much worse, his snout overwhelmed with the mixed putrid bodily scents of the guards dressed in heavy plated armour, and clearly sweating a storm. It didn't help that it was a muggy, warm evening; Summer was merely around the corner.

The next 6 hours were but a distant blur for Ben. Besides when the carriage ran over a particularly sharp rock jolting the whole thing, he had somehow managed to fall asleep next to the shorter fennec. Torna didn't seem to care, though Ben noticed that every time he'd been jolted awake, the fen seemed to just be staring at the king, who's neck rested on a plush pillow as he lay there, asleep. Even the sharpest jostles didn't seem to disturb the king, his body shifting like a wobbly marshmallow and crushing the guards to the left and right of him whenever the carriage tilted, which made Ben snicker.

Another 6 hours passed and Ben felt weak from the lack of food. He finished the last of his water, and the hunger pangs had given him a deep tummy ache; he clutched his torso and quizzically looked at the fennec next to him, who shook his head slowly. “This sucks," he muttered to the fennec, who's tummy also groumbled in protest. Torna just rolled his eyes. “We're merely 20 minutes away; I'm sure we'll live."

All of a sudden, the carriage stopped so abruptly that the entire of the opposite bench, including King Jeremy himself, were nearly launched into the other row of seats. Jeremy grumbled and grunted as he came to his stout legs, poking his head recklessly out of the carriage. “Just what is the meaning of this?!" he growled, looking around only to be met by a deep, dark forest with not a single twinkle of light miles away, save for the carriage lights at the front. The horses upfront whinnied and jumped up in a distressed fashion. “GIDDIUP!" yelled the wolf driver, tugging the reigns and struggling to control them. His head tilted back towards the king. “Just rats, my king. The horses hate 'em. No idea why there are so many around here."

“Well, HURRY UP!" boomed the king. Soon enough, they were back to moving, although much faster than before and the ride turned a whole lot bumpier. Ben heaved a little as he was jostled side to side violently. He felt like he was going to be sick! He heaved once, but nothing came out, save for the acrid, foul punch of stomach acid tickling his tongue and lining his throat. "Ugh," he groaned as he spat out of the carriage.

Soon enough, the forestry cleared and the fresh, dense woodland air soon took a salty tang, and the sound of rustling trees with the breeze were replaced with the unmistakable gentle rolling of waves in the distance. Flat sand planes flanked the majestic mountainous horizon either side. Ben slowly stood, holding onto one of the carriage handles to peek out of one of the doors, only to be tugged back onto his bench by Torna. “Uh-uh. Not until we've arrived." In response, Ben manoeuvred to punch Torna's shoulder, but his wrist was quickly intercepted and twisted by the speedy fennec. “Uh-uh." Ben groaned as his wrist was twisted, his teeth seething in pain. Jeremy grunted a little and Torna's grip fell, both of them sitting upright like nothing had happened.

Ben couldn't scoff his face any quicker, managing to consume an entire chicken in minutes. Jeremy's first port of call was to ensure the kitchen staff had all of the stock they needed to feed everyone. Ben had vacated the communal dining halls much quicker than anyone else there. He scampered up the multi-storey palace to his quarters alone, the rest of the palace eerily devoid of any life.

Like the main palace in the capital city of Sornamor, the holiday palace was huge and vast, with at least 12 staff members cleaning, cooking or serving the king. The palace was unique in that it sat attached right at the top of a huge mountain; one of many in the Porqua mountain ranges. A truly impressive feat of engineering, the palace featured six concrete tubes the size of a subway train each connecting the jutted-end of the palace in through the heart of the mountain, concealed only by more concrete to hide them. The end result looked like a concrete rectangle that stuck out like a sore thumb; a blemish in the otherwise beautiful, untouched landscape surrounding it. The locals hated it and would sometimes come up to protest, although they never lasted long with the king deciding not to waste any energy on them. Ben had wondered why they were so upset, though; Jeremy never told him.

Ben sighed, leaning his arms crossed against the broad window sill that ran across the entire side of the room. His expansive bedroom overlooked the westerly coast of the private beaches that surrounded most of the outer Porqua mountain ranges; he watched pensively as the gentle waves rolled in, out, in, out, lit up by the dazzling gleam of the nearly-full moon reflecting from the clear sky. It was beautiful, and Ben wanted nothing more than to be out there, by himself, enjoying the peacefulness of the world out there.

His bedroom here was about the same size as the one at home, which was probably about as big as the entire floor space of a typical family house. The huge, super king size bed that sat in the middle-back of the room looked small compared to the rest of the room which, like at home, featured expansive ceilings that made Ben dizzy whenever he looked up. Not that he ever did; he spent a lot of time sitting on the perch by the windows that stretched across the whole room, wondering what life would be like if he hadn't been born a royal.

Jumping down from the sill onto the oakwood floor, he rushed over to the bedside chest of drawers and creaked open an ebony drawer. Inside was an A5-sized ring bound notepad, with a modern click-and-write pen snagged inside of the hoops. Ben pulled himself under his expansive duvet, where he clicked a small torch to illuminate the Ben-shaped pyramid; resting on his knees, he opened the old book up and skipped over to the last few pages; skipping past paragraphs and drawings alike.

“How I'm Going To Escape Properly, Tomorrow."

Ben wasn't sure if he was going to fit everything he had to say on the last few pages, even with his small, tidy handwriting! But finally, after reaching ¾ down the last page, he finished writing his thoughts and plans he could follow, even conjuring up a list of pros and cons. He'd only managed to think of two plans that might have a chance of working. Ben had tried to escape before, even in his childhood years; he had never liked being told where he could and couldn't go. He understood that he would have to leave early in the morning. Peeking out of the duvet, he glanced at the wall clock. “8:16pm," hummed the boy, “I'm gonna have to have to sleep pretty soon then…" he mumbled, to no one in particular. “Early night it is," he sighed.