Anis: “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
The royal courtyard was packed.
Velvet banners hung from the spires. Trumpets blared with the overenthusiastic anxiety of musicians who clearly hadn’t practiced. Nobles lined the marble paths in their finest silk and smugness, all pretending they weren’t thrilled to witness my grand exit.
My exile.
I stood at the center of it all—black cloak, boots polished, hood down, expression set to emotionally dead inside but somehow hotter for it.
Behind me, the King and Queen sat on their thrones, silent and unreadable. My siblings were lined up along the royal bench.
- Edmarion scowled with arms crossed like he was auditioning for a shampoo commercial titled Angry Valor.
- Veliryn was writing a haiku with her own tears and probably blood.
- Halvren looked like he’d just sold his soul and realized it didn’t include a return policy.
- Merasyl blinked once. I think the sun dimmed.
The High Chancellor stepped forward and cleared his throat with the giddy excitement of a man who lives to ruin birthdays.
“Prince Anis Twaggel, Fifth of His Name, is hereby exiled from the Kingdom of Twaggel by royal decree and Council majority, effective immediately.
He is to be sent to Darneth – The Crime City, granted full authority over the domain, which is no longer considered part of the Kingdom of Twaggel.
He shall receive a budget of 100,000 gold coins and command of 100 soldiers.”
“Fancy words for ‘get out,’” I muttered under my breath.
Narrator: “Oh, we’re just getting started. Let’s take a moment to roast the fine upstanding backstabbers in attendance, shall we?”
Narrator: “Lord Ganthrell. Old money, older morals, zero chin. Once lost a duel to a goose. Literally.”
Narrator: “Duchess Velettra. Keeps knives in her corset. Tried to marry into the royal family four times. Denied every time. Still here. Still bitter.”
Narrator: “Count Dorrick. Claims he fought in six wars. Records show two of them were staged plays. One involved puppets.”
Narrator: “Baron Figsworth. Exists. That’s all. We’re still investigating why.”
“Would you stop,” I hissed under my breath. “I’m trying to get banished with dignity.”
Narrator: “Oh, sweetie. That ship sailed the day you built a napalm chicken.”
“That was still cool though.”
The ceremonial sword was handed to the King. He rose. The crowd held its breath. My heart did a backflip.
He stepped forward… and gently touched the blade to each of my shoulders.
“You leave as my son,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Return when the world sees what I already do.”
Then he stepped back.
The Queen didn’t speak. She only nodded—and for a moment, I swear her hand trembled.
And with that...
I turned.
Walked past the nobles.
Out the gate.
And into freedom.
Well... they at least gave me 100,000 gold and 100 soldiers.
Narrator: “Ah, Darneth. City of opportunity, corruption, bad plumbing, and highly aggressive pigeons. You’ll love it, Anis.”
The teleportation crystal dropped me directly into the central plaza of Darneth, where a merchant was arguing with a raccoon and two kids were bartering a stolen carriage wheel for a cursed potato.
The buildings were tall, crooked, stacked like drunken sandwiches. Neon runes flickered above shopfronts. The air smelled like burnt cinnamon and probable lawsuits.
Peter and Michael arrived seconds later via stealth orb, looking perfectly composed.
“Location secure,” Michael said crisply, scanning for threats.
“I already bought three buildings,” Peter added. “And a tavern. I named it The Smug Bastard.”
“Love that for us,” I said.
I looked around—hands in pockets, cloak fluttering behind me like I was starring in a gritty reboot trailer.
Darneth was chaos.
My kind of chaos.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Gangs ruled the underground. Corruption flooded the streets. Nobles sent their filth here to disappear. The guards were underpaid, overfed, and probably legally blind after sundown.
Which made it perfect.
Narrator: “A land of crime and ruin. And soon, an empire. Because of course it is. Why conquer with armies when you can franchise organized rebellion?”
“Narrator,” I said aloud, “you’re starting to sound proud of me.”
Narrator: “Don’t get weird. I’m here for the explosions and irony.”
Peter handed me an envelope. Sealed with royal wax. Stamped with the crest of Twaggel.
The final words from the King and Queen.
I hesitated.
Then opened it.
My dear Anis,
You were never meant to be a weapon. You were meant to be our son.
But the world fears what it cannot control.
And you? You were never meant to be controlled.
We will watch the stars, waiting. Hoping. Knowing.
Come back only when you wish to—not when they demand it.
You were born a prince.
Be whatever you choose next.
With love,
Vaelric & Elenwynn
(Your annoying parents, who still believe in you.)
I didn’t cry.
But I did sit down on the nearest bench and exhale like I’d been punched in the soul.
“They didn’t say goodbye,” I whispered. “They said… when.”
Narrator: “Well. Now I feel like a jerk. Quick—let’s ruin the mood.”
“What could possibly—?”
Peter held up a second envelope.
“Court-mandated marriage license,” he said. “Urgent. Filed by Judge Obarlin this morning.”
“What.”
I ripped it open.
Ah yes, you're absolutely right—how could we miss Anis internally spiraling into comedic despair over being legally married by government-issued oopsie? Let's drop in some juicy, self-aware, absolutely chaotic author-style remarks that elevate the comedy, while still keeping the tone snarky and on-brand for Anis.
Here's the revised marriage section of Chapter 7, with Anis’s reaction properly fleshed out as requested:
Peter held up a second envelope.
“Court-mandated marriage license,” he said. “Urgent. Filed by Judge Obarlin this morning.”
“What.”
I ripped it open like it personally insulted my bloodline.
Due to the dishonorable actions of Lady Siralyn Merrow—engaged in public embezzlement, private scandal, and assaulting another noble with a ceremonial breadstick—her noble status is hereby revoked.
As reparations, her marriage contract has been reassigned to a neutral party—namely, Prince Anis Twaggel—effective immediately.
You are now legally married.
I blinked.
Twice.
Three times for emotional processing.
“WHAT.”
Narrator: “Plot twist so sharp it drew blood. Continue.”
Peter helpfully pulled up her file.
“She was Halvren’s fiancée. Political marriage. Until last week. When she, quote, ‘lit the royal carriage garage on fire while high on truth potion.’”
“And this is who I’m married to?”
“Technically, yes. Her title is now Lady Anis.”
“Oh, absolutely not—wait... that does have a ring to it.”
I have faced assassination attempts, divine banishment, magical spiders, noble court drama, political exile, and the crushing weight of expectations since I was one. I have literally fought a grown man while teething.
And yet none of that prepared me for the sheer emotional whiplash of being told:
“You are now married. As punishment. To your brother’s ex.”
WHAT. DO. YOU. MEAN.
She set fire to the royal garage, possibly cursed a goat, punched a duchess, and told an enchanted mirror to “shut up, Karen.”
And now she’s my wife?
I don’t even know what color her hair is.
We haven’t even exchanged sarcastic banter yet. I haven’t had time to dramatically save her life while pretending I didn’t care! We haven’t even had a proper enemies-to-lovers subplot!
I was supposed to be the emotionally unavailable genius who builds death robots in his free time—not someone’s state-sponsored husband!
“Peter, make a file on her,” I grumbled, rubbing my temples. “Give me every detail you can. Brace for mayhem.”
“Already scanning public records and sealed scandal scrolls,” Peter replied.
I turned to Michael.
“Escort the knights to The Smug Bastard. Feed them. Bribe them. Give them something alcoholic and mildly flammable.”
Then I looked out over the city I now ruled.
A city of crime.
Of corruption.
Of legal matrimony via revenge ruling.
“Peter,” I sighed, “make a full report on the city and its people.”
“Michael—call the pirates.”
Narrator: “So to recap: You’ve been exiled. Dropped into a lawless city. Handed command of an army. Given full economic control. And legally married to a noblewoman with felony energy and pyromania tendencies… who used to date your brother.”
Narrator: “Anis. My sweet, snarky, overpowered little disaster prince.”
Narrator: “I have never been more proud.”