The butterfly people are people of elegance. They have long silky hair, complimented by their wings along with tastefully picked gowns or suites. The common people are just as bright looking. All of them were blessed with shimmering eyes and glittering wings. All but Riona.
She had been reminded of her hanging eyes and unappealing dark wings numerous times by her brother and his rude friends. She could recall the times when King Vailant was still around the castle. He would smile down at his daughter, reassuring her softly, "You are just as exquisite as any other butterfly." Then he would whisper, "Your darkness is what brings out the light in others, Roni."
Riona's little shy self would hide her face behind her tossed locks, she somewhat used them as curtains to hide away. She remembered one of Drystan's close friends, Cornel, always tugging on her hair laughing. At times she did wonder where that friend might be.
The princess' focus returned to the training arena before her. To prove her brother wrong, she showed up to observe the progress of training. The shade felt good. She despised a sunburn just as much as the next goblin. To her right leaned Vance, all relaxed on his sword, which was pressed into the soil. The sweat beads patterned his forehead from the prior session. His gaze was intense nonetheless. In the arena sparred a couple of men whom he had been coaching, all heaving, muscles assumably aching.
Riona's lips pursed as her lazy eyes spotted her brother slicking towards the stables on the other side of the field. "I see your brother is off to braid flutterpony tails again," snickered Vance. She flicked my head towards him, shrugging. "He adores the horses, especially his cream mare. I bet he considers her far better company than anyone else," replied the princess with honesty. Her best friend smirked, musing, "Now that I would have rather expected of you — hiding from the crowds. The Prince is quite popular with the people."
"And you?"
"I'm not too shabby myself," boasted Vance, still smug, lifting his chin. She raised a brow. Secretly, she had found displeasure with the thought that Vance might be romantically involved with another butterfly. Years ago he was often talking with a girl in their teen years. Riona would wish her away in her thoughts and one day, the girl did vanish...
"What happened to Mercy? You know, Mercy Bloodstain, the girl with deep red wings you used to indulge with?"
Vance's face slightly dropped, a hand reached to rub the back of his neck as he averted his gaze. He was uncomfortable with the topic but Riona wanted to know, so she ignored his discomfort. "She moved away," he said, his voice tinted with some sort of disappointment. "Oh," the princess thought aloud, "You must have been close."
"Ah, I wouldn't say close but I enjoyed her company... She was... Kind and soft."
Riona could feel her brows twitching to knit together, yet her composure restrained them out of courtesy. Kind and soft? She wondered. What was that supposed to imply? Was she soft to the touch? Did she have a kind gaze? Did she speak gently? Somehow insecurity hugged her from behind. Jealousy was comparing the two ladies in her head. Yes, Mercy was a petite girl with milky skin. Freckles sprinkled across her nose, sun kisses the people called them. She had lighter coloured eyes than Riona and her hair was smooth. Mercy braided Riona's hair for a training lesson once. Mercy commented with her pitchy voice that Riona's hair was, "frizzy and hard to work with" since it tended to be dry. Drystan cared about his appearance unlike the princess, who would rather choose clothes that are easy to move in than the corset dresses in fashion.
Vance turned back, distracting Riona from her thoughts: "But you are different. You are strong-willed."
The princess blinked in confusion. What was that supposed to mean?
It was her turn to avert her attention. One of the soldiers was waving a hand, motioning the higher ranks to join them in the dreadful heat. As official army leaders, the two walked over, too tired to fly. "Speak, Carston," permitted Vance, folding his arms over his chest. Riona's eyes wandered on their own, settling on his arms. She caught a glimpse of his biceps straining and felt the tippy tops of her ears heat up the slightest bit. Hastily, her lashes fluttered to turn her eyes away, hoping to not have been caught glimpsing.
"We were wondering if the Princess, your highness, could spare us a match," chirped the fellow, "Just a friendly one."
At the word 'match', the princess' posture straightened as if she had not already been exhausted from prior coaching. "I have no problem. With only hands or with weapons?" she offered happily.
"Swords," agreed Carston, now slightly nervous.
"Are you certain? We do not want to have unnecessary wounds," interrupted another man. Riona smirked, her eyes zooming in on the swords displayed on the weapon rack. "I will play nice," she assured, a feeling stirring in the depths of her gut that she could have been considered addicted to. "Sir Radan Venetus, are you here to keep me in line?" She asked innocently, fully aware that her old tutor was there for exactly that. Radan chuckled, "I am most familiar with your thirst for blood, Riona. I was the one who brought you up after all."
Vance rolled his eyes. "Father, you are retired," he reminded, "You are to be working on your hobbies."
"This is my hobby. I am sworn to aid the kingdom in every way. I am here to help along with the training."
The princess couldn't care less about their babbling. Her chain-covered legs strode towards the weapons, the chain mail tingling cold sensations on her skin, her fiery eyes already focused on her choice of weapon. A sword of course. She preferred lighter swords with long grips and perfectly balanced pummels. As a woman, the princess was diminutive compared to the knights, so at times it was required to hold the sword grip with both hands.
Her fingers curled around the handle of a sword, which seemed rather old and insignificant, yet lethal in the right warrior's hands. Leisurely she gazed towards Carston. "Are you set?"
"Of course, it would be rude to keep the princess waiting," laughed the young man, taking a stance. Riona smiled to herself, walking towards him. "I was simply being polite myself," she said, her eyes now piercing toward him from under her lashes.
Unannounced, her arm swung towards Casten with the sharp blade with all intent to cut through armour. The man had been caught off guard and his feet stumbled backwards, his chest almost nicked by the tip of the blade. A surprised gasp escaped his lungs, "Please start slow!"
Riona quirked a brow. "The Moths won't be slow," she retorted, "They aren't as considerate as the women at the pub."
Carstens expression widened and Riona grinned even more thrilled that she had thrown her opponent off.
Her body spun to her right, sword swinging once more, leaving the amateur fighter no option but to dodge. Radan had taught Riona to be an attacker. She possessed the aggression for it after all. As an attacker, she found that she could determine the level of expertise of her opponents. Someone who could block her strikes was more trained than someone who tended to dodge. On the other hand, she liked to throw the competitors off with unexpected remarks. It was easier to slay someone whose mind was distracted than someone fully engulfed in the battle.
At last, Carsten had been given the chance to strike. He jabbed with his sword cowardly at Riona's torso and she stepped back to grant him space. She circled the man, intently analyzing. A yell left her as she leapt into the air. Her wings carried her and with both hands, she was about to stab the guard when he tripped. A voice had called something from the distance. Riona's pointed ears picked it up, so she wedged the sword next to Carstens abdomen.
Both their chests heaved as adrenalin still rushed through their veins. Her eyes still kept their stare on Carsten's blade, which he had held over his chest protectively. She offered a hand which Carsten took submissively, face dropping in defeat. "You must keep it in mind," she said slowly, "That the enemy could aim for either your wings or legs. Some rivals like to play with their prey before going for the throat."
Carsten looked up. "Does your highness do that?"
"Only to weak fighters."
His eyes widened at her shady announcement though the princess turned towards a group of butterflies who were gathered on the other side of the field. She frowned, her face hardening. An unsettling churn in her chest alerted her of danger — an off feeling.
Her wings fluttered, lifting her from the ground towards the gathering. Few guards parted for her landing. Before her stood a bruised-up guard, his arm clutched tightly in his chest, a line of blood trickling from his forehead. His dark green wings had been chipped, a slight rip in his lower left wing. Someone must have slashed it...
"What is this?" she rumbled. The bruised guard squinted from under a brow with his open eye, the other contaminated with blood. "Your highness, the Moths... They are close to our boarders."
Riona stood tall with shock. She hadn't expected them so soon. Panic, panic is what jabbed at her chest, restraining her ability to breathe properly. We aren't ready, we don't have enough weapons, the Moths are at our boarders, the castle isn't prepared, the other troops aren't here yet... My brother doesn't have his plans set out! She rambled on in her head. The little voice in her head was shouting. It took everything in Riona not to hyperventilate or to rush off.
She took in a sharp breath. "Are you one of my brothers spies?" The man watched her carefully before nodding slowly. That was all she needed so she turned away to find her brother.