It was Thursday -- the day on which the King held court. He presided, but he did not judge -- he was a ceremonious appearance, and in all sensibility, pointless. Or so thought Prince Henry Jackson Dubuque. Alas, he knew the gossipers of the town, those people who lived close enough to the Castle to imagine what went on inside and never come close, would eat up the King's appearance there like the desserts they were likely not to have. Some of the peasants were grotesquely skin and bones, to Prince Henry.

Today's trial was particularly consequential, in the eyes of the majority of peasants who lived close enough to the castle to get there for the morning court event. It was a case of high treason -- another of Henry's many cousins had reportedly been found scheming to take lives. Whose life it was, the tattle-tale was unsure, but it was either the heir or the King himself. Henry had always been partial to cousin Maxwell, despite that there was, say, not much there on the boy's part. It was a shame that the trial would inevitably end in either a long term of imprisonment or an execution.

Such was the reason that the Prince was not at the trial. His father always commanded that he attend and join the King on the royal soapbox of the court, but Henry had implored, citing his childhood memories with the accused as the reason, to be exempt from this week's trial session.

In the castle, he was mature -- a fragrant pineapple -- but outside in the courtyard on the way to the market streets, Prince Henry Jackson Dubuque knew that it would be a more rewarding and enjoyable morning to be out in the sparse sunlight and see the streets. Though they were deserted, he had no qualms -- Jackson would rather talk to the resting cobblestones and the architecture of what would one day become his city than most of the primordial peasants (he had been taught from an early age that peasants were not people, as his family were). Thusly, he had few friends but for the maids and butlers, and the cook and his old nanny.

It could be tiring, he thought, only associating with people who spoke with an accent that came right from the way their noses were always up in the air.

He passed a merchant stand, selling red and green and yellow apples, feeling the fullness of his pockets and emptiness of his stomach. Those yellow apples. He would take one, he told the clerk behind the desk, who watched Henry, stricken. The Prince offered a few coins but the man was too scared to take them -- someone could be watching; an allegation could be made that this man was seen taking money from the Prince! He was too nervous to speak, and only shook his head.

And so Henry -- wishing this man would see him as "Jackson," who was not intimidating, and not stuck up, who would have left the coins on the counter regardless -- slipped the metal back into his pocket (by no means the pockets of a prince; for going out into public on such a casual morning required more casual dress) and slipped a yellow, delicious apple into his hand.

He could have walked away, as he took the first bite of that apple, but instead stood gazing at the merchant, debating internally whether to attempt to strike up conversation. For quite some time, he simply stood there. In fact, he soon had eaten three-quarters of the apple, in not so many bites. . .