Opening: Good day, readers. A new chapter of the Swan Prince has appeared. When we last left our hero, he was lamenting the loss of poor Arthur… I wonder what has happened since.

Warning: This chapter contains uncensored Lovino cursing. People with a strong aversion to anything mildly cuss word should avoid the very last portion of the chapter. Thank you and have a nice day.

I own nothing sadly…

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Chapter 3: Swan Lake and Practice, Practice, Practice…

Far from the sad scene of Alfred crying for his love was an enchanting wood. It was beautiful and quiet, but most importantly, hidden from the rest of the world.

Inside of this magical place rested a grand lake with a castle and the stars overlooking it. A lone swan lay on the water. Pretty in and of itself, brilliant yellow feathers only slightly noticeable on its head and pure white the rest of the way. It seemed oddly upset.

"Oh, now don't let my little spell make you sad, Arthur." Said the bird's keeper; now revealed to be the long banished Ivan. His servant tossed breadcrumbs to the swan with a pitiful look.

The swan, Arthur, turned his head away. Ivan blinked innocently. "Come now, Arthur it does not even last a whole day! As soon as the moon comes up…" He gestured to the rising full moon. The swan followed his hand and then looked down at the water that was reflecting the pale light.

The portion of the lake he was in lit around him and the water was set aloft, circling him in a flash of gold. Two creatures, a turtle and a frog, watched from the reeds in shock. When the water finally fell away there stood Prince Arthur in his white and light blue robes, but his precious necklace missing.

Ivan smiled. "And that's how it works, every night. You have to be on the lake of course and when the moonlight touches your wings…" The prince glared at him. He huffed. "Look Arthur, this sort of thing doesn't give me any pleasure. Well okay, maybe a teensy bit, but… What I really want is your father's kingdom."

Arthur turned on him. "So you bloody kidnap me? Just take the land! You have enough power! I'd say you were mad, but you might take it as a compliment!"

Ignoring the comment on his mental health, Ivan merely answered like Arthur was a toddler. "Silly boy, I tried that already. When it didn't work a rather important thought struck me… Once you steal something, you spend your whole life fighting to keep it. But…" He snapped his fingers and the area became an illusion of the throne room in William's castle, with him dressed as a king and Arthur as a queen.

"If I marry the only heir to the throne… We'll rule your father's kingdom together! Legally, as king and queen. What do you say?"

"Never!" The prince stormed away tearing through the spell. Ivan started laughing cruelly.

"And where do you think you're going? As soon as the moonlight leaves the lake, you'll turn back into a swan. No matter where you are."

Arthur froze, painful realization hitting him. He ran from the scene and as soon as he was shrouded in the trees sobs wracked his thin frame.

(Some months later)

Rodreich, Lovino, and Alfred were out on the palace grounds loading red and blue powder into quivers of mark arrows that left behind a spot of the color each time they rebounded off a target.

"The musicians aren't happy." The conductor said, emptying another bucket of dust into the quivers.

Alfred tied a blindfold around his head. "I know, but I have to practice."

Rodreich laughed, holding up his bucket to see if all the powder was out. "Oh, no complaints here. I think it's going to be loads of…" He patted the back of the container a bit too hard and his face was covered in red dust. "Fun."

"The Great Animal is never going to give up Arthur without a fight."

"You're not still thinking he's alive?" Rodreich wiped the powder off with a handkerchief.

"When I find the Great Animal, I'll find Arthur." The musician rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Alfred! You've looked everywhere! He's not coming back. The whole kingdom knows this."

"The whole kingdom's wrong! Arthur's alive and I'm going to find him." He turned his head to where he guessed Lovino was. "You ready?"

The Italian was peeking under his blue blind fold. "Um hm." Rodreich covered his eyes back up.

"No peeking!" He called over to his orchestra. "Animals assemble!"

One of the violinists responded angrily. "Rodreich, I must object. We are musicians!"

"The servants have the day off, we had to use someone."

"But, I am an Artist! Not a boar!"

"Could've fooled me…" Rodreich muttered.

"C'mon guys, they're harmless." Alfred chuckled shooting a mark arrow off his boot and then placing it back into the quiver.

The orchestra resumed their complaints while putting on costumes. "We are a band, and not a band of animals! This masquerade…"

"Is more than I can bear." Someone in percussion cried. The others continued.

"There goes my reputation. It's awful, this humiliation!"

"And I've the lion's share." The first man whined.

"Down on all fours please and growl ferociously!" Rodreich asked with a smirk. "Oh, do liven it up a bit! I want you to strike fear into my heart!" The short boy that usually played drums let out a scary roar.

"Ahh! Not you, Peter, you're a rabbit for heaven's sake." The kid scowled and tapped his foot. "Archers! Ready, set, go!" The musical director tore off Alfred and Lovino's blindfolds and the prince set to work hitting any animal in sight. Lovino however went after the rabbit, which kept laughing at him.

Some of the musicians chanced to look over the wall they hid behind. "Duck!" One cried. The others went down also, but the flutist dressed as a duck popped up.

"Yes?" He was nailed in the beak.

Peter was making quite the game of irritating Lovino. When a blue arrow came at him, he picked up a club and wacked it right back. Blue in the face, Lovino followed.

With this madness going on, Elizabeta and the courtiers were having tea on the terrace. "Day after day, all the prince ever does is Practice, Practice, Practice."

"Thinking of him and the way that it was." The queen sighed. She tried to take a sip from her cup, but a foul arrow flew past shattering it.

"Practice, Practice, Practice!"

"He's not happy 'til he has attacked us!" The duck from before screamed, fleeing over the tables.

"Twelve seconds!" Rodreich alerted the archers. Alfred stuck shot after shot; Lovino… was still chasing Peter.

The nobles were now watching. "Day after day all the prince ever does is Practice, Practice, Practice! Thinking of him and the way that it was. Practice, Practice, Practice!"

"If we had refused he would have sacked us!"

"Five seconds!"

"So we face a life as a target!"

"Three. Two." Alfred, seeing Peter out of the corner of his eye, loosed one last arrow. The boy jumped into the bushes.

"Practice, Practice, Practice!"

"Time! Animals please assemble for counting. Well, you scored plenty of five pointers that's for sure." Rodreich stepped over the flutist that had fallen over.

"Sorry. Why don't you take a few days off?" Alfred suggested.

Lovino, who was leaning against a tree behind Peter, took a blue arrow and stamped three spots on him. He received a scorching glare for this, but the Italian thought nothing of it.

"Moose are worth two points. Sixteen, it's a total of thirty-two. Ten seven pointers and fourteen three pointers, with a total of two hundred ninety-eight. Well done, Alfred!" He glanced around for any blue powder. "Now, Lovino, let's see, for you, zero, and zero, and uh nothing, and nil and zip."

His criticism was just met with a smirk and a shrug. "And last but not least the elusive 100-point white rabbit!" To Rodreich's dismay the white rabbit was blue spotted.

"I believe that's three hundred, Rodreich." Lovino checked his nails disinterestedly.

Alfred laughed. "Good shooting, Lovi."

"Well, write it down! Three hundred to two ninety-eight." The teen said with pride.

"Ah, but wait just a moment." Alfred turned Peter, revealing a red spot under his tail. "Sorry, Lovino."

"Yeah, yeah. You're a great marksman, Alfred. One of the best. But it takes more than good aim. It takes major courage. That's my forte." Lovi bragged.

Having grown annoyed with the Italian's showboating, Rodreich gave his two pence. "Well, then. How about a quick round of catch-and-fire?"

"W-what? C-catch-and-Fire? You mean me?" Lovino sputtered.

"Well, of course! You're the only one with enough c-c-courage." The conductor chuckled.

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The three moved to a vacant area of the garden, and Alfred stood at fifty paces while Rodreich tied an apple to the top of Lovino's head with some twine.

"You're sure you're alright?" The conductor asked with a sadistic smile.

"Y-Yeah, I'm f-fine…" The twine was pulled taught. "Ahh! Too tight! Too tight, you bastard!" Rodreich loosened the thread.

"Oops, So sorry."

"Ready?" Alfred questioned turning his back on the two.

Lovino nodded slightly, his frame shaking. "He's ready." Rodreich called back. "Remember, aim for the heart, right between the shoulders. Do I make myself clear?" The musician informed Lovino, who glared at him.

"I know." He pulled back on the bow string, still shaking a bit. But, wouldn't you be shaking too? 'I'm shooting a fucking arrow at the prince!' "Shit, shit, shit…"

"Come on, hold it steady." Alfred said hopefully.

"Shit, shit, shit…" He loosed the arrow. "No!" He watched its flight with horror. Alfred swung round seconds from the projectiles impact and snatched it from the air, turning and firing it back with his own bow much more confidently than his friend. It split the apple on Lovino's head clear down the center and Rodreich nonchalantly caught the half that flew in his direction.

Lovino, overcome with relief, fell over. "Thank God."

"Fifty-two out of fifty-two! Well done, Alfred!" The musician helped Lovino steady himself.

"Extraordinary courage, man. Just think, one inch lower and that arrow would have…" He left the sentence hanging and the teen fainted.

Alfred looked up with somber thoughts. "Don't lose hope, Arthur. Wherever you are… I'm gonna find you."

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*Sitting at a mafia style desk.* I'm gonna be straight with you guys. I want more reviews, you want more chapters. Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement here…

You readers type a bit of praise or constructive criticism and I make with the writing of more Swan Prince.

And if that doesn't work, I send Lovino after ya. Capiche? ~