Sor-did (Adjective): Involving ignoble actions and motives arousing moral distaste and contempt; dirty or squalid

The blonde prince silently watched the frail, lithe form of the younger soon-to-be assassin, perched on a rock in the midst of a river. His ears picked up the familiar monotonous voice that absentmindedly contemplated stirring up trouble. The sight of the lustrous seafoam green hair framing a pale, familiar face soothed his increasingly frazzled nerves as he drank in the sight of the one who had become his everything – in the future, that was.

'...Apple head?'

He choked back the ripples of laughter that threatened to erupt from his lips. This was a serious situation, according to his commander. He would not ruin the attempt to retrieve Fran, the boy who would eventually belong wholly to him.

But that little twerp had to go all out and call them – the infamous Varia – a bunch of fairies. Somehow or other, their fairy branding had even gone on to evolve into cavity imps. The nerve! He did not care for the other peasantly members of the Varia, but how dare that little frog insult his princely looks? The prince was confident in his looks and comparing him to a measly imp was preposterous. His love of sweets and other treats aside, the prince was absolutely appalled.

As he watched the crude exorcism that the frog was attempting to perform, he made a quick decision: he did not like him. Never mind the fact that the future had paired them together as lovers – that word rolled off his tongue nicely and sent a warm tingle down his spine, something uncharacteristic of a prince but that was to be forgiven. He did not like this scrawny abomination before him.

As the frog launched into a new verse of chants and continued his ridiculous dance, the prince finally snapped. Without any semblance of reason running through his mind that he was about to attacked a frail 10-year-old child, with a quick swipe of his hand, he sent three of his beloved knives in the direction of the little brat, body poised to launch a second wave of attack.

The shocked look on the frog's face almost made him regret his action – almost. Until he bent down with a cry and the three knives simply flew right through his ridiculously large apple hat, and then proceeded to shout some more filth about a 'stupid-looking' prince who had forgotten to 'cut his bangs'. The atrocity! His bangs were insured for millions and framed his perfect, flawless, princely face! The last straw arrived in a form of an insult directed towards his precious knives and the prince all but lost it as he lunged towards the running child with a feral snarl.

The next thing he managed to recall was the little frog scrunched up and making faces at him while the lean sinewy hands of the commander struggled to hold him back, muttering curses and other vile expletives as he shouted for the prince to "CALM THE FUCK DOWN,", in the exact terms. As he thrashed out violently to reach out and pummel the little frog into the ground, the thought that was running continuously through his mind was about how much he hated, abhorred and absolutely despised that little brat. That was just about the last thing he remembered, until a large shadow suddenly fell upon his face and he looked up to see the sword arm of the commander move, in slow motion, towards him.

With a gruesome thunk, the blonde prince crumpled, face first, onto the ground.

He woke up on his princely bed, in his princely room, wrapped up in his princely bedding. Were his eyes playing tricks? Because somehow or other, there was a little frog at the foot of his bed with a devious grin on his face, aiming what distinctively looked like a paintball gun towards him.

There was no way in hell that this was happening. The prince refused to acknowledge this. He was about to reach for his knives when the door to his room burst open with a bang as the peacock of the Varia waltz into view, loudly proclaiming Fran's position as the newest member of the Varia.

The prince – who at that point of time already had the frog in a choke hold and was about to plunge a fistful of knives into his skull – stared open-mouthed at the ludicrous announcement that Lussaria had made, while his knives slipped out between his fingers and fell lamely onto the floor.

This was not happening. This could not be happening! But the evidence of reality was there, right in front of him. With a groan, he fell back onto his premium down-filled pillow and tried to think up methods to decapitate the little frog.

A/N:

To clear up any misunderstandings, in order to make their (future) relationship seem more plausible I have adjusted their ages. Bel's age remains the same (16) while Fran is now a lovely little 10-year-old child.