Chapter 19: Wings, Claws, and Confessions
By the time the sun began dipping beneath the twin moons of Arcania, the Royal Celebration Grounds had shifted into their most chaotic phase yet: "Free Interaction Hour."
No more guards. No scheduled visits. No scroll-reading stewards micromanaging each handshake. Just Phoenix, a growing group of princesses, and a whole kingdom's worth of birthday cake in danger.
And just as Phoenix thought he might catch a break, a blur of royal red, gold embroidery, and raw confidence crashed into him like a meteor.
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The Duel of Wits: Enter the Human Princess
"Oof—!"
Phoenix staggered back, arms full of frosting from his newly delivered slice of cake. In front of him stood a tall (for her age), confident girl with piercing hazel eyes and a cheeky smirk. A long ceremonial sword hung on her back, far too real for a child to be carrying.
"You must be the Prince," she said, tilting her head. "You look... shorter than I expected."
Phoenix narrowed his eyes. "And you must be the Human Princess. You look... dangerously well-armed."
She laughed, the kind of laugh that made the nearby guards flinch.
"I'm Princess Calista of the Western Human Empire. I came to see what all the fuss was about."
"And?" Phoenix raised a brow.
She circled him like a hawk. "You don't seem like a weakling."
"Thank you?"
"You're also not afraid to talk back. I like that."
Before Phoenix could reply, she unsheathed her sword and jabbed it toward him—blunt side, thankfully—stopping a millimeter from his nose.
"I challenge you," she said, "to a battle of wits and warcake."
"…Warcake?"
She grinned and flicked her wrist.
Out of nowhere, a servant appeared, holding two mini-fork-launchers and a cake tray stacked like a siege weapon.
"Oh, we're really doing this," Phoenix whispered.
---
Battle of the Forks
What followed was an epic duel involving whipped cream missiles, tactical jellybombs, and an aggressive round of "Guess That Philosopher" in between bites.
Phoenix held his own surprisingly well, countering Calista's jabs with clever banter and frosting traps.
In the end, both children collapsed on the battlefield—faces painted with cream, stomachs full, and hearts pounding.
"You're not bad, Prince," Calista panted. "Most boys cry when I sword-spar them."
Phoenix coughed. "Most boys don't have sisters like mine."
She laughed again. "I like you."
"I noticed."
They sat in silence for a moment before she nudged his shoulder.
"Just so you know," she said, "I'm staking my claim."
Phoenix blinked. "Claim?"
"You'll understand when you're older."
---
Feathers, Songs, and Sky-Dancing
As Calista swaggered off toward the buffet, Phoenix wiped his face and looked up—only to see a shimmering silhouette descending from above, wings outstretched in the fading sunlight.
A girl floated down like a descending goddess: vibrant green-and-gold feathers along her arms and legs, long golden hair woven with stardust threads, and eyes like twin opals.
"Phoenix Nightshade," she said softly, landing with a barely audible rustle, "I am Aelira Skyheart of the Cloudsong Peaks."
Phoenix stared. "Whoa."
"Apologies," she said, bowing with avian grace. "Birdkin aren't always invited to royal gatherings. My mother insisted I attend… to see if the rumors were true."
"What rumors?"
She blinked innocently. "That the Dragon-Vampire Prince was born handsome."
Phoenix turned scarlet.
Aelira smiled.
"W-well, uh… welcome to my party," he stammered. "We have… juice?"
"I'm not here for juice," she said calmly. "I'm here for flight trials."
"…Flight what?"
A moment later, Phoenix found himself strapped into a featherlight harness, soaring above the celebration on a pair of borrowed mana-wings. Aelira guided him gently through the sky, teaching him how to pivot with wind glyphs and catch thermal updrafts.
They danced through the sky like kites on threads of moonlight, laughing every time Phoenix accidentally flipped upside down.
Finally, Aelira flew close and whispered, "When you truly master flight, Prince Phoenix, I will race you to the Moon Shrine. If you win, I'll give you my heart."
Phoenix nearly crashed into a floating lantern.
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Beastkin Trouble and Tent Chaos
After that aerial near-love confession, Phoenix landed ungracefully behind one of the celebration tents. Unfortunately for him, that's where trouble was.
And by trouble, he meant Rika Thunderpaw, the Beastkin Princess.
"Hey!" she barked, crouched like a hunter in a game of tag. "I've been looking for you all day, slowpoke!"
Phoenix yelped. "I've had a very emotional hour—"
"Not my problem!" Rika pounced, knocking him flat onto a cushion of hay. "You owe me a wrestle-fight."
"A what now?!"
"Tribal tradition!" she growled. "If a Beastkin girl pins a boy on his birthday, she can request a marriage trial!"
"IS THAT EVEN LEGAL?"
Before he could protest further, Rika started what could only be described as a royal play-wrestle. Phoenix dodged left, right, rolled under a table, and used a magical throw pillow to counter her grapples.
Eventually, they both collapsed, breathless, tangled in silk curtains and surrounded by confused musicians.
"I win," Rika whispered, her forehead touching his.
"I let you win," he mumbled, exhausted.
"Same thing," she smirked. "Now I'm your future wife."
Phoenix groaned.
"...Not again."
---
The Sisters Intervene
Later that evening, Phoenix limped back into the central garden, surrounded by balloons, drifting lanterns, and chaos. A giant banner floated overhead:
"Happy 5th Birthday, Phoenix Bennith Nightshade!"
His nine sisters waited for him, each with very different expressions.
Aurora: amused.
Mira: quietly concerned.
Diana: suspicious.
Artemis: already sharpening a sword.
"Let me guess," Aurora said. "More princesses?"
Phoenix flopped onto a plush couch. "Too many. And they all flirt differently. One threw a pie. One threatened me with a sword. One wants to race to the moon."
"And the Beastkin?" Artemis asked darkly.
Phoenix didn't answer.
"She tackled him," Mira whispered.
"Of course," Artemis said, standing up. "I'll go handle it."
"No killing anyone!" Phoenix shouted after her.
Diana knelt beside him. "So? Have you picked one?"
Phoenix groaned. "I like them all."
"Dangerous words," Aurora said, smirking.
"I mean I like them… differently!" he snapped. "One's funny. One's graceful. One's fierce. I don't know what love is yet. I just turned FIVE."
His sisters paused.
Then, Diana kissed his forehead.
"Good answer, little Prince."
---
One Last Visitor
As the night reached its quietest moment, and Phoenix sat alone sipping dragonfruit punch, a gentle hush fell over the garden.
A portal opened.
Out stepped a hooded figure—delicate, glowing faintly with pink aura—and beside her, Empress Rose herself.
Phoenix straightened. "Mother?"
Rose smiled. "Phoenix, darling. I'd like you to meet someone… special. She's shy."
The hood pulled back, revealing a tiny, soft-spoken girl with soft purple eyes and silken white hair tied in a bow.
"I'm… Hikari," she whispered. "Of the Hidden Realms."
Phoenix blinked.
Another one?
She handed him a tiny carved gemstone shaped like a heart.
"I… I wanted to be last," she mumbled. "So you remember me."
Phoenix looked at her—really looked.
There was something about her silence, her gentleness, that grounded him.
He took her hand, and for the first time that day, he didn't blush, didn't panic, didn't dodge.
"I will," he said simply.