Freedom comes at a price and a young Earthal princess must live the life of somebody else, even if it means facing evil threats and impossible odds.
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As someone who craves freedom, Princess Clarabelle cannot just stand by and let her life be take...
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THE MORNING air at Eirinia Empire was bitingly cold. Standing atop the floating island, the castle had enough chills amidst the summer season. But no matter the atmosphere's temperature, it wasn't something the air-wielders couldn't withstand. It was to be seen with the way its people go on with their daily activities.
At the hillside, where there was a makeshift ring, a pair took turns landing a hit to one another's body. The northern kingdom's fourth prince, Prince Zeid Emir Castellan, was having his usual morning battle with his ward and future royal advisor, Maxwell Beaumont.
Emir wiped the sweat off his brow and positioned his legs in a defensive stance. "Again," he ordered, setting his gaze on his opponent.
The prince wasn't particularly in a good mood. Maxwell had to drag him out to spar when he was supposed to be burrowing his nose among the bunch of books. As much as possible, he wanted to stay away from prying eyes.
Maxwell rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, preparing his arm for a big swing. "Now, Your Highness?" He showed his toothy grin, a mischievous glint illuminating his amber eyes.
Boy, how I'd love to wipe that smug look off his face, Emir thought. "Do you normally ask your enemies for permission to attack? Bring it on, Max." He yawned, both from sleepiness and the desire to set Maxwell on edge.
Maxwell chuckled, then his eyes turned serious. He swung his left arm and aimed for Emir's jaw.
"Too slow." Emir caught Maxwell's fist lazily without moving an inch from his spot. "How sneaky. I can't believe you're aiming straight for my face. You're that desperate for the ladies' attention?"
The prince honestly didn't care about them. All he wanted was to taunt Maxwell, considering how much his friend loved the female species.
But Maxwell wouldn't be the prince's right-hand man if not for his clever wits. He intentionally slid his feet, making the prince think he accidentally slipped. Only in the last split seconds did the prince realize his intention. Maxwell swung his foot on Emir's, throwing him off-balance. They both fell to the ground, but Maxwell's quick reflexes never failed him as he lunged at the prince.
Crap for me being seconds late, Emir protested in his head as he was tackled on the ground, trapped in a headlock.
"Man, how do you still manage to maintain that look of arrogance even in defeat?"
Emir gripped Maxwell's arm using one hand while the other circled his waist. He channeled every bit of his strength on his legs and torso, managing to switch positions.
"For someone who's fated to lose, you talk too much." Seeing how the tables had turned, the prince knew he had the upper hand to win this spar. Maxwell showed off a devilish sneer, making his brows draw close together.
