Prince

Rage, the feeling of one’s back against the cold corner. My heart raging to be freed while it rioted my chest. My sword, the angle duster, gripped tightly in my fist, and my golden shield wrapped in iron planted in front of me.

Cypress, the dreaded one-eyed dragon hovered in front of me with menacing black wings. It’s the clawed hands clenched angrily and sharp scowl intense enough to crack mirrors. Its black serpent-like skin with dripping oily blood as a result of my onslaught, that day, I would slay the dreaded dragon plaguing the kingdom of Avalor.

It blasted me once more, its fearsome flames consuming my body. My shield split the blast. I leaped over the flames and drove my sword through the neck of the beast. It collapsed from the air and landed with its body sprawled out. The beast convulsed for a moment, then exhaled one final time.

Within its mouth, was the final ingredient to the Zicary, a family masterpiece. A chalice designed only for the most exceptional wines. Made from glass as clear as the blue summer sky and encased in luxurious gold. Embellished in glimmering green gemstones, and painted in vibrant purple and blue, it was to be an offering. The reservoir looks like that of a sea of gold when filled.

The dragon’s fang was to be used as the stem, or handle of the chalice. It connected the solid gold base with the spacious bowl. I ripped the tooth from its jaw, tearing red meat with it, and placed the tooth into my satchel. I hopped on horseback and left the apex of the snowy mountain back home.

My name is Tybalt, a peasant. Taking after my father, I am tall and lengthy with veiny white. My face is smooth and humble. One that looks like it belongs to a farmer. We only eat when possible, or when an event is on the horizon. My family spent our remaining gold on feeding me the day prior, in order to ready me to obtain a dragon fang. I didn’t want to kill the animal, but it left me with no other choice.

I belong to a family split in two in two by opposing ideals and talents. Even my very own parents argued, leaving me alone on my own devices. My father belonged to a family celebrated for their remarkable swordsmanship, and my mother’s side, is known for its unparalleled craftsmanship.

Then there’s me, lying in the center. As an only child, I am expected to exhibit attributes coming from both sides. Great swordsman and craftsmanship. We’re celebrated, but we’ve never been able to hold a full pocket. I have now turned twenty, and the following day would be the day I proved my family right.

My loving family greeted me in esteem when I presented the bloodied dragon fang to them. I was ushered into our crafting room by my father, and I got to work attaching the wide base of the tooth to the bowl, and the other end to the golden base. I heated the gold making it malleable, and attached the tooth to both ends. I let it cool overnight and retrieved it in the morning.

The golden apparatus was securely attached to the tooth, and the pointed side held onto the base soundly. It was meant for one woman, Princess Castilla. She turned twenty-two that week. The age where the princess of Avalor fully matured and was subsequently put up in the throne room to be suited with. These pseudo “auctions” were where the most famed lads from across the land, from of every background offer the princess their finest glistening bottle of merlot.

Upon claiming her hand, and the father’s favor, he would be crowned as the new prince of Avalor. Every man fancied the fairest woman in the land. A small, pretty white face, one consisting of a subtle, yet everlasting pink blush. A dimple on her left cheek when she smiled, and two silver eyes that sparkled like rhinestone. On a body seemingly constructed by Picasso himself.

The subjective image of perfection was what the father expected, and nothing less. He could line your family up for excision with one finger wave. His big body wrapped in royal red cloths, and the attitude of a bull. He was the one to be pleased, not the daughter, as he is the orchestrator of the “auctions”.

I placed the chalice on a brown bog and threw on my best garbs. A brown clothy overcoat, and black shorts. I left my sword and shield at home and climbed on horseback First, I had to head to the local market, and purchase myself a bottle of wine I could afford. A black bottle of wine with a white label and wonderful cursive was decked on it. I filled the bowl of the chalice with passionately red wine, and continued onwards towards the castle in central Avalor.

When I arrived, I parked my horse at the full stables, and got in a long line stretching from the bowels of the castle to the front yard. The day ticked on. I inched forward every few moments. One applicant refused on the spot at a time. As I inched into the castle, the booming voice of the king and the tender voice of the princess gingerly refusing each applicant.

“S-sorry, I’m not interested,” She uttered after meeting face to face with each lad.

I trekked through the luxurious castle wrapped in red and gold. I entered the throne room and could see the Princess and the King behind her, both on towering chairs. The line accelerated as the Princess became discouraged. My heart rioted in my ribcage anxiously. Sweat slowly accumulated on my scalp and slid down my face like molasses.

My viscera churned with nerves, but my hands were as solid as stone. I marched with the line confidently, as to put my best step first, as mother trained me to. I had to hold the glass with the glass of Marlot as confidently as possible, less I spill a drop on the royal carpet. That alone would be reason enough for public execution under the father’s order.

I reached the front of the line, face to face with his daughter, and presented the chalice. She studied it, surveying it up and down as if scanning for flaws. I was met with a disgruntled face. Then we met eyes, I stared deeply into hers as she did mine.

“I like this one,” She said to her father. “His taste in wine is quite nice,” She said in a satisfied tone.

“Magnificent,” Asserted the father as he threw his arms out cueing the guards to close the doors of the throne room.

The princess left through a backdoor, and the guards ushered me into a hidden room where my wife and I had our first date. We shared a picnic laying down on our stomachs infatuated with each other’s lives while sipping from the chalice with two straws. Nothing is better than a nice, smooth glass of Merlot wine after a week of dragon slaying and chalice crafting, and no memory is more potent in my mind.

We married the next day, and these last two years of my life have been nothing less than extraordinary. I am prince Tybalt, a former peasant married to the fairest women in the land. I love Merlot wine, my wife and I drink it every afternoon!