Prince Eric Allen's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Eric arrived at sunrise, sleeves rolled, hands still sore from yesterday. The girl tossed him an apron and a tray of jars. "Sell," she said. He smiled like she'd handed him a crown. He tried. He really tried. He held up a jar and said, "This is, um, very round." A woman blinked at him and walked off. He bowed to a child. The child cried. By mid-morning, Eric had sold exactly one thing, and only because the buyer felt sorry for him. Then a young man strolled up, easy as sunlight, and asked the girl if she needed a hand. He unrolled a huge painted cloth behind her stall — a wild burst of color and curling shapes that stopped passersby mid-step. He stacked crates into a little tower beside it, bright as a phoenix with its wings flung wide. A crowd thickened around the stall within minutes. He sold three jars before Eric finished one sentence. He winked at customers. He named their children. Then he reached into his pack and set a small carved seat on the counter for the girl — mushroom-capped, hung with tiny chimes that sang when she touched them. She laughed. Loud. Bright. The laugh Eric had practiced an hour for. Eric stood with a jar in each hand and felt the bottom drop out of his chest. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the stranger like he'd hung the stars in tidy rows. At sundown, the girl counted coins, cheeks still pink. "He's coming back tomorrow," she said, not unkindly. "You can watch." Eric nodded. He set the jars down carefully. He had not been dismissed — but he had been replaced.