The Tears of a Cruel Princess
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If the world were a book, there would be no issue with discerning right from wrong. It would be printed in pure black and white. The victor – the heroes – would be painted with words of glories and purity. The losers – the villains – would be talked of heinously and wrought with evils. However, the world was not a book and as such, there was no way to glean the truth in certainties.
Having lived the life he had, Prince Xander was aware of these sentiments more than others. He was a noble Prince. He was a terrifying enemy. He was a caring older brother. He was the commander of an army known to tear through gore and carnage without a second thought. Depending on whom you asked, you could get a myriad of responses. If you were to ask Prince Xander, you could again get a myriad of responses. It is not because he does not know himself, but it is because he knows himself too well.
He's not a hero though. He's not a villain either. He is just a person doing what he feels is just in his heart. And what he feels is just is giving Veronica someone stable, someone reliable and someone dependable. Someone who could love her. Call him a fool but he saw someone worth saving in the sadistic persona of a scared little princess. Call him a fool but he saw someone akin to his younger sister Elise in the truth of the scared little princess' façade.
The Askran blade was fierce. It was just and swift and wielded by a youth of noble, virtuous heart. Of all the enemies to be felled by, he was among the most innocent. His blade struck across Prince Xander's chest and his grip on Siegfried faltered. Energy and magic, a purple and black electricity, crackled along his blade. He coughed up blood. He attempted to retaliate but the Askran lance and the Askran axe went to corner him.
But his own harm, his own death, meant naught if it meant that his body was a shield for Princess Veronica. For her, he would sacrifice himself without a second thought to his precious, younger siblings, or to his own life. He fell from his horse. It reared up and whinnied. Prince Xander's body landed with a thud and he groaned. His eyes fluttered closed and his fingers dug into the dirt. He had to get up. He had to get up. It was a useless effort. The world spun, and he was damn near done for.
Veronica rushed to his side. Pity and sympathy danced through the front lines of the Askr forces. They faltered.
'Prince Xander! Prince Xander!'
Princess Veronica's voice once stern and cold had cracked. Concern that was as warm as fresh blood marred her tone. She dropped to the ground messily. Her gowns fluttered as she knelt by Prince Xander. He was heavy. His armour was bulky but Princess Veronica persisted. She held onto him tightly.
'Stay with me, Prince Xander of Nohr!' she yelled, cried.
Wearily, Prince Xander opened his eyes. He was seeing double and yet, it could not be mistaken. Princess Veronica was shedding tears for him. He weakly smiled at her. He lifted his hand and caressed her silky cheek. He dragged dirt and grime across her otherwise flawless face. Then, his body went limp and his hand dropped to his chest.
'Prince Xander… it's very important… You're very important…' Princess Veronica fumbled with her words.
Prince Xander sighed. He felt oddly content. He had been on the brink of death many times in the wars he had fought. This was no different. The reek of the battlefield surrounded him and yet, in Princess Veronica's grace, it was vastly different to him. It was hardly serene. Ordinance and an army's march, and yet, Prince Xander found himself in a near, comatose lull. It was as if nothing beyond his immediate gaze or touch were real, as though it were a dream.
If he had to die, right here in the arms of his beloved Princess Veronica would not be awful. Though, now was hardly the time to contemplate mortality. He was aware he had little because he had lost so much.
'Please, Prince Xander,' she begged, she hiccupped and coughed and lost all composure, 'I love you. We have to win the war. You have to protect me – you promised!'
'It's okay, Little Princess…' he murmured. 'If I were to die, my spirit would not rest until you could lay your head down and sleep peacefully without thoughts of war and malice.'
Princess Veronica bit her lip. She raised her head. She swallowed hard. She did not look impervious to blade or magic. She looked small and frightened. She was unguarded. Her tome was discarded, she was on her knees, and her most valiant protector was dying.
'I'm begging you, Prince Alphonse of Askr for your mercy. Please, spare my Prince Xander. Save him. I will submit to any clause.' Princess Veronica pleaded.
Her arms constricted around the sun-warmed armour Prince Xander wore. She held him tight, almost like a stuffed teddy-bear. Her lower lip wobbled. Her cruel, brown eyes were alight with so many emotions, so much pain. She was pitiful.
Princess Veronica dipped her head. Her rose gold-coloured hair fell in gentle tresses around them both. She pressed her lips to Prince Xander's forehead. He smiled. He had to smile because he could not show that he could falter. He cherished her tears as much as he wished to wipe them from her pretty little face. Prince Xander had earned the worship-like love of a strange, sadistic but terrified young princess.
'Please. I love him.'