The son of a Duke escaped from his chamber and left the castle. The day when his father forbid him to leave the castle, preventing the boy to run and play like every child should, he turned his son’s want to experience the outside world into a need.

His first encounter was right outside the castle’s walls, where he met the kin of a peasant, a boy about his own age. The peasant’s boy did not want to accept who he saw: A prissy, rich boy in a fashion that would have been accepted by, and fit to meet, the Queen herself. The Queen, no less! How could he accept such a boy, who held his head high under no pride of moral character but of glorious possession?

When the Duke’s son and the peasant’s boy looked at each other the boy was scowling, and his mouth was preparing for a snarl.

“Why are you looking at me in such a way?” said the Duke’s son, suddenly exasperated.

“I look at you with anger because I am angry,” said the peasant’s boy. “You pride yourself, yet do could not ever have pride for yourself. Your head is held so high that your eyes are to the sky and you cannot see the poverty right in front of your face. You do not fix it. You do not help.” The peasant’s boy seemed to be finished speaking.

“How can you speak to me so? Aren’t I a human, aren’t I a boy, just as you are? What is our difference?” The Duke’s son looked hurt, and his face was of sadness, not anger.

“The only difference between you and I is that I will never know the difference. I will never dress in golden robes, get a chance to wear an empowering crown, ride in a royal carriage, eat to taste and not to live, or climb the ladder like you noble socialites. I will always be wearing these rags,” he gestured with his hand, “and will always be struggling for bread. My blood spills as red as yours, just does not reek of the word ‘noble’.” The peasant’s boy took one last look at the Duke’s son before he turned and traveled briskly down the hill, having already said what he had to say.

The Duke’s son was injured. He fought the pain and put on a face that looked like he was ready for battle. He was thinking. He was making a decision.

“Wait!” He screamed to the boy.

The peasant’s boy stopped to look as the Duke’s son as he tore off his golden robes, discarded his scarf, threw his jewelry to the ground, pulled down his socks, and kicked off his polished shoes. The Duke’s son ran, feet bear and hair in the wind, to join the peasant’s boy.

He smiled at the peasant’s boy as he stood in confusion.

“You may never know what it is like to live a life like mine, but for me to forfeit it myself would be no sacrifice.”