The prince extended a shaking hand, adrenaline and the flush of victory still coursing through him. He wanted to lift the fallen Leena. He was the victor, yet he sought to show respect to one who had fought so hard and pushed him to his edge. They had found common ground in the dance of blades. Now, they could stand as equals.
Yet she lay there, seeming to refuse his hand, needing a moment to recover as she covered her face with her arm.
Terra rushed close in concern. The prince retreated a step in respect but frowned. The scene felt overblown. He had used a cheap tactic to win, true, but it was better than brute force. Once they took a moment, he would confess his guilt. Perhaps a new duel, with better terms, would let her claim the victory she deserved and show he could lose with grace.
He knew he probably would never have won otherwise. Her defense was impeccable. Awe and shame warred within him. His gift lay in offensive strikes; he hated defensive styles, relying on precision to end fights quickly. He looked forward to training with her to find ways to break such defenses—to push each other to become better.
Yet all of this hinged on her letting him explain. To let her know he had seen the error of his mocking ways. She had more than proved herself. He would make amends. Maybe they could even laugh about this foolish adventure, about how he'd had to hide his rank instead of just being a normal person.
His time was short. He had to leave soon—Father's orders were clear. A week, no more; it was always a gamble when his father would send an escort if he delayed. But Leena would get it; as a busy hero herself, she would understand his need to be forward. They were both people with responsibilities pulling at them.
"You're the only one who challenged me, Leena. That is worthy of praise in itself. I look forward to hearing your side of events over tea before I must leave."
He watched Terra help Leena up, his praise hanging in the air. He waited for her to offer the same courtesy—to acknowledge he had done something that surprised her, that proved he wasn't all talk. Up till now it wasn't the heroic meeting he'd wanted, but he could work with it. A conversation between warriors who'd tested each other and talked afterwards was common in the court.
As they began to move away without a word, he wasn't sure of their destination. Assuming he was welcome—why wouldn't he be after such a match? —he started to follow, continuing his praise. Perhaps they had heard the tea part and were already heading somewhere to talk. Yes, that made sense.
The prince kept talking, full of mirth. “I bet if we fought more, you would win every time. I fear I would not be able to match your shield if you were more rested. We could train together, find ways to—"
"YOU ALREADY WON."
Leena's voice boomed, startling the prince and freezing him mid-stride. He stood behind them, unsure what had gone wrong as her voice echoed. She let the following silence weigh heavy before speaking once more, low and final. "Stop mocking me and leave me alone."
Mocking? When? He had praised her easily and freely. Where was the disconnect? I thought we were getting along? We just fought together—that's how warriors bond, isn't it?
Terra glared at him, seeming to war between wanting to challenge him and a fear that held her back. For once, the prince was thankful the berserker did not feel strong enough to fight. His own mental state was not prepared for another battle. As he looked around, all he saw was malice in the eyes of the lingering crowd.
Why was he the bad guy? True, he had instigated things a little, but they had both agreed to the duel. It was not forced. He had even held back at first! Surely they had seen her skill. It was a fair fight between equals.
"We should go, my lord. Let it end here," Yarla's voice spoke softly from his side.
He nodded, not agreeing, and hating the feeling of fleeing under their judgment. He'd done nothing wrong. A duel, honorably fought. Praise freely given. An offer to talk as equals. Where was the crime in that?
Somehow, back at the inn, the service was slower and colder. Word had spread quickly. All agreed he was the aggressor who had tried to break their hero, their shield.
He wanted to clear his name but figured commoners would spin their own tales. Personally, he couldn't care less about most of their opinions. Well, to a point. The one opinion about him he really cared about was Leena's.
The prince needed her to understand he admired her skill. She would understand. She was just tired and needed time. He would try again tomorrow. Just once more before he had to leave.
As he sat slowly eating his tasteless meal, Yarla watched him with concern. "I have already packed. We can leave at any time, my lord."
"Why would we do that?" the Prince asked, genuinely confused. They'd just arrived at the interesting part—finding a hero who actually challenged him.
Yarla frowned; that look he knew too well. "Your father set a limit, remember? A week for visiting the heroes. Would you have me defy it?"
The prince flinched at the words as if they stabbed him; he knew it had been a week, and he knew how poorly it went with the other heroes…. And he knew the weight of wanting for Leena before it ended like….
This.
He'd barely had time with the one person who mattered.
“Just… give me more time. A day. Two at most, please, Yarla. Just to make things right with her."
Yarla's frown deepened. "You said something similar before, my lord. When you were in that dungeon pushing for depth level six. 'Just one more day' turned into a month while you trained there.”
"That was different! As you said, I was training. Making real progress." The prince shifted the food on his plate. "This is... I just want to talk to her. To explain. That's all."
"Have you fallen for the girl, my lord? That is not like you, to be so easily smitten."
"What? No. Don't be foolish, Yarla. You should know better than anyone I care little for romance." The prince met her eyes. "What I desired was to meet the heroes. Real heroes."
Yarla nodded slowly. "And you have done that, my lord. So why persist?"
"Because all the others shrank and flinched at my mere presence!" His voice rose slightly before he caught himself. "But Leena did not. Not only that, she challenged me.”
“ME."
"Your voice, my lord," Yarla said gently.
"Sorry." He lowered his voice, glancing around. A few faces looked away quickly. "But the point stands. She feels... she's the closest to an equal I've ever found. No—better than me. I want to show that respect to that. To learn from her."
"You won, my lord. What more are you hoping to achieve?"
Rylan looked around at the random faces lost in their own meals or worlds. Those who did look his way held either wariness or open malice. Neither was a comfort.
"I don't know. I… I just want to talk. Let her know my desire was to understand her as a hero, not mock her or... whatever they think I did." He met Yarla's eyes. "I won the duel. That means something, doesn't it? The right to at least explain myself?"
"My lord, that is not how commoners think. They can choose to ignore others without being in the wrong. Duels are not used to win the right to an audience."
"I know well how court politics works, Yarla. This is no different." The prince's hands clenched around his fork. "If two parties do not agree, one must settle the dispute with talks. I am not a naive child demanding what I want. I won the duel—that was the first step. Now we talk. That's how disputes end. With both sides explaining themselves."
She nodded, knowing he was hearing only what he wanted to hear. She would smooth things where she could—with the guards, the council, and the town. But each day she allowed him to stay pushed them a little closer to inevitable chaos, no matter how much she tried to maintain order.
And she could already feel it coming. Like storm clouds on the horizon.
The days that followed proved her fears right.
Word spread that the merchant was someone of influence—whispers of "lord" and "shadow servant" and "noble-born at least" rippled through the town. But those rumors died quickly thanks to Yarla's careful interventions and strategic "donations" to keep things quiet. Can't have the royal court hearing about this before he has a chance to make things right.
But his reputation never improved, poisoned by the perceived inability to understand he was not wanted—that his persistent chase of one specific hero while ignoring all others bordered on dangerous obsession.
Yet the Prince did not care.
Not when Yarla grew increasingly frustrated that he refused to leave each day that passed. Not when the town's hatred simmered just below the surface. Not when the other heroes avoided the streets he walked.
No.
He only needed the true hero, Leena, to understand. He saw her as a hero worth praising. He wasn't trying to hurt her or stalk her like some common brigand. He just wanted someone he respected to understand him—that he wasn't wrong, that yes, he had gone too far pushing her into the duel, and he would concede that point, but he couldn't concede it properly if she would not talk to him.
That was how you resolved disputes, wasn't it? Both sides talking? Coming to terms?
So why was he the bad guy for wanting to be heard when nobody would listen?
And if he left now—went back to the court without resolving this—they would hear about it. Someone always talked. They'd say the prince challenged a national hero and fled. That he bullied her and ran with his tail between his legs.
He couldn't let that story spread. For his sake. For her sake.
One conversation. That's all he needed. She could tell them it was a misunderstanding. That he'd apologized. That they'd reached an understanding.
Then he could leave with his honor intact.
So he waited.
The Prince stood across the street from Wolf's shop, far enough back to not seem threatening. He could see the door from here. See when Leena arrived or left.
He wasn't hiding—that would be wrong. Sneaky. Deceptive.
He was being visible. Honest about his presence. That was the key difference.
If he hid in shadows, waited in alleys, and cornered her when she was alone—that would be stalking. That would be the behavior of someone with ill intent.
But standing openly, where she could see him, where anyone could witness his respectful distance? That proved his intentions were pure.
She'd notice eventually. She'd realize he was serious about making amends. That he wasn't going away until they talked like civilized people.
Any day now.
"My lord, perhaps we should—"
"One more day, Yarla." The prince didn't look at her. "Just one more day. She'll come around."
Yarla said nothing. even though this was not the sixth nor seventh time he said that, but now the eighth day
She knew she was being too passive but could not help herself. She knew the prince was harmless if not too fixated; usually it was about battle and a honed skill, but now turned into a hero desire, it became more of an arrow that will end with someone getting hurt if she wasn't careful.
"She still won't acknowledge me," the prince said, pacing his inn room. “I spent three days waiting across the street, and Leena hadn't even looked my way.’
The prince knew his time left was narrowing every hour, even if Yarla kept conceding his father won’t after this many days of absence, and his passive waiting for Leena was not working, yet he could not force her and did not want to force her….
"Perhaps that is her acknowledgment, my lord. Her answer" Yarla spoke, breaking the prince's thoughts.
"No. She's just... uncertain? The town's turned her against me with their rumors." He stopped pacing. "Maybe I'm too far away? Maybe it looks like I'm giving up, like I don't really mean it?"
"Lord, you've been trying different ways for a week—“
"At a distance. Maybe that sends the wrong message?" He rushed to the mirror to check his face. "I need to be more visible. Closer. So she can see my face clearly. See that I'm not hiding anything, that I mean every word I said about respecting her."
"My lord—"
"Not threatening, Yarla. Just... closer. Present. So she knows I'm serious."
He headed for the door.
Yarla watched him go and felt the storm clouds growing darker.
The prince stood outside the shop door now. Not across the street. Not at a distance.
Right there. Visible. Unavoidable.
"Leena, just hear me out!" His voice carried into the shop. "You can't keep avoiding me! I just want to clear up the misunderstandings. I wanted to meet all the heroes, but you were the only one who truly challenged me!"
People entering and leaving the shop gave him dark looks. He ignored them.
They didn't understand. They thought he was harassing her.
But harassment meant hiding. Sneaking. Being deceptive about your intentions.
He was being open. Honest. That's what separated him from someone with ill intent.
"Leena, I tire of repeating myself over misunderstandings!" He tried to keep the frustration from his voice. "Just meet with me already so we can talk! It's not like I'm demanding your hand or anything—just a formal end to our meeting! Just closure!"
Silence from inside the shop.
The shadow of someone moving away from the window.
His hands clenched.
Time was running out.
=====
Terra followed the merchant once more; when he learned Leena wasn't at her smithy, he would wander elsewhere. It seemed he liked stalking Leena even now as Leena was at her brother's shop, watching the merchant wait nearby; Terra's jaw was tight waiting for the merchant to do something more.
She'd kept tabs on him as best she could. He was easy to follow—always at the inn at night, always making a beeline to find Leena first thing in the morning. If Leena wasn't there at the smith, he'd wander the town asking after her, or worse, he'd wait. Just wait in the distance at first, then closer, then right outside the door when he learns where she is. as time went on
Never taking the hint that his presence wasn't wanted.
The first few days had seemed almost harmless. He'd even given up easily at first, making it seem he'd finally understood. But each day after that, their surprise at his continued presence turned into something colder. Something that tasted like fear.
He grew more desperate for attention they would not give. And it was becoming a real concern that he might try something more direct. More forceful.
He never touched Leena. Never threatened her openly. He even kept some distance at first, back when he was pretending to respect boundaries.
But he kept talking. He kept insisting he wasn't seeking her hand but "honor" and "redemption" and "proving she was a hero." He repeated it enough that Terra remembered the words even after trying to ignore him for days.
What made zero sense was that despite all his words about honor and respect, he refused to notice the most important thing: they did not care. Leena didn't want his apologies or his praise or his goddamn respect.
She wanted him gone.
But he just kept looping back to wanting to talk—a talk Leena would not entertain and Terra fully agreed with. The shadow girl, Yarla, kept trying to say her "lord" was harmless, just trying to make a connection. That he'd leave soon. That he meant well. Though Yarla was also careful not to push anyone to enable the prince's desire, even if she did not stop it.
But her battle-sister Leena did not care about that merchant's intentions, and neither did Terra.
Yet it was wearing them both down.
Terra was tired of trying to be nice, tired of making excuses to avoid the shop when he was there, and tired of walking Leena home through back streets so he wouldn't follow.
The merchant kept showing up. Kept repeating that damned pattern.
She'd have to escalate this.
She would get Arlin.
=====
Arlin shifted down the stairs into the kitchen and saw his mom just finishing lunch—a simple sandwich. He ate it happily, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and thanked her for the food.
He was in high spirits. A rare day off after all his recent training, and he wanted to surprise Terra. She'd been more absent lately, which worried him. He'd gotten used to her being needy, always wanting to be near him, and now he missed her by his side.
He'd surprise her. Maybe go to the cake shop and let her squeal over some random treat while she told him about her day. It would be fun.
No sooner had he told his mom his plans for the day than he saw Terra entering the guard hall as he was leaving.
He shifted to her side, gave her a hug and a quick peck on the cheek—not wanting too much public display of affection.
But he was surprised she wasn't happy to see him.
"Sorry I've been busy. Got the day off though. Was thinking maybe the cake shop? My treat."
Terra still looked forlorn.
"I promise I won't make work a habit. I did miss you. I've just been busy with all the new captain duties."
Terra shook her head. "It's Len who needs you. Not me."
That… was odd.
He looked around. A few people near the counter were talking casually, not noticing the scene. But others were deliberately looking away, trying not to notice the shadow man with the tall girl.
"Let's walk and talk, okay?"
Terra nodded.
Outside, the air was cool with a touch of sun-warmth, but the look on Terra's face never changed.
How bad is it? Arlin thought.
"It's that merchant. He's still here, still chasing Len."
Merchant… merchant… Arlin's mind raced. He'd heard something about a duel with a weird ending. Yeah, Len lost.
Wait.
Still here?
His stomach dropped.
"Is it that same merchant who came to me, what, maybe two weeks ago? Asking about the heroes?"
Terra nodded.
Two weeks. That merchant had been here for two weeks.
And Arlin had met him long before those two weeks. Had dismissed him as harmless. Some fanboy merchant wanted to hear hero stories and was passing through.
And now—
"Damn it." Arlin's hands clenched. Before his face shifted to one full of surprise;
“Wait…. How is the mayor not taking heads? He would be the first to fire and then ask questions even if I did not know….”
"Word spread saying the mayor approved him being here. I don't know what happened after that; I heard there were talks with merchants, shadow servants also poofing around, and U were busy with training, and—" Terra started slumping in defeat. "I did not know what to do since Leena won't ask for help. I'm sorry."
Arlin closed his eyes. Took a breath.
"Don't. Don't apologize. This is on me." He opened his eyes, looking up to meet hers. "I've barely become a captain. And in time I was; I was so focused on training, paperwork, or on helping my mom…”
He trailed off.
"I forgot to actually watch for anyone else.”
Terra touched his arm gently.
Arlin found a shaded, quiet corner and had her explain what little she knew. It was the same merchant he assumed it was. He wasn't hurting Leena physically. Wasn't threatening her with violence.
But he would not stop trying to get her to talk, even when she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
Terra was lost. She felt this would never end. She'd come to Arlin because he was guard captain, because he had the authority to make it stop. and because everyone else was passive and complicit to a point.
"Okay, Terra. I've got this. Arlin tried to put confidence in his voice.
She embraced him easily. Her warmth was nice even if it was a little embarrassing in public.
"I know U do. Or I wouldn't have asked U for help.”
Terra feared it would come to violence, and her stress from the ogre battle was coming back, so Arlin said he would visit her when it was all over.
After she left, Arlin stood there for a moment, feeling the weight of his failure.
He'd chosen to not just guard this town but do it as the captain, and he'd failed the one person who should have been protected most—the woman who'd saved them all.
Yeah. He'd end this now.
Regardless of what political games the council or mayor were playing, regardless of who this merchant really was, Arlin had the right—the duty—to remove troublemakers.
And this merchant had troubled Leena long enough.
Arlin found a few men he trusted among the guards and asked around carefully.
What he learned made his blood run cold.
Several guards confessed they'd been told to "keep quiet" about the merchant. That he was "leaving soon anyway," so there was no need to bother the captain. Some admitted to receiving small payments—"discretion bonuses," the shadow lady called them.
Not huge bribes. Just enough to look the other way.
The merchant never pushed beyond trying to talk to Leena, they said. Never threatened her. Never tried to force his way into buildings.
He just... wouldn't leave.
Followed her around every day. Waited outside her workplace. Made it impossible for her to go about her business without seeing him.
And somehow, everyone had convinced themselves this was fine.
The anger rose in Arlin like a tide. And one more thing: he wondered how not only the mayor would allow his niece but also her dad, who was in the council and said nothing. Were they getting coin too?
No…they would never accept a bribe…there had to be something more he was missing.
Yet he was finding out, in this roundabout way, that this issue had been open knowledge among the guards. Not hidden. Just... ignored. Because someone with money and influence wanted it ignored. and it went all the way to the top ….
He'd been so buried in training schedules and shift rotations that he'd missed it entirely.
He would make sure there were better protocols after this. No more omitting information from reports just because someone asked nicely. That path led to corruption, to abuse festering in darkness where it couldn't be found.
But first, he had to end this.
Now.
The guards' information led Arlin to Wolf's shop.
As described, the merchant was outside, pacing near the door. Not quite blocking it—probably because he'd been asked to leave and was "respecting" that boundary by staying outside.
But not leaving. Not giving up.
Loudly proclaiming why he couldn't possibly leave things unresolved.
"Leena, just hear me out!" The merchant's voice carried. "You can't keep avoiding me! I just want to clear up the misunderstandings. I wanted to meet all the heroes, but you were the only one who truly challenged me!"
Arlin moved closer, watching the scowls of people entering and leaving the shop. They had to walk around the merchant. Had to endure his presence.
"Leena, I tire of repeating myself over misunderstandings!" The merchant's frustration was showing now. "Just meet with me already so we can talk! It's not like I'm demanding your hand or anything—just a formal end to our meeting! Just acknowledgment that I'm not the villain here!"
"We understand you enough already," Arlin said coldly. "Leave."
The merchant spun around, surprise flashing across his face before it settled into something harder. More defensive.
"This doesn't concern you, commoner. This is between me and the hero. I have unresolved business I wish to address. Nothing more."
"Funny you say that." Arlin kept his voice level. "Just two weeks ago you came to me, asking about heroes. It seemed harmless then. Now you won't leave my friend alone."
Recognition flickered in the merchant's eyes. "I remember you. You said you were weak. Failed against the ogre." His tone was dismissive. "I have no quarrel with you. I seek only to speak with Leena, to explain—"
"I know what you seek. You've been seeking it for nearly a week, I was told." Arlin let the words hang there. "Following her. Waiting outside her work. Making her afraid to exist in her own town."
"I have been RESPECTFUL—" The merchant's voice rose.
"You've been stalking her."
The word landed like a slap.
The merchant's face flushed red. "I have NOT—I have kept my distance! I have been OPEN about my presence, about my intentions! I haven't hidden or sneaked around or—"
"You think being obvious about stalking someone makes it not stalking?" Arlin stepped closer. "You think if you loudly proclaim your 'pure intentions' while refusing to leave, that somehow makes it acceptable?"
"I am within my rights to seek an audience! To request a conversation! I won the duel fairly—"
"You won the right to leave her alone."
The merchant's hands clenched into fists. "I am trying to make amends. To prove to this town I am not a bully! To show respect to a worthy opponent! And you stand here and slander me—"
"I'm calling it what it is." Arlin's voice was flat. Cold. "Stalking."
The merchant stood there, shaking. Not from fear—from rage at being called out by someone he clearly considered beneath him.
Arlin watched the merchant's face and realized direct confrontation wasn't working. The man wasn't hearing it. He was dismissing it as a commoner's misunderstanding of noble intentions.
Words alone wouldn't break through that wall of privilege.
Fine.
If words wouldn't work, maybe forcing him to see would.
"Since you've got a problem listening," Arlin said, his tone shifting to something colder, more calculated, "and since you seem to be looking for a fight anyway, how about we settle this the same way you tried to settle your 'misunderstanding' with Len? With a duel."
The merchant actually laughed. "Don't be absurd. You already admitted your own weakness. I gain nothing by humiliating you in front of these people."
"Scared?" Arlin's voice was deliberately mocking now.
"Of you? Hardly."
"Then here are the terms." Arlin paused, making sure he had the merchant's full attention. Making sure the crowd was listening too. "If I win, you leave. Today. Right now. You pack your things, and you never come back to this town."
The merchant's expression suggested he'd already won. "And if I win?"
Arlin let the pause hang for greater effect.
"If you win... I will personally get Len to talk to you." He watched the merchant's face. "Even if I have to drag her from her bed. Force her to sit down and listen to whatever you want to say, for as long as you want to say it. Make her give you that conversation you're so desperate for."
The crowd gasped.
The merchant's face went from triumph to shock to fury in the span of a heartbeat.
"She is NOT—" His voice cracked. " She is not anyone's PROPERTY to be bartered or FORCED! Especially not by the likes of you! Are you MAD?"
Arlin smiled, not for using Len in a ploy—he hated that—but for forcing that merchant to see what he was trying to do by stalking Len, as Arlin went on smugly.
"Am I?" Arlin tilted his head, voice still cold. "I'm just offering to do what you've been doing for a week. Force her attention. Make her listen whether she wants to or not. Treat her time like something that can be won or bargained for."
"I have never FORCED—"
"You've made it impossible for her to exist without seeing you." Arlin's voice was quiet now. Cutting. "Every single day. For a week. She can't go to work without you being there. Can't walk home without you following. Can't exist in her own town without your presence. That's not force?"
"That's COMPLETELY different! I kept my DISTANCE—"
"You followed her everywhere."
"I never TOUCHED her—"
"You made her afraid to leave her own shop."
"I was OPEN about my intent; I never hid—"
"Your intent was to force a conversation she doesn't want." Arlin's voice hardened. "And you think being honest about forcing it makes it acceptable?"
The merchant stood there, eyes growing colder.
Hearing his own behavior described as forcing someone. Compared to dragging a woman from her bed.
The comparison was grotesque. Unfair. Wrong.
It wasn't the same. He'd been respectful. He'd kept boundaries. He'd—
But the crowd was looking at him with the same horror they'd shown at Arlin's crude offer.
As if there were no difference.
As if what he'd been doing was the same as what this guard just described.
"You DARE—" the merchant's voice shook. "You dare compare my honorable attempts at reconciliation to—to FORCING someone—to treating a woman like property—"
"Yeah," Arlin said quietly. "I dare."
Arlin paused, then added, "And you know what? You're right. I was stupid. Using Len like that. Treating her time as something to barter with, as if she's a prize to be won instead of a person with her own choices."
He met the merchant's eyes.
"So we're both stupid and both wrong then. Me for using Len to barter. You for stalking for a week.”
The words hung in the air.
"Be the better man," Arlin said quietly. "Leave."
The merchant stood there, seeming still as water, as if weighing the words for truth.
Somewhere deep down, the comparison had hit home.
The example had worked—at least partially.
The merchant could see it was wrong when Arlin said it perversely. When it was described as "dragging someone from their bed" and "forcing them to listen."
But his own behavior? Waiting outside her shop? Following her? Being visible about his intentions?
That was... different.
Wasn't it?
The doubt flickered in the prince's eyes for just a moment.
Then the prince's anger came back. Stronger. He felt the guard called him a stalker. Compared him to someone who would force a woman. And now there stood a man who'd admitted his own weakness and felt himself unworthy.
"I will have that duel." His voice was cold. Dead. "Not for her time. Not to win anything. But because you have insulted my honor more than once with slander.”
Arlin raised an eyebrow.
"You called me a STALKER." The prince's voice was cold and smooth. "You compared my respectful attempts to make amends to FORCING someone against their will. And now you stand there—you,
a self-admitted failure who couldn't even defeat a simple ogre—and you think ME unworthy of respect to even be heard?”
"I don't know who you think you are. But I have trained my entire life. I am blessed by the gods themselves. And you—a commoner who confessed his own weakness—dare to stand there and judge me?"
"Yeah," Arlin said simply. "I do."
"Then we settle this the way men of honor do. With blades." The prince's stance was proud and defiant. "And when I win—when I prove my skill in front of all these witnesses—you will take back every word. You will acknowledge that I kept boundaries. That I showed respect. That I am worthy."
Arlin looked at him for a long moment. There was something almost sad in his eyes now.
"When you win," he said quietly, "you'll prove you're good at fighting and forcing others to get your way. Nothing more. Nothing less."
The prince's jaw clenched.
"No… I’ll prove slander cannot win; that's what I'll prove."
"Fine," Arlin said. "But know this: whatever happens in this duel, you're leaving afterward. Win or lose, this ends today."
The prince nodded stiffly.
He'd take that victory.
Prove his worth.
Make them all see they were wrong about him.
And then... then he'd figure out what to do about the hollow feeling that grew in him that were words bound in his chest that he felt dig into him.
He was unworthy of respect.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXcBOwK8ZaM
and then Add to home screen.