The atmosphere within the secret garden gradually began to thaw, though a thick layer of awkwardness still hung in the humid air like morning mist. Eins cleared his throat, a small, rhythmic sound intended to steady his racing heart, which had nearly flatlined during Hawkwind's lightning-fast assault. He adjusted his spectacles, which had slipped down the bridge of his nose in the commotion.
"Since fate has seen fit to gather us all here... allow me to introduce my companions formally," Eins began, gently pulling Zelia to his side so she was framed by the protective presence of his shadow. "This is Lysara, my partner and guardian. And this is little Zelia, the child we have taken into our care."
Elson, never one to be outdone in a display of social standing, draped an arm over Leonika's shoulder, despite the dragon-girl's haughty expression. "And this is Leonika, the dragon-kin who ensures my life is... well, significantly more chaotic than I ever intended it to be."
Princess Zovia gazed at the group, her wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of shock and dawning realization. She saw a unique, recurring pattern—a shared destiny etched in the gathered faces. "So... it isn't just me? You two, as well... you share a bond with the races of the Ancient World?"
Eins and Elson exchanged a weighted glance, their faces flushing a synchronized shade of pink. They realized they were all sailing in the same precarious vessel: humans whose hearts were inextricably tethered to living legends that the rest of the world viewed as monsters to be feared.
"Your Highness," Eins asked, his curiosity as a researcher finally overriding his nerves, "how exactly did your path cross with a predator like Hawkwind?"
Zovia offered a bittersweet smile, her gaze drifting toward Hawkwind, who had settled into a quiet, observant posture at her side. "A few years ago, the walls of this palace felt more like a cage than a home. I began to sneak out, riding toward the high grasslands at the border. One afternoon, I strayed too deep into the Primordial Forest and discovered a titan of a tree that seemed to have stood since the dawn of time. Buried deep within its massive, gnarled roots, I found Hawkwind—slumbering in a state of profound hibernation."
Zovia described how her curiosity had triumphed over her fear. She visited the tree every day, clearing away the suffocating debris that covered Hawkwind's body and even leaving bouquets of wildflowers near his head. When he finally awoke from his thousand-year sleep, he didn't strike. Instead, he found a girl who greeted him not with a sword, but with a warm smile and a basket of fresh fruit.
"We learned the language of each other's souls," she continued softly. "Hawkwind taught me how to perceive the world from the soaring heights of the clouds, and I tended to the wounds he sustained from a world that had forgotten him. But knowing he would be hunted as a trophy, I begged my father to build this garden under the guise of a private retreat. My father believes it is for my vanity, but in truth, it is the only sanctuary where Hawkwind can exist without the fear of a royal archer's arrow."
Once the long tale concluded, Eins steered the conversation back to the pressing shadows. "Regarding Prince Zamburg... Princess, are you absolutely certain of his malice? To the public, he is the paragon of chivalry and diplomatic grace."
Zovia's face contorted with a flash of pure revulsion. "It is a mask—a hollow, porcelain shell. Behind closed doors, he is a man of rot. He shamelessly courts other women behind his betrothed's back, squanders the royal treasury on hedonistic whims, and, most chillingly, he takes pleasure in tormenting commoners and servants whenever he believes no official is watching. My family sees the prince; I see the predator."
At those words, a palpable wave of killing intent erupted from Lysara and Leonika. A vein throbbed in Lysara's forehead, and Leonika's fingers began to emit tiny, crackling sparks of dragon-fire.
"This... this maggot of a prince... thinks he can lay a hand on a soul like yours?" Lysara hissed, her voice a low, guttural vibration. "Eins, give me the word. I will crush his skull into the palace flagstones right now."
"Calm yourselves, Lysara! Leonika!" Eins and Elson shouted in unison, each grabbing their partner's arm to prevent them from leaping over the garden walls in a fit of protective rage.
"We cannot move without cold, hard evidence," Eins said, his voice turning clinical and sharp. "Elson and I will conduct a thorough investigation while we act as his guides this afternoon. We will observe him when the eyes of the King are absent. If he is as rotten as you say, the mask will eventually slip."
High noon arrived with a flourish of royal trumpets. The golden gates of the palace swung wide as a magnificent carriage, gilded in gold and pulled by six white stallions, rolled into the courtyard. Prince Zamburg stepped out with the effortless grace of a storybook hero. His blonde hair shimmered like spun silk, his features were as if carved by a master sculptor, and his smile was a masterpiece of manufactured charm.
He approached Princess Zovia, dropping to one knee with theatrical flourish, and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. "A profound honor to gaze once more upon the jewel of Arkveil," he purred, his baritone voice as smooth as aged wine.
Zovia returned the gesture with a practiced, professional smile, though Eins noted the microscopic tremor in her hand—a physical manifestation of her disgust. King Scard then summoned the two adventurers. "Eins, Elson. Accompany the Prince. Ensure his excursion through our city is both safe and exemplary."
The task began. They guided the Prince out of the palace gates and toward the central markets. High above, invisible to the common eye, Lysara—with Zelia secured in her harness—and Leonika tracked them from the rooftops, their eyes locked onto every movement the Prince made.
Once they were deep enough into the city to be out of the reach of palace spies, Zamburg's true nature erupted like a lanced boil.
"You, commoner," Zamburg snapped at Eins, his voice now high and condescending. "Why is your pace so sluggish? Do you expect me to walk in the dust of your indecision? And you," he pointed at Elson with a sneer, "keep your distance. The scent of your labor is offensive to my senses."
Throughout the walk, Zamburg acted with a monstrous sense of entitlement. He snatched rare fruits and expensive silks from the market stalls without offering a single copper. When the merchants attempted to protest, the Prince merely let out a cold, threatening huff, forcing Eins to discreetly reach into his own coin pouch to settle the debts and prevent a riot.
The climax of his arrogance occurred as they traversed a narrow alleyway, muddy from a recent rainfall. Zamburg halted abruptly before a wide, murky puddle.
"I have no intention of soiling my bespoke calfskin boots," Zamburg declared, casting a cynical, mocking glance at Eins. "You, little researcher. Strip off that leather jacket of yours. Lay it across this filth as my stepping stone."
Eins went still. Beside him, Elson's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his temper reaching a boiling point. Eins placed a steadying hand on his friend's arm. With a calm, measured patience, Eins unbuckled his beloved researcher's jacket—the one he had meticulously maintained—and spread it over the thick black mud. Prince Zamburg walked across it with an arrogant laugh, intentionally grinding the heel of his boot into the most delicate seams of the garment.
On the rooftops, Lysara's claws unsheathed with a metallic shring. Her eyes burned a predatory crimson as she watched her partner being treated like a doormat. Leonika was equally primed, a fireball already swirling in her palm, waiting for the slightest signal from Eins to incinerate the royal.
Once the Prince had passed, Eins knelt and retrieved his jacket, now soaked in foul, black sludge. He pulled a small parchment from his belt—a Magic Scroll: Wind Dry—and activated it, instantly blasting away the moisture and the loose dirt, though the deep stains remained as a permanent scar on the leather.
The duty concluded as the sun began to set. Zamburg carelessly tossed a small, rattling pouch at Eins and Elson's feet. "For your service. Consider it a bonus for being such obedient lapdogs."
Eins opened the pouch. It contained exactly thirty copper bits—a pittance that wouldn't even cover a fraction of the cost of the goods the Prince had stolen in the market.
Eins and Elson retreated to a secluded section of the city wall where Lysara and Leonika were waiting. The air was thick with a heavy, suffocating tension.
"Eins... why did you allow that?" Lysara asked, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "I could have ended his lineage in a heartbeat. Why did you let him humiliate you?"
Eins looked at his stained jacket, then up at his friends. His eyes were no longer filled with patience; they held a cold, academic determination that was far more terrifying than anger.
"Because killing him there would have branded us as common criminals and sparked a war," Eins replied calmly. "But now, we have the one thing he cannot survive: a witness to his true soul. Elson, Leonika, Lysara... let us draft a strategy. We are going to expose this rot to the light. We will strip away his mask in front of the entire kingdom, precisely at the moment he feels most untouchable."
"I'm in," Elson said, slamming his fist into his palm. "Let's show this 'Golden Prince' what it feels like to fall into the real mud."
To be continued...