The Sweet Prince

A Cautionary Fable of Inheritance

The sweet prince was the youngest, with three older sisters — always pampered, but always pure.

His sisters bragged about their jewels, their dresses, their dollhouses.

But the sweet prince wore torn clothes, played with secondhand toys left in the castle’s sandlot.

He grew up humble, kind.

His sisters were always concerned about their cousins.

Who was prettier? Slimmer? Richer?

Who married whom?

How handsome, slim, and rich were they?

One day the sweet prince’s parents died.

The sisters turned to him begrudgingly and gave him the keys to the castle.

He put on his father’s silk gown, his mother’s fist-sized emerald medallion, placed his hole-filled socks into calf leather shoes, and then he peered at his sisters.

He peered at his castle.

He peered at his subjects.

He peered at his endless lands.

“Who is the richest in the land?” he asked. “Who?” he demanded.

His sisters turned to each other, barely recognizing their brother.

“You. You are,” they answered squeamishly.

Their brother laughed. He took a swig of mead. Then another.

He took voracious bites out of legs of lamb and turkey, wiping his mouth with his silk sleeve. A sliver of a smile appeared across his lips.

“I am. I am,” he repeated.

A story by Pemba Umoja