Painful Truth Behind The Life Of Grand Prince

Forged Series: Character Profile, Zeke Ryker

To learn more about the FORGED series, visit the Table of Contents.

Zeke Ryker

• Pronouns: he/him

• Age: 14, nearing 15

• Birthplace: Bannock, Bannock Zone, United Pacific Territories

• Occupation: first-year student at Bannock High School

• Relationship profile: never had a girlfriend, but curious about the new girl from the Wilds

• Family: Grand Governor Julia Ryker and General Milo Ryker (parents)

• Hobbies: studying, mastering languages, running, target shooting, internship at Biodiversity Revitalization Laboraties with Finn Roberts. Does evading his security detail count as a hobby?

• Personality Traits and Quirks: Most people think Zeke is stoic, reserved, unapproachable (mostly because his security guards keep people back), and a bit stuck up—nicknames include the Grand Prince and El Muy Muy. As the only child of the two highest-ranking officials in the country, he wears a public facade to protect his privacy and often feels the strain of public scrutiny and his parents' demands for perfection. His friends are limited to the children of his parents’ close friend group.

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Spark’s School Schedule & Post-Gala

Part One: Meeting between Zeke (code name: ‘Spark’) and the head of security for the Ryker family (with a bit part from Zeke’s father–’Riptide’—and a mention of his mother–’Voltage’) to discuss his school schedule before the start of school.

Part Two: After the Morrison Gala, an official public appearance for the Ryker family.

Both are sneak peeks into life as the son of the two most powerful people in the United Pacific Territories.

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Security Detail Schedule for ‘Spark’—first week of school. Zoom in for the details… or just enjoy the color-coded-ness.

Part One

You know what sucks? Having your life detailed down to 5-minute increments. Every day.

I flopped into the chair across from Stan the Man. As the head of my family's security, he was a stickler about his damn security schedules. Last year, he'd shown me the full schedule that included details of when his men were allowed to take care of their bodily functions. He has since hidden that layer of detail on my version of the schedule. I knew it still existed; the guys were like clockwork about bathroom breaks. At least I was free to take a piss whenever I wanted, even if the full entourage had to first clear the toilet compartments each time. I'm sure the other students appreciated that. Not.

This was going to be my second review of next week's schedule. What a stellar use of my time. As if the first week of school wasn't going to be sucky enough, I had to know every detail of my day before inching through the monotonous moments in real life.

I twisted my head with my hands. The satisfying crack released some of the tension. When I reopened my eyes, Stan held out the tablet with my schedule in all its color-coded glory.¹ I heaved out a heavy breath and reached for it.

"No need to flare your nostrils at me, sir. I'm just doing my job," Stan said.

I ground my teeth at the honorific. I'd given up trying to stop the agents from calling me 'sir.' I was three years from adult status, and yet they insisted on calling me the stupid title because of who my parents were. It still grated on my nerves.

Likewise, Stan's ramrod-straight posture and no-nonsense attitude were irritating, but at least he wasn't a prick like the night shift guard. Branden was a true jackwagon.²

I sighed. "I know. Thanks for keeping me safe from the whack-os." I zoomed the image to Monday's schedule. A quick swipe across the week showed Agent #1, Clint, was with me each day at school. "You updated the rotation."

"Yes, the Grand Governor requested Clint be primary at school for consistency. He was happy to oblige."

I didn’t correct Stan. First of all, I had requested this change. Looked like my complaint to Mother about the other agents swayed her opinion of my request. And second, I doubted Clint was even asked his opinion. I made a mental note to speak to him about this and apologize since I was the one who insisted he be with me daily at school.

Clint had been on my security detail since I was ten, and we'd come to a comfortable understanding of my desire for privacy. More importantly, he was willing to both honor my space and keep the other guards in check. As the primary agent on my detail, Clint got the bulk of the shifts and responsibilities. I knew for a fact that he attended both the morning and evening briefings with the team, even on his one day off a week. None of the other agents did that.

I swear the man had no life outside of his job. Yet another reason why security would never be a job I'd want to do. Not that I'd be allowed to hold such a lowly position. Nope, the son of the Grand Governor and General Ryker would never have a menial position in our government.

"This looks fine. Thanks again for updating Clint's rotation." Maybe I should ask Mother to give him a raise.

My finger rested on the AP Cellular Bio class long enough that the roster popped up on the screen. Each line had verification checks next to the name, except for one at the bottom: Wright, Contessa, 14, Student ID #20-6-0863

By her student number, I knew she was born in 2120, so she was a first-year like me but likely had a spring birthday. It also told me that she was born in the Cascade Zone, zone number six. What was strange was the last digits. These numbers were assigned on the first day of school alphabetically by last name. I knew there were 862 first-year students throughout the Bannock Zone.

Strange, random facts that only the Grand Governor's son would know. Trust me.

Since Bannock is the largest zone, the chances that a new student from a smaller zone would be assigned with 863 seemed unlikely. This meant she had to have been assigned the digits based on the Bannock Zone kids. If so, this would put her at the very end… behind Stephanie Zamaro. This new girl received her number after all the other kids, so she must've joined the school system after the start of our Kindergarten year. Was she from one of the other zone high schools? Or had she moved here from the Cascade Zone?

"Um, Stan," I rotated the tablet to show him the class list, "why is this student not verified?"

He wrenched the tablet out of my hand and muttered what might've been a curse. "I'll check it out, sir."

He dropped the tablet like a hot potato and pounded his keypad with such brutality–from anger or irritation?–I felt bad for the inanimate object.

"Son. Stan." My father’s bulky frame blocked the door, and the mood shifted. The air became dense. His presence did that.

Stan stood so fast that his chair rolled back and slammed the wall behind him. I followed, snapping to attention.

"Everything all right?" My father entered like a panther, stalking his prey through the grass.

"Ah, yes, sir. Just checking on a new student, registered"–Stan consulted the screen–"yesterday, in one of Spark's classes."

I gritted my teeth but remained where I stood. On second thought, I'd rather Stan call me 'sir' instead of 'Spark,' the security code name given to me when I was born. Something about how I made people light up when they met me. Puke.

"A new student?" My father's booming voice rattled the window pane. Okay, not really. But he was louder than necessary in Stan's tiny office.

"We'll get her checked out right away, sir." Stan’s voice was tight. His words clipped with tension.

As my father moved past me, I noticed the thinning on the vertex of his skull. I added it to the list of things I hoped differed between us. And yet, I kept wondering about the ways we were the same. Would I become a leader who relied on intimidation? One who was a master of predatory tactics and manipulation? Capable of becoming a sadistic commander who ruled by fostering fear? I hoped not. The fleeting thought of my 'vacation' last winter break was enough to make my head pound with the beginnings of a migraine.

"She's the niece of Finn and Clarissa Roberts." Stan pointed to the screen but stepped to the side and let Father take his vacant chair.

"Really?" He didn't sound pleased. "From the Cascade Zone. Interesting." He scrolled for a moment before standing abruptly and moving toward the door. "Do a thorough check. Get eyes on the accident site. Son." He motioned for me to exit.

The weight of his arm on my shoulder felt like he was trying to crush me. I grimaced but didn't say anything as he propelled us down the hall.

"Son, what has Roberts said about this new stick?"

"You mean his niece?" Did he have to use the derogatory term for someone from the Wilds?

"Yes. Has he said anything to you about her in the last couple of weeks?"

"Nothing, sir. But we've been focused on the testing protocols. We don't have time for much chit-chat."

"Well, get him talking. Let me know what you find out."

I nodded, and he turned away, leaving me to sag against the wall. Why did he always make me feel like I was breaking the rules of common decency? I glanced at my hands, seeing the stain that had finally faded from my palms, though still fresh in my mind.

"And Zeke…"

I snapped my eyes to his gaze, correcting my posture. "Sir?"

"No slouching tonight. The cameras will be watching you closely."

"Yes, sir."

Shit. I'd forgotten. I would be accompanying my parents to the Gala, an annual celebration for the completion of the Morrison Dam. Tonight was the forty-fifth anniversary, so a bigger-than-usual celebration was to happen. It meant I had to wear a stiff, formal suit, talk with a bunch of kiss-ups trying to gain my mother's or father's favor, and appear excited (but not too excited) for the event while being bored out of my ever-loving mind.

And Father was right; I'd be on all the media streams. The son of the Grand Governor, a.k.a. “the Grand Prince,” as titled by the media, was often a trending search query. The media seized every opportunity possible to scrutinize my life. My every move was under a microscope.

My Omniband vibrated. A quick glance at my wrist reminded me of what normal kids my age were doing right now–school class schedules were released about two minutes ago. Another vibration. And another. My friends were sending screenshots of their schedules. Comparing schedules would lead to a deluge of messages trying to figure out who had which classes together.

One of the perks of being the Grand Prince was that I knew my schedule–and all the people in my classes–days ago. I kept the information to myself because I knew they all liked to do this annual tradition of comparing schedules. I didn't want to ruin their fun.

But it was old news to me. I already knew what few friends I had in each of my classes. And in three classes, I had no friends at all. Although, now that Contessa Wright was a first-year in the fourth-year AP Cellular Bio class with me, maybe I wouldn't have to be the only abnormally advanced student. Was she in any other of my classes?

My palms felt sweaty, wondering what she'd be like. Would she be intimidated by my unearned status? Or could I have a chance at developing a friendship with someone who didn't know all my shit already? Who was I kidding, everyone in the country knew my shit. Hello, nosey media stream reporters.

I debated returning back to Stan the Man to ask him to pull up her schedule, but an incoming camcall interrupted my thought–a group call.

I cut through the kitchen and out the back door before joining. In the shade of the pergola, I unwrapped my Omni and placed it on the table. The hologram populated with eight boxes containing the faces of my friend group, already deep in conversation.

"Ché, about time you joined us," Jaren said, his deep baritone cutting over the others' chatter.

"Z, what period did you get PE?" Mel brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. "Cara, Jenna, and I all have it 4th."

"My father opted me out." He'd told my counselor that his workouts for me were far superior to anything I would do in PE class. Never mind that PE would've been the one place I could've played a game other than his mind games. I missed playing basketball with Isaiah and the others. I missed hanging out with Isaiah. Again, I could thank my father for that fiasco too.

Cara snorted, pulling me back to the camcall conversation. "Of course he did. Mel, you'd think we'd be able to get out of it too, being on the soccer team and all."

Declan said, "Z, you haven't sent your schedule. What did you get for math and history?"

"They placed me in Mathematical Physics and AP World History."

Declan groaned. "Sounds awful. Both fourth-year courses?"

I nodded. Five of my classes were fourth-year courses, and one was a third-year class. I only had French and Data Science with the second-year students—and with Jenna and Nico, respectively.

Liam asked, "First-period history?"

"Yep."

He gave me a virtual high-five. "Same!"

Of course, I knew we had that class together, but I smiled at his joy of having a class with me.

I made a couple of swipes on my Omni and sent my schedule to the group.

Marcos whooped. "Stellar! Ché, we have Spanish together."

Cara cursed. "We don't have a single period together."

True. I didn't have a class with Cara, Jaren, or Declan. But I did with each of the others.

"That's okay. You'll get to dominate in PE with Mel and Jenna," I told her. That should be some consolation.

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Photo by Samuele Errico Piccarini on Unsplash and edited with Canva.

Part Two

The flash blinded me, but I kept moving. I had no other choice. I was sandwiched between four security guards. Clint was at my left shoulder, setting a brisk pace. Less than eight seconds from the Performing Arts Center’s front door to the waiting car. He and the other guard on my back shielded me as I sat in the back seat. The door closed with a solid slam.

Moments later, Clint opened the back door on the far side, and one last flash of the paparazzi made his silhouetted body appear to have a halo. The click of his door signaled my safety, ensconced behind the dark-tinted, shatter-proofed windows.

I slumped into my seat, tired of holding the weight of being the Grand Governor's son on my shoulders for a moment longer.

"Long day, sir?" Clint asked.

"Not as long as yours," I replied. He still had the end-of-day briefing with the security team. I could shower and go to bed as soon as I got home.

I shifted to look at my bodyguard, shadows obscured his face as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you first. Do you mind being at school with me every day?"

"Sir," he shifted like he was uncomfortable, "I requested to be on your daily schedule. Is that all right?"

I chuckled. "Well, I guess we were thinking the same thing then. I'd told Mother that if I had to have two guards at school, you needed to be one of them." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Thanks."

“I’m hoping to pick up más español, señor.” His eyes glinted in the low light. And was that a smirk?

"Maestra Gonzolas is pretty evocative," I said in mock seriousness, knowing she was the opposite of attractive.

"No worries, sir. I have a nose plug."

I laughed. "Did you just make a joke, Clint?"

He cleared his throat to cover his laughter. "Sir."

"Thanks," I said, meaning it this time. "I'm glad you'll be there with me."

"Me too, sir. Me too."

Besides his insistence on calling me 'sir,' I found myself wanting to model Clint's behavior more than my own father's. Clint was a man worthy of admiration.

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Character Inspiration and Role

Zeke is the unapproachable, popular kid. Inspiration for him was a mash-up of the stereotypical class president, captain of [insert the sports team of your choice], debate champion, and principal/preacher/teacher's kid. He is the one that everyone idolizes, but they don't understand the extreme pressure he is under to be the "perfect" kid in the eyes of not only his classmates but every adult he encounters. His physical characteristics (and how he carries himself) are based on the physique of runners, basketball players, martial arts fighters, and, to be completely honest, Troy Bolton.³ Another example would be a young, bleached-blond version of Elvis, circa 1956/age 21, complete with his swagger.

As I mentioned in Isaiah's character profile, I spent little energy deciding names at first. For Zeke's placeholder name, I used my firstborn son's name (because Zeke was always "first" to Isaiah's "second"). So when I went back and selected a name for this character, I used the same initial–Z. From its Hebrew origins, Zeke means “God will strengthen.” The name implies friendly and outgoing, which he tries to be (wants to be), though the heavy layer of security makes it less than ideal to be either.

Zeke's role is that of the estranged best friend of Isaiah Iverson. In Shattered, book one of the FORGED Series, Isaiah wants nothing to do with Zeke. As Zeke hints above, their falling out was thanks to his father, Milo Ryker. However, Zeke balances out the friendship triangle between him, Isaiah, and Tessa. His attempts to befriend Tessa, who turns out to be a fellow brainiac, make Isaiah jealous beyond reason. To Isaiah, Zeke is a threat who "beats" him in academics, sports, and even within Isaiah's family. According to Isaiah, Peter Iverson favors Zeke over his own son. So, it's not surprising that Isaiah assumes that Zeke is trying to move in on his crush, taking one more thing from Isaiah. Let's just say it doesn't go well for anyone in the trio.

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What I’m reading

Here are some other fiction pieces available on Substack or as a published book(s) that you might enjoy. Plus, some thought-provoking non-fiction.

1. Initiation [Part 3] -

   Claudia Befu
   continued her Sci-Fi/Biopunk/Coming of Age story with the third part. Claudia’s writing is immersive with details of life, rich characters, and complex interwoven storylines. Check out the Story Voyager.

2. St. Felix -

   EJ Trask
   delivers a heart-thundering story about a fellow substack writer,
   Miguel S.
   NOTE: If you already have a fear of spiders, read with caution!

3. The Calm Before the Prank - Chapter 1 of Trick or Chaos from

   Jenni Ward
   promises a good start for an epic adventure.

4. Fly and Frisk - I’m glad I was done drinking my tea because I would be cleaning my screen now. This one made me burst out with laughter several times. I gotta figure out how to get Delta Gold Medallion Stallion™ status!

5. ‘Armageddon’: The Most American Fil Ever Made From the Most American Director Ever? -

   Cole Haddon
   gave me the one line I will use to explain my reason for choosing any and all plot points going forward… Because Michael Bay put miners rather than astronauts in space.

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Before you go

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Questions

1. Did you (your kids) watch the High School Musical movies? Cheesy or Uplifting?

2. Did you color code your calendar at any point in your life?

3. Ever been a third wheel? Tell us your experience in the comments.

1. I had one of those Bic four-color pens and an array of highlighters so that my high school and college paper “day planners” were color-coded by class and importance. Now, I can easily assign the correct “calendar” to my events and have reminders pop up 15, 30, or 60 minutes before.

2. My hubby loves this term. If he calls someone this, it is worse than if he were to call someone an asshole. On a level of 1-10 for the awful people meter, this would rate a 13. Or higher.

3. Until I started writing this newsletter, I had never watched more than a partial scene of any HSM movie. Now I can say that I have watched one entire movie. And it is 98 minutes that I can never get back. So cheesy. But also strangely uplifting…