For the first time
Your life had always been one of ease. Born as the first son (and not just any first son) but the first son to the royal family of Montenegro, you had it all; a rich education, a full stomach every night, a life without the fear of survival, like so many others dealt with on a daily basis. Certainly, you sat in the lap of luxury, but there's always a caveat to every situation, wasn't there?You might've been the first official son, but that didn't mean you didn't have competition- a slew of bastards and two sisters coming before your birth. While your sisters might not have had a chance at the throne, you could be sure that those bastards had their eyes on the seat you took well before your birth- well, not that you even had a right to the throne anyway.
See, your right to the throne was taken from you the moment you came out from your mother - grotesque and deformed, born with both sexual organs and considered a horror to humanity; so much so, that perhaps in a different timeline where you weren't the first to be born- or perhaps in a time when your mother didn't have the heart of a saint-you'd been found as a meal for the wilds or resting in seas that you'd grown up to love so fondly.
Instead, you were raised, still, as the firstborn son in title alone. You knew your way around a social gathering, banquets and balls alike. Your presence was noted in the most formal of occasions, and surely you could be found on the family paintings, however, your connections to the inner workings of a kingdom were that of a stranger. You were not taught in military strategy, in food reserves, nor in legislature. Instead, your time learning was filled with languages, of the great works of authors to come before you, of the arts, and of medical practices. Your education was left mostly in your own hands, seeking out to learn whatever caught your eye rather than the set curriculum that had been established for your sisters, nor the curriculum path that was once destined for you. Sure, you'd never be king- but that didn't mean you didn't have a hunger to learn.
Growing up, your time was mainly spent in the shadows. Hidden away in rooms that only had ghosts for visitors, you'd spend plenty of your time in the land of words. Being born to nobility certainly had its perks. Books ranging in topics, from historical documentations of medicinal applications to pure fantasy - adventures of fairies and elves, all sat within your reach. If a topic interested you, it would only take a simple request and patience before you could have any information you wanted at your beck and call. Surely, life wasn't all too bad for you.
Without true royal duties, you were free to pursue just about any activity that interested you. One, being the ways of the kitchen had drawn you in. You spent countless hours in the kitchens - watching with intrigue the different techniques of chefs from places you'd only read about. Your interest in the kitchens never caused much stir, perhaps it was due to your younger age or more androgynous appearance (having only grown to a rough 5'5, and a frame petite enough that it certainly wouldn't be the first time you'd been mistaken as the fairer gender)- regardless your presence was, for the most part, welcome. In some occasions, you asked to learn. Chopping techniques, meat dissection (You've never gotten the courage to kill an animal, but at least you can skin and de-bone a fish well), even a bit of baking; all skills you took pride in learning. Spending so much time with various chefs of different paths, you'd come to hear countless tales of valor, of adventure, and of sorrow. You might not have called them friends, seeing as the chefs generally rotated out after a celebration had passed; but you'd cherish the memories and connections you had with them regardless.
In turn, tales from the kitchens turned to sketches and eventually paintings. You learned about various techniques adapted by the French with their oils, or the Japanese with their watercolors. Canvas after canvas, filled with scenes from your imagination, came to life with meticulous planning and careful strokes. The range of colors at your disposal left you with little boundaries of what you could paint; only yourself being the limitation.
Your fatal character flaw, so to speak, was your interest in men. Your parents held a little hope in your early youth that perhaps your born defect could be ignored if you could just find a nice girl and settle down. Perhaps you weren't a full lost cause, a seed of hope. Unfortunately, that seed crumbled when your mother caught sight of you, one night in your youth, sneaking around with one of the stable boys. A secret she swore to keep, less a worse fate would find you. That didn't stop her from confronting you in private, from her attempting to change your inclinations, anything to set you straight; words fell on deaf ears. Sure, you wouldn't be found making out with another stable boy anytime soon, but that didn't mean you stopped entirely - you just got sneakier. A new skill set was acquired from then on, one of lock picking and a honed sense of hearing. Each of your escapades now coming with a threat of danger; never allowing you to truly relax during.
When you turned 18, you were sent off to the military. A mandatory two-year service, though being the prince, sure came with perks; one being the allowance for you to stay in private lodgings. Truly, your service to the military was really just an extended vacation. Sure, there were practices and routines you had to follow - physical strength exams, chores, a set time to sleep and wake up- but it really wasn't all bad. Your status of royalty and exemptions from activities due to "health concerns" really made your service a piece of cake - mostly spent doing kitchen work or menial laundry tasks... or on your knees to certain individuals you found interest in. The one true skill you learned (besides how to give a man a superb time) was that of the sniper class. There was something peaceful about it all; waiting for the winds to favor you, watching for your target, lining up the shot - not that you'd ever really be able to shoot another person (at least you don't think you could)- too much of a moral repercussion for your head to consider. Regardless, it was a skill you acquired and a skill you hoped you'd never have to use.
When your family first started discussions on purchasing land in the Americas, well, you truly couldn't give a damn. Usually, topics of that sort had no relation to you - it wasn't until your sisters started begging and pleading to go see the infamous "Wests of America" that you somehow got roped into accompanying their journey. For their safety, it was said, for who else knew English the way you did? Who would ensure the well-being of three foreign princesses better than their own brother? Regardless, it was settled that you too would be going, not just for your sisters but also to scout the land.
From that moment on, your studies became focused on the Americas; more so on the area that the land of interest was within. Lessons in property values, soil qualities, and local geography of New Hanover were drilled into your skull. Further studies in local legislature were important too, though you weren't convinced that it would do you any good. From the stories you'd heard about the Americas, you gather they didn't take their own laws too seriously. You'd also been told tales of caution of local gangs, it wasn't called the wild west for nothing.
The time eventually came when it was time to set sail. A few months journey at the least by sea, not including any travel by train or horse. You packed just about everything you could think of; your entire wardrobe just about, all neatly folded and packed into endless crates. Your room on the ship was quaint. A single bed in the corner, resting on a worn brass frame. A main desk of wood sat against the back wall, light pouring over from the small porthole situated above it. A small bookshelf finds home in the back corner near the door, as well as a shabby little rocking chair. Truly, it could be worse. You'd long organized some of your own books away into the respective furniture, and situated some essentials at the desk. A small leather journal sat in the middle of the table, scatters of pens and pencils surrounding it in a messy array. You hadn't written anything down yet, deciding your time to write will come plenty later when you reach the shores of the foreign lands. For now, you'd have to be content with painting the same waves that you'd been painting since the first time you held a brush - though you could always settle on the crew for some artistic inspiration, too.
The voyage was... uneventful. Boring couldn't begin to describe the mundane daily routine that you had taken up since setting sail, sure, variation existed - which crew member would be swabbing the deck today? Which of the 8 revolving meals would you be served today? Even the weather rotated between clear skies and the occasional cloudy day. Only once during your entire trip did it truly storm, a heavy blanket of rain with the echos of thunder breaking the monotony that you considered to be purgatory. It brought tears to your eyes when the coastline of the Americas came to your view, a vast expanse of land that you couldn't see the beginning or end to- countless thoughts ran through your mind as you studied the land. You'd learned that the port you'd be sailing into would lead into the bustling town of one Saint Denis, one of the largest cities on this side of the coast (you made sure to remember that during your lessons). It would still be a while before you could feel land under your feet once more, you overheard that there was currently a line for the limited docking spots within the city, but truly you didn't seem to mind much. The extra time sitting on the coast allowed you a moment to grab your sketchpad and make a rough outline of the city, drawing in the shape of the various warehouses and billows of smoke shooting into the sky. You wondered what the city might've looked like at dusk from where you sat, twinkling from the distance. Perhaps in the future you'd be able to view it on a tour boat of sorts.
The time had finally come. The ship lurched forwards and made way towards the city. It had perhaps been an hour of waiting but it felt like a lifetime, so close and yet so far. At least it gave time for the crew to prepare for the landing, you'd already packed away your room when the shoreline came into view- not like you really had too much to pack. Unlike your sisters, with their prestigious dresses and layers of fabric, you wore simpler clothes. Sure, it was high quality fabric and tailored to you specifically, but for the most part your wardrobe consisted of plain tops; the occasional frilled collar or lace detailing- and simple jeans. You had only packed one truly royal outfit which you were supposed to wear when meeting with officials of the city.
The smell of the city was the first thing you noticed upon closer arrival to the docks. A putrid smell, really: a mix between a sharp heaviness and a dull ache that you could feel in your chest with each inhale. The moisture, both from the coast as well as the local geography doing little to ease the tickle in your throat. It was intense, unlike anything you'd ever smelt before; anything you'd ever experienced before. Your country being that of a small nation, truly not much bigger than one of the states that you now found yourself in, wasn't nearly as developed in the industrial sense.
It was difficult not to cough, fog and fumes combining in the air to create intricate swirls that danced around the passing population. Your eyes darted around, studying as much as you could of your surroundings; you'd known that it wouldn't be long before you and your sisters would be ushered off, an itinerary of events already piled long high left little time for exploration. Parties, mostly, with the occasional meeting and deliverance of documents that your father had sent you off with. Truly, the contents of those documents were of little concern to you, a more pressing matter being that of adventure.
It didn't take long for the ship you had arrived on to dock; It took less time for your items (as well as your sisters) to be unloaded. You'd all packed light, or as light as you reasonably could- knowing your sisters (and yourself) would want plenty to bring back. American fashion had been of interest to you all, studying various illustrations in the catalogues together as a pastime during your long journey. Truly, you had a fondness for your sisters, sharing similar interests and a comradery of sorts that you wouldn't expect other men to truly understand. Yes, you were also a man, but in the way that you faced the same discrimination and harassment drew you closer to each other- it also helped that you all swung for the same team (well, one sister perhaps not so much). Thick as thieves, one could say.
The ship you arrived on, well, it wasn't a large boat: truly maybe the size of a standard cargo ship. You'd known the ship was filled with exports as well, mostly textiles and medicines as well as some metals that your country had found wealth in. You glanced back at the ship as you made your way down the planked path laid down to bridge the gap between land and sea- er, well boat; does it count as the sea if it floats on top of it? Whatever, irreverent.
The sound of seagulls, the bustle of the harbor, the sound waves crashing against the wooden dock all created a symphony of an energized location. The harbor had a different scent up close; one more familiar to you but traced with foreign elements. The smog still sitting heavy in your chest and the tickle in your throat still creeping up on you. but the sharp scent of the ocean and marine life helped ground you. Being a coastal nation, the scent was familiar, nostalgic even. You'd been at sea for so long, and yet the scent of the open ocean didn't match the scent of the ocean closer to civilization. There was a certain... difference, one you had trouble placing. It was muskier, with a heavy dose of salt- it wasn't pleasant and it wasn't unpleasant, it just was.
Finally, your feet touched the docks. For the first time in months you could feel the steady earth beneath you, the feeling of rocking not leaving you yet. It took you a few steps before you had to grab unto a railing for stability. Walking was... difficult for a moment. Your body had become so adjusted to the calming rock of the sea that the stable ground felt foreign to you for a moment. It seems your sisters were having the same issue, as you glance up, you could see them being escorted by your countries guards into the coach that awaited you all.