“Ridiculous,” Bradley crabbed, “how does one summon the servants of this establishment?!”

“Your majesty?” came an apprehensive voice from behind him, “Maybe you should try turning the key? If it pleases, your majesty.”

Bradley turned to face the waiting team of movers huddled behind him in the graffiti covered hallway.

“Which one of you said that?” he asked. The employees of ‘Pack-n-a-box Movers’, star struck at being in such close quarters with the future monarch of Kingston, nervously shuffled their feet.

“I did, your highness,” one of the young men conceded, hanging his head and awaiting the royal reprimand for speaking out of turn.

Bradley took a step forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, “there is much I have to learn. Next time I visit the palace I shall recommend you for a citation of merit-” Bradley said, looking to the man’s embroidered name tag, “ – Cody. Excellent work.”

Bradley slowly turned the rusty key to his new apartment, and felt a surge of excitement as the lock made a satisfying click. He pushed the door open and stepped into the modest unit, extending his arms in triumphant. He inhaled deeply with pride, gagging slightly at the lingering smell of stale birdcage that still remained from the previous, recently evicted tenant.

“Cody!” he called to his new friend, “To the freight elevator post haste! Let’s get moving!”
Bradley clasped his hands together in excitement. He was finally an independent! A man about town! A man of the people!

“Where should I put these Fabergé eggs?” Cody asked, balancing a heavy box of priceless collectibles on one knee for support.

“Good question, Cody! What’s the status of my gilded showcase?”

“It’s still in the truck, your highness.”

“Ah, the truck.” Bradley exulted, a touch of whimsy in his voice. He went to the window and looked down to the street below, where the moving truck idled in the narrow laneway.

“Transporter of goods. Vessel of journeymen. Does one need a permit to captain one of these things Cody?” He asked, as Cody succumbed to the weight of the Fabergé Eggs, and lowered the box carefully to the ground.

“Yes sir. You need an ‘A class’ – “

“I see. Not like riding a horse then, is it?” Bradley asked.

Cody shrugged self-consciously, then left to retrieve Bradley’s suit of armor from the freight elevator.

There was little about his sheltered childhood that could have prepared Bradley for his newfound freedom outside the palace walls. He didn’t know what to expect from his new independent lifestyle, but an existence spent attending ribbon cutting ceremonies and sipping tea with visiting dignitaries was just not the life he envisioned for himself. So stuffy and old-fashioned. The King and Queen had spent years grooming him for a life of princely leisure, but as he matured, Bradley felt more and more that he just wanted to be like everyone else.
Bradley peered into the hallway, which was becoming somewhat more crowded as curious onlookers began to gather outside his door.

“Pardon me your highness, but would you mind signing this?” One of the movers asked, thrusting a crumpled five dollar bill - featuring Bradley’s smiling royal portrait - into his hands.

“Well I don’t see why not. Have you a quill - ?“

“And this too. It’s for my wife,” the man said, pulling a rolled up tabloid from his back pocket. ‘CROWN PRINCE IN PALACE BLOWOUT SHOCK HORROR!’ screamed the headline.

“Oh my. They appear to have manipulated the truth. Mother won’t be at all pleased,” Bradley said quietly to himself. The sudden pop of a camera flash alerted him to the doorway, where the cluster of curious neighbors and onlookers was beginning to grow. Several more began snapping pictures, as others hollered questions at the increasingly befuddled prince.

“Bradley, have you been disowned by the Queen?”

“Is it true that you fathered a love child with the Duchess of Shinkerton?”

“Bradley! Bradley! WHEN DO YOU PLAN ON USURPING YOUR FATHER!?”

Bradley covered his face with his hands and backed away from the assembled mob.

“Oh – oh my. Cody? CODY! I’m in need of assistance!” He cried helplessly.
Cody appeared through the horde, jostling past people with a box containing Bradley’s disassembled suit of armor.

“Move,” he said simply, pushing the crowd back from the entryway, and shutting the door behind him.

Bradley lowered his arms and sighed.

“Have I made a mistake Cody?” Bradley asked sadly, “Mother warned me I might not fare well. I don’t even know how to boil water for tea.”

Cody trudged over to the stove, where a pile of abandoned pots were stacked atop a greasy burner. He picked one of them up, and handed it to Bradley.

“Fill this with cold water,” he said. Bradley took the pot and held it under the kitchen tap. Rust tinted water sputtered from the faucet, as Bradley frowned down at it.

“Shall I wait for this unpleasantness to pass?” He asked timidly.

“Wait for it to run clear. Put it on the stove and turn it to high. You’ll know it’s boiling when you - ”

“WHEN I DIP MY FINGER IN TO TEST IT!” Bradley interrupted proudly.

“NO,” Cody said firmly, “you’ll know it’s boiling when you see it bubbling.”

“Ah. I see.” Bradley said, leaning over the pot and observing the stillness of the cloudy water.
Cody backed away from the Prince, and headed towards the door.

“Move,” he said as he stepped into the hall and was once again met with the assembled horde. As he shut the door behind him, Bradley turned.

“Thank you, young Cody,” he said into the empty, malodorous apartment, “you are truly a prince among men.”