borrowed hope from tomorrow 😪

He learned early that crowns were stories, not inheritance. Royalty was a foreign word, spoken in houses he never entered, worn by names that did not sound like his. So he dared instead. He borrowed hope from tomorrow and stitched it into his nights. Dreams became his only inheritance, ambition his accent. He failed where princes were protected, fell where others were caught, and rose with dust on his knees and fire in his eyes. They called it audacity. He called it survival. For when a boy dreams without permission, every step forward is an act of rebellion. And one day, when royalty finally learned his name, it will pretend it always knew him.