Eric loved the sea. The steady churning of the waves, the calls of various sea birds, and the mysteries beneath the dark foaming depths filled his boyish imagination with curiosity. The wind picked up suddenly and Eric could smell the saltiness. His thin shirt billowed around his twelve year old frame like a boat sail in a storm. Something wet touched his bare calf and he tore his gaze from the tossing water to see his new puppy, Max, wagging his tail and holding a stick almost as big as he was. Eric smiled. Max was a white dog with long shaggy fur. He was a present to Eric for his twelfth birthday. Eric bent down and took the stick from Max's panting jaws.

"Come on boy!" he shouted as he tossed the stick down the beach. He laughed at the way Max's legs kicked up sand with every bound. Max dashed back to Eric with the stick gripped between his teeth, wagging his tail and whining quietly. The young boy smiled at his dog and threw the stick again. They played for several minutes, until the sun began to set. A voice from the top of the cliffs yelled, "Eric! It's time to come in now," signifying that their game of fetch was over. Eric whistled to Max who skipped across the beach to Eric's side and followed him up the narrow path on the cliff side.

Eric entered through the large double doors of his house, still dusting sand off of his short trousers.

"Your highness," the housekeeper, Carlotta, said. Eric saw her brow furrow when she observed the sand scattering over the previously clean floor. "It's high time you changed for supper, young man. Your father, the king, has ordered that you dine with him and Grimsby this evening."

Eric began to pout. "But I wanted to watch the sunset during dinner. You know there's a perfectly good view from my balcony, Lottie," he said, reverting back to his childhood name for the middle aged woman. "This is the first clear night we've had in a while and you know the great hall doesn't have any windows."

"Prince Eric, your father was very particular about you dining with him this evening. Now, please don't argue. Louis has already caused me enough stress with all of his shouting and yelling." With that, Carlotta steered Eric towards his bedroom.

After a hot bath and a lot of tucking and combing, Eric found himself sitting stiffly in his best suit of clothes across from his Father and Grimsby in the dimly lit dining hall. The collar of his red coat scratched at his neck horribly. He was contemplating his father's reaction to him using his fork as an extension of his fingers to itch below his coat, when the king spoke.

"Eric, what were you doing before dinner?"

"I was on the beach, Father, with Max," Eric replied, speaking as low as his voice would allow. He wanted to sound like a man.

"You should have been studying," the king mumbled.

"His majesty, the king, is right, Prince Eric," Grimsby said. Grimsby was a short, thin man who always wore dark clothes. His long brown hair was pulled tightly behind his head with a black ribbon and his uncommonly large nose was red, as usual. He sniffed. "You are going to be king one day."

The king stood. Eric dreamed of being as tall as his father. The king walked over to one of the paintings hanging on the wall and gazed at it absently. He lifted one of his large hands to his chin and stroked it methodically. "Eric," he said. "You need to focus more on your princely duties."

"I'm sorry, Father," Eric stuttered. He looked down at the bowl of creamy clam soup, wishing he could drown in it. His father had never cared much for what he did. After his mother, the queen, died, Eric saw his father very little. The king was always traveling the sea, exploring new places, and ruling from afar. Eric had been brought up by Carlotta and Grimsby.

The king returned to the table and sat down. "Eric," he said gently. "I don't know how to say this right." He paused and cleared his throat. "I'm dying, son."

Eric felt his heart sink like a rock dropped in the ocean. There was utter silence. Grimsby pretended to be fascinated with the chandelier and the king watched his son with a worried expression on his face. Eric tried to mask his emotions, but he suddenly felt like crying.

"The doctors aren't sure what I have, but it's killing me," the king continued. "Grimsby will help you until you come of age, but life is going to get harder for you, my boy. I need you to be strong."

Swallowing his tears, Eric nodded. He went through the rest of the meal without a word. Grimsby and his father discussed a plan for his education over the grilled salmon and boiled potatoes. Eric watched his father. He didn't look sick to Eric, and that worried him. What kind of a sickness made a person look completely healthy before taking a life?

After dinner was over, Eric shook hands with his father and trudged up the stairs to bed. Silently, he changed into his nightshirt and crawled in between the cool blue sheets on his bed. He didn't sleep.

That night was the first of many restless nights. Over the next few months, Eric watched his father get weaker. His dark hair grew dull and his skin turned a sickly shade of grey. The servants whispered and shook their heads, quieting each other whenever they saw Eric come around the corner. He longed to escape to the ocean, but he was too occupied with learning to be king. Grimsby kept him busy with geography, war history, and many statistics. Eric's mind was filled with the amount of people in his kingdom, the food produced by the farms, and the fishing market.

Only four months after Eric discovered his father's illness, the king died. And with him, Eric's childhood. At the young age of twelve, Eric became a man.