Chapter Text
— PROLOGUE —
Kings, Queens, Princes, and Princesses: They all have a sole duty, a priority in the hierarchy: to rule. Why, they might come together as a family, or sometimes even strangers, they are seen as the pinnacle of perfection.
However, all perfection comes with its share of conflicts, and by all means, nothing is perfect. May it be, no matter what the circumstances, it shall never intrude with the royal traditions…
The King has the most crucial job of them all, he has to rule the land he so possesses, and in the more populated kingdoms, he shall charter townspeople to order for them. Howbeit, though they may be able to declare orders, the King’s word will be antecedent.
The Queen, at foremost, is presumed as secondary in command, so though she will not completely rule, she shall birth the nest of the future Princes and Princesses, and for as long as she may be crowned, she will take care of the royal children. The role of the Queen shares the same grand rank of the kingdom, her word comes first as well.
The Prince is signed as the second in line to heir to the throne, in governmental terms, he is designated with his fair claim of land to rule over. Albeit, the crowned Prince has lower authority in the monarchy, none higher than the Queen and King. This will also follow as so for the Princess. He will only be crowned King if he ceases to find a woman in marriage to carry on their royal duties as one, spreading the bloodline.
The Princess, better seen as the female form of a Prince, is expected to marry oneself off to another crowned Prince. She will spread the bloodline to a different kingdom, combining the power of both kingdoms and making their value increase…
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A young boy cried out as he fell onto the wool carpet flooring, his cheek stinging with a boiling sensation. His vision was blurry with the feeble dampness of his tears flooding his sockets, but yet, the silhouette of his father who stood mighty before him was clear.
“Do you think you could even call yourself a Vauxierre?” the man whom he began to look at no longer as his actual father, but just King, declared, “Don’t you ever speak the name with pride when you are barely one.”
He sniffled as he held his swollen cheek, he wanted to yell, “ But Father! It is not fair, they mocked me, pushed me around, they ridiculed the name! ” Although he'd result in getting hit even more, he couldn’t enrage the man further. Shamed, he sobbed as the dreadful feeling of helplessness surged through him, all he could mutter in response was:
“I’m sorry.”
His father, who didn’t bother to care for his cries, struck him once more with his staff. Bolting, sharp pain, was all the young child could describe it, what happened next was a blur, almost static.
Maybe a moment into history that his mind refused to remember, but he thought, all he truly wanted was to get rid of the scar-like emotion that carried with it.
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“Stand your guard, Prince of the Emerald!"
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...Or so that is what they may say, for it seems there is always that one individual out of the millions, or so billions, to shatter the defecating bind
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Vance released the breath he hadn’t realized he held in, taking one to his surroundings with a sigh. He looked around the grand colosseum he stood in, rows of seats spiralling the dome-like enclosure. However, it wasn’t as ancient the walls were dressed with strips of silver, with a natural-toned cobblestone walling.
Not only that, but there was a multitude of individuals chanting, he could barely retain his own thoughts, for he was still partially dazed in confusion.
It seemed he’d spaced out for more than just a while considering they were enraged, shrieking the names, “Liesmith, Trickster, Stooge, Cox-comb, Puterelle, Glos Pautonnier!”
“The woman’s insult is getting a bit old now, tu ne pense pas?” Vance yelled with the utmost sarcasm.
“Are you surrendering , O’Great Vert Yeux?” Bertinelli stated with a smirk in an infuriating manner, one that made Vance cringe. “Why, I must say, you look fairly pale! Oh, though I hear that’s normal for you, isn’t it?”
The crowds calmed after the man spoke, it gave him time to think, time to remember.
The speckle of memory had completely thrown him off, for he also had no idea how he’d even gotten here. This wasn’t too odd for him, this had happened multiple times, but this time was different.
He had no time to be influenced by his cousin’s jeering, the man had much bigger problems.
“Oh, merde–” he swore, as his daggers clashed with the blade of the Maiden’s Viking axe, his daggers crossed in an awkward “x” position. Perhaps, the opportunity of self-indulgence lasted a bit too long.
“Madame!~ Easy on poor petite me,” he pleaded, the heaviness of the Maiden’s gigantic weapon caused his hands to tremble in an aching pain.
“Informal to say for a mighty Prince of the Jewels, quite? Remember, forfeiting is always an option!” Bertinelli cheered with an appalling amount of enthusiasm, if Vance was naive— which he in fact wasn’t —he would’ve truly taken those words seriously.
The Maiden grunted, pushing her axe down with more force, causing Vance to fall on his back. He hastily rolled out of the way before the weighty blade hit the stoned floor with a mighty bang. Panting, he instantly jumped back onto his feet, charging straight to Maiden who had already pulled her hefty axe out from the ground. She held her axe in front of her, swinging at Vance who blocked it instantly with a right hook, redirecting her hit with the impact from his dagger.
“Agh!”
He winced, the tip of her axe slashing a cut on his arm, but then he mischievously smiled. Vance knew this was the moment, so he lunged forward, using his free dagger to thrust it at her throat.
However, before Vance could feel the blood of the wound on his arm even start to stain his sleeve, the Maiden regained her composure with the weapon and twisted the handle of her axe, swinging it to the side of his torso. The axe had thankfully clashed with the armour encasing his waist. Although, the impact sent him almost flying to the side.
The technique was humorous in his opinion, “to counter a missed swing, revolve the hit around.”—Probably it's not right, but Vance had cared naught for the world to pay attention.
Despite what it was, it was still inhumane! Preposterous, even, though of course the commander would know how to do it. She had been the commander for a reason.
“Tré bien! My, I’ve underestimated your knowledge, commander,” he jested, though once he regained his balance it was only now realized the hefty axe was about to gash his head.
Out of the pure panic of the situation, he felt his seidr act unconsciously. The sense of his magic waved, filling in the last bits of air between them. Immediately, it bursted into a blast of shimmering blue energy once he took consciousness of the danger.
The Shield Maiden had been blown back from the burst, but she still kept her stead, falling swiftly on her feet.
Great, he could once again hear the rumouring murmurs of the crowd.
“You talk a lot in a fight, winter mammal,” she playfully asserted, almost as if she was amused by what had happened. Vance wasn’t aware she had humour, though he mentally prepared himself due to it being directed at his appearance. However, it wasn’t long before her expression quickly turned sour.
“Vance!”
The familiar voice from that pesky memory had suddenly echoed throughout the arena room. A clear shift of density in the air made it beyond breathable, a wave of silence followed, flooding the whole arena.
It now made sense as to why Bertinelli had gone so quiet.
“Yes, father?” Vance replied, nearly instinctual.
He turned around his head hanging low and bowed before him. With no doubt, Vance knew he had seen the whole ordeal. It automatically made him stiffen at the mere thought.
“You are aware of the circumstances of the duel,” the King blatantly assumed, Vance hesitantly nodded. The royal inhaled deeply, banging his staff against the tiles he stood among like a judge’s gavel, glancing sternly at Vance.
“We have no time for this, Vance.” He almost spat his name out attempting to speak with subtleness. Vance harshly clenched his teeth shut in irritation. “Do you hear me?! ” the man yelled with his head high, and for such a query it came out as a demand.
Vance flinched at his voice, dropping to one knee, “Yes, sire. ”
“Then you well understand that I do not accept this behaviour, and you know what happens–”
An intruding series of knocks interrupted the Monarch’s sentence. Vance looked to his right, watching as a knight came bursting through the arena doors. Before they spoke, the royal knight bowed, realizing he had stood before the Majesty’s presence.
“Apologies, Your Majesty, though I come before you with urgent news,” they began, catching their breath. Vance assumed he had sprinted here, just how urgent was this ‘news’ they spoke of?
“Go on,” the King confirmed, his stare making them frantic.
“There has been word that a thief has broken into the central library that holds the relics passed down from the elder Monarchs,” they slurred their words, rushing to get to the point.
“I’m afraid that the new guards stationed there have— may have already found the thief, and in fear they might cause an uproar…”
“I see,” the mighty ruler cut them off, nodding to himself as he turned his gaze to Vance once again. “Son , I assume you know the drill,” he specifically called.
“Of course,” Vance forced out of himself, almost choking on the knot threaded in his throat. The nicety that dared come from the man's tongue was bitter. He scrunched his face in resentment, it made him nauseous. He was surprised at how his voice didn’t shake.
Clenching desperately onto his dagger, Vance realized right there how much he’d lamented standing in the presence of his father. Every second around the man threatened his demise.
He had to get out of there.
Willing to leave the room as fast as he could, he hastily stood up, getting off the fighting stage. Whilst walking past Bertinelli, he heard him scoff, making him more infuriated, almost stumbling on his steps while fastening the pace. However, his father grabbed his shoulder when he was about to pass by him, causing him to abruptly pause.
“This is the last time I let you go,” the person he dreadfully called his father threatened in a quiet, but crystal clear whisper to Vance.
Vance hadn’t noticed, but his breaths became too short, he could’ve sworn he’d die from asphyxiation. He had to force himself from not immediately sprinting away when the King released him from his grasp. He felt the eyes of the crowd staring at him. He felt them like knives, he felt his father's presence and felt like he breathed poisonous gas around him. His senses were doubled, almost incomprehensible.
He pushed a door open, walking past the knight and dismissing the poor soul who had to witness this. Even so, he could feel the knight’s stare engulf him.
Vance didn’t care the slightest bit anymore, he ran anyway, sprinting away from the eyes that wandered over him.