The Crown Prince's Most Disrespectful Attendant

Ch2: A Merchant's Life

Twenty years later.

Morning arrived at Redvale not with silence, but with noise. 

The market was already alive, voices clashing and overlapping like a flock of startled birds, rising and falling in a rhythm all their own. 

Merchants shouted over one another, advertising everything from fresh bread to polished tools, while travelers wove through the crowd, some pausing to bargain, others simply passing through.

It was loud. It was messy. It was alive.

And Albert liked it.

A sharp thud cut through the air as a crate hit the ground, rolling slightly before it settled.

"Careful!" a voice snapped.

"I know, I know," came the reply, followed by a tired huff. "You think I haven't done this before?"

Albert straightened, brushing his hands against his trousers, his brown eyes and hair catching the morning sun. He glanced down at the crate he'd just set down. Oranges, bright and fresh, good color all around. He nudged one lightly with his foot, inspecting it.

"Are these enough?" he asked.

The fruit seller, a tall man with broad shoulders and a voice that always sounded halfway between a laugh and a complaint, stepped forward and crouched, picking one up and turning it over in his hand.

"Hm."

Albert waited.

The man bit into it, then nodded. "These are better than the last batch."

Albert allowed himself a small grin. "They are. Got them from old Gran Han."

That earned a proper laugh. "That old man? Didn't he pass through here just last week?"

"He did."

"And you still managed to get something this good from him?"

Albert shrugged. "I asked nicely."

The fruit seller snorted. "Right. I'll believe that when you start acting like a proper merchant." He stood, clapping Albert on the shoulder, firm and approving. "Good work. I'll take all of it."

Albert caught the small pouch of coins the man tossed him, bouncing it once in his palm to weigh it. Not much. But enough. Enough was all he needed.

"If Gran Han passes by again," Albert said, already turning to leave, "I'll let him know you're still complaining."

"Do that," the man called after him, "and I'll lower your pay next time!"

Albert waved without looking back.

The market welcomed him the way it always did. Familiar faces. Familiar voices.

"Albert! Got anything new this week?"

"Not for you," he said without missing a step.

"Cruel!"

"I'll have something next week."

Another shop owner leaned out from her stall. "You promised that last week!"

"And look how well that turned out," Albert said. "You're still here."

A few laughs followed him as he walked, flipping a coin into the air, catching it, flipping it again. A simple rhythm. An easy one.

Albert exhaled slowly, letting the noise of the market settle around him like something warm. No titles. No expectations. No one watching his every move like it meant something. Just work. Simple, honest work.

"Perfect," he murmured.

---

A ding was heard as the bell above a shop door chimed softly as it opened. 

Inside, the world was quieter, shelves lined with neatly arranged goods, dried herbs, small tools, folded cloth, things useful enough to sell but not rare enough to attract attention.

Behind the counter stood a girl, no older than fifteen, gray hair and black eyes, carefully checking a list in her hands. She paused, frowning slightly.

"That's missing," she muttered, marking something down.

The door opened again. The bell rang. She turned, and immediately brightened.

"Mister is back!"

Albert stepped inside, brushing a bit of dust from his sleeve. "Just returned," he said, reaching out to pat her lightly on the head as he passed. "Delivered Mr. Jo's fruits. He liked them."

Joel huffed, crossing her arms. "My father likes everything you bring."

"Maybe I just know how to pick the best."

Joel rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Of course you do." She held up her list. "We're low on supplies. Lady Mari might come asking for her order later, so I'll go get what we need."

Albert nodded, leaning casually against the counter as he watched her. "Take your time."

Joel grabbed a small bag and a cloak, tying it quickly around her shoulders. "I will," she said, then added, "and don't forget, you've had enough sweets this week."

Albert looked offended. "That sounds like a personal attack."

"It is."

"Unfair."

"Accurate."

He sighed dramatically. "At least bring me some."

"No."

The door opened and closed, and just like that, the shop fell quiet again. Albert stood there a moment, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps.

"Good kid," he muttered.

Time moves slowly as he watched the shop but then he pushed himself off the counter and moved to straighten a few items on the shelf, simple, familiar motions. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as his thoughts slipped beneath the surface.

I like this, he thought, and the thought came easily. Honestly, more honestly than most things in his life. Because this was something he had chosen. Not given. Not forced. Chosen.

He had not always been Albert the merchant. 

In this life, he'd started as something else entirely, a noble. Not just any noble, but a high-ranking one, the kind of position people killed for. The kind of life he had already lived, and died in, more times than he cared to remember. Even as a child he'd seen it clearly: the expectations, the politics, the invisible chains wrapped in silk and gold.

So he'd made a decision. Be forgettable. A forgotten son, ignored and overlooked. It had almost worked. Until he realized forgotten nobles didn't live peaceful lives. They starved, slowly, neglected until they simply disappeared.

That's not peace. That's inconvenience, he'd thought at the time.

So he'd chosen a different path, a louder one. He stole. 

Not out of desperation but with purpose. He took something valuable, something that couldn't be ignored, something that guaranteed one outcome. 

When it was discovered, the reaction had been immediate: fury and disgrace, exactly as expected. He'd been branded a thief, stripped of his title, and cast out. As the gates of that life closed behind him, Albert had smiled.

Freedom, it turned out, sometimes needed a little push.

He rolled his shoulders. "Worth it." Every part of it, the journey, the risk, even the near-starvation that followed before things stabilized. Because now he had this. 

A small shop. A simple routine. Enough money to live, and enough distance from the capital that no one cared who he used to be. No one watching. No one controlling. No one expecting anything from him.

"Perfect," he repeated softly.

Albert turned, adjusting a stack of folded cloth near the counter. The shop was quiet but then.

BANG.

The door slammed open so hard it struck the wall. Albert turned instantly.

A figure stood in the doorway, cloaked, breathing heavily. Rainwater dripped from the edges of their cloak, pooling slowly on the wooden floor. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Albert blinked slowly.

"We're closed," he said.

The figure didn't move. Didn't respond. Just stood there, like something chased, or something that had just found exactly what it was looking for.

Albert frowned slightly.

"That's not good."