It should have been you
The Kingdom of Ellentale was known for two things: the greatest buttered rolls from the market on a sunny afternoon and a prince who never wanted to be king.
Once upon a time, a prince fell in love with his guard, shyly stealing glances at her, pretending to catch a glimpse of the view outside the window—for the fifth time.
The prince’s father—the king—had just assigned a new guard to his son: “It is time for you to prepare to be king one day, son. Your guard will be here to train and protect you. Her family has been serving ours for generations. It is an honor for both her family and ours to be reunited once more.”
“Does she…want to be my guard? Do I have any say in this matter at all?”
“Son.”
“Duty. I know, I know.”
The king chuckled, his shoulders silently shaking as he tried to compose himself. This conversation reminded him of his own rebellious youth.
His Royal Highness, barely a man yet past the innocence of a child, now shows the same traits as his father. His shenanigans so far had included: slouching on the throne with his awkward, long limbs, refusing to be addressed as Your Royal Highness in preference for his name, and occasionally stealing buttered rolls from the kitchen. Yet even before the prince had seen the light of day for the first time, his fate had been sealed—he would one day become king.
For now, he remained in the castle of Ellentale, suddenly finding himself sitting upright on his throne as he was introduced to his new guard.
“Your guard,” his father said, as if presenting a gift.
She knelt—smooth, practiced—and when she rose, her eyes met his for a heartbeat too long. Her face stayed carved from stone, but a faint warmth climbed her cheeks as if her body had betrayed her.
“You may call me—” the prince began. Not Your Royal Highness, he wanted to add.
“My prince,” she said, because duty always spoke first.
Over the next years what started out as a slow friendship eventually turned into more. A forbidden love shared among the lonely hours of the darkest nights. The prince turned into a man who held himself with pride, the only person to bring out his shyness remained to be his royal guard, her smiles only gifted to him alone.
They each shared dreams of a united future in between soft caresses to forget the hard truth that their paths should never have crossed like this. His royal highness and his guard, a pairing destined for doom. Yet their bond had only grown stronger from the first day they met. Through the shared pain of combat practice, long hours of strategic lectures and court life, the prince’s guard became the closest friend and partner to the future king.
“You are to be betrothed to the princess of Fenwood, son. I believe you are a good match - the princess has been fond of you ever since you two were little. Our union will strengthen the bond and friendship our countries have upheld so far,” the king announced, and went on to speak about plans for the future king.
Of course. How foolish it was of the prince to believe that he could be the exception to the rule. He’d let himself pretend. Pretending was the cruelest luxury. His royal guard’s face did not betray any emotion, though the prince noticed a slight tremble in her hand that rested atop the hilt of her dagger. The prince however paled and panicked.
“Father, what if I was not made to be king?”
Soon after, duty called. A celebration of the wedding followed the engagement of the young couple. The prince’s favorite treat connected him to his folk, a simple buttered roll from the market - loved by many, shared by all. Yet his royal highness was never seen touching the delightful soft bun again after his marriage. Nor did people remember seeing him smile, though his kindness persisted.
The princess of Fenwood had always loved her prince and childhood friend. Her duty never made her fear her future, it made her bold and courageous. Thus, she happily announced her love for her husband to anybody who was willing to listen — especially to the prince’s guard.
Something had shifted in the friendship between the prince and princess when they were still adolescents. While his royal highness had always treated the princess of Fenwood with kindness, she knew that he was never fond of her the way she was for him. His glances had always seemed to drift to the window, until she followed his gaze that landed on the prince’s guard. His eyes had never softened for the princess like that. For the first time her royal highness understood that she wanted to fight to be seen and she was not ready to lose.
What she failed to mention to those who lent her an ear was that the future king had never shared the bed with her, nor did they share the same room. That night, she found the prince alone in the library, the smell of dust and old leather clinging to him like a second robe. He preferred to stay up late, wandering around the castle, picking up one book after another as if his goal was to soak up each story the library had to offer.
“You don’t have to love me,” she said softly, brave enough to name it. “But you will not embarrass me with absence.”
His hands tightened on the book. “I would never—”
“You already have,” she whispered, and left before her voice could crack.
The princess kept wondering if her husband ended up finding his way to his guard’s chambers. but the prince did no such thing. Ever since the news broke that he was to be married, his guard had stopped talking to him altogether. Only in attendance of other court members did she speak when she was asked. All the prince wanted was to see her smile again. He let the gardener plant her favorite flowers, carved their names into a tree only they knew and left her buttered rolls - to no avail.
In a world where a prince and his guard dreamed of loving each other freely, their love remained anonymous to anybody but the two of them. I love yous only whispered, but never shouted and declared the way the princess joyfully did for her prince. All three grieved for a love they wished to have.
Years moved the way court life always did—quietly, like a servant sweeping footprints from marble.One coronation. One cradle. A hundred dinners where the queen’s laughter tried to fill the spaces the king wouldn’t.
And always, at his shoulder, the guard with the trembling hand—training boys into soldiers, swallowing words like medicine, standing close enough to be mistaken for loyal. The view outside the window changed throughout the seasons as the weeks, months and years passed. And even when the queen placed herself in front of said window with their son in her arms, the king remained stoic, his eyes never catching the change of the seasons.
All of Ellentale continued to lead a peaceful life until an assassination attempt on the king changed the trajectory of the country’s story. It should have been a day of celebration in town for the new prince had just turned one year old. The whole market came to life with artists and musicians inviting their audience to participate in the joyful moments, buttered rolls being handed out, and the royal family coming to town themselves to celebrate with their folk. Preparations for the festival already started weeks ahead and the excitement was palpable in the early morning hours of the day of the event.
The celebration continued into the evening when bonfires were lit and the slight smell of sweat, food and drinks created a mix that reminded the town of the lightness of summer in Ellentale.
The first arrow didn’t find the king. It found the baker beside the guard—one moment laughing, the next folding to the ground as if their knees had been cut from under them.
Then the second arrow came. Then a third.
“Shields!” someone screamed, but panic was faster. Stalls toppled. Music snapped into silence. The smell of butter and smoke turned sour in the throat.
Chaos. Chaos. Chaos.
“No—!”
The sound tore through her like a hand in her ribs. She knew that voice.
Why is he screaming?
Her feet tried to run and forgot how.
Strong arms caught her just before she hit the ground. She felt dizzy. When she dared to open her eyes again she found herself looking at the pair of the man she loved. “My king”
“Please. Please. Don’t speak. WE NEED A HEALER!” the king yelled, his face stricken by tears. “ANYBODY. HELP” he continued to scream into the crowd. Thick teardrops hit the royal guard’s face as she continued to look up to her king, two arrows protruding from her chest. Breathing felt hard and heavy and only came in short sharp breaths. A hand found its way to her chest, trying to stop the bleeding. She knew her time was up. For the first time in years, her hand no longer trembled when it found its way back home. Back to her lover’s hand.
“My…king” she whispered.
Realization dawned on the king’s face. They were running out of time. So he held her gaze while his heart continued to shatter for the second death of their love story.
“If I am granted another life,” his voice breaking open, “I will find you. It should have been you”
I love you.
This story is not a fairytale. Of course. How foolish of the king to believe that he was the exception to the rule.
The Kingdom of Ellentale was known for two things: the greatest buttered rolls from the market on a sunny afternoon and a prince who never wanted to be king.
This concludes “It should have been you” - my first short story, what a milestone! This story, including its characters and places have been entirely invented as a creative outlet. Thank you for reading this far! I would love to read your feedback, honest, brutal or positive - I am ready for it all :)
Lead your dreams,
Soso