Entrance into his kingdom implied as a primary condition release from the factory.

But how could such release come, when every morning a remorseless and insensate hook-just like a certain hook in the machinery whose deadly certainty of grip fascinated and terrified him, caught him from his morning sleep every morning of his life, save Sunday, and swung him inexorably into the factory?
He looked around and saw that no one was released, except through death or illness or incompetence.

And the incompetent starved.
Any child in Budge Street with a grain of sense knew that.

There was no release.

He, son of a prince, would work for ever and ever in Bludston.
His heart failed him.