POV: Avelyne Del Eltzheim
The soft afternoon sunlight streamed through the stained glass window adorned with roses, casting golden-red patterns across the stone walls of the etiquette hall. Warm colors danced gently among the pillars and the silent silk tapestries, as if trying to bring life to a room far too rigid for any young soul.
In the center of the grand, quiet hall sat Princess Avelyne Del Eltzheim, the only daughter of the Torain Kingdom, upon a silver-carved chair with a high back etched with the twin-winged dragon sigil. Her slender hands rested neatly on her lap, and her posture was flawlessly upright—her body seemingly sculpted from birth to embody the ideal of royal perfection.
Yet, the golden eyes of the princess held no authority or discipline. Instead, they were empty, tired, and nearly seething with disdain. Avelyne's gaze drifted past the stained glass, wishing the same sun was shining freely over an open field, not just reflecting off the stone walls that caged her steps.
Standing before her was a middle-aged woman with small glasses perpetually slipping down her nose, clad in a dark dress and lace gloves. She was Madam Hedelma, the etiquette tutor who had served the royal family for two decades.
After delivering the final line from a tome of decorum heavier than the palace's entire moral burden, Madam Hedelma closed it with a soft yet authoritative thud. She bowed low.
"That will be all for today, Your Highness," she said in a tone that brooked no room for argument. "I shall take my leave."
Avelyne did not respond. She waited until the sharp clacks of her tutor's heels faded down the corridor, then released a long sigh—as if exhaling the entire weight of nobility from her lungs.
"Haah… the life of a princess is so damn miserable…" she muttered, her once-perfect posture collapsing lazily against the back of her chair. Her voluminous gown shifted, silk brushing the marble floor with a soft whisper.
From the doorway emerged her personal maid—Lise, a sweet-faced girl with golden-blonde hair tied neatly back. In her hands was a small clipboard bearing the princess's schedule, its contents penned delicately in golden ink.
"Your Highness," Lise called gently, her voice careful and mild, "you're scheduled for dance training in the main ballroom next."
Avelyne stared up at the ceiling adorned with paintings of angels and gods, her expression drained, as if all of it were some grand joke played at her expense.
"I'd rather train with a sword…" she muttered and pushed herself up sluggishly from the chair. "But then Father would scold me again…"
She walked aimlessly down the palace hallway, the soft clack of her low-heeled shoes echoing on the cold stone floor. Her steps halted when a tall figure appeared from the opposite direction, clad in a long coat and leather belt glinting with the royal crest.
Prince Gerald Del Eltzheim, her older brother and first in line to the throne, approached with the bearing of a knight born to command. His fiery red hair flowed gently with the wind from an open window, and his golden eyes glowed with a kindness sheathed in steel discipline.
"Avelyne," he greeted warmly, though his tone carried a subtle firmness.
Avelyne scoffed and turned her head away.
"Hmph."
Gerald stopped, studying his sister for a moment before speaking calmly. "You shouldn't act that way toward your brother."
Avelyne spun around sharply, her blue eyes flaring like tiny blue flames.
"You told Father about me sneaking out last night!"
Gerald inhaled slowly. "It was for your own good. The outside world isn't safe for a princess—"
"I don't care!" Avelyne cut him off, her voice rising like a long-restrained explosion. "I want to see the world! I want to walk the streets, talk to strangers, go on adventures, and find true love! Not sit here learning dances for boring banquets and be matched with old nobles who don't even know my name!"
Her next movement was swift as a shadow—Avelyne turned and dashed away, leaving only the scent of rose perfume in the air. Her gown fluttered behind her like a rebellious flag unfurling in protest.
"Your Highness!" Lise cried out in surprise, hurrying to chase after her mistress who stormed recklessly down the corridor.
Gerald shook his head slowly, watching his sister's retreating figure. He let out a long breath, his shoulders loosening just slightly from their usual rigidity.
"Avelyne… enough of this childishness. Act like the princess you are," he murmured, though his voice was swallowed by the returning stillness of the grand hall.
And as always, the spirit of a young girl yearning to become a free bird could not be tamed—not by golden chains nor palace walls that reached the heavens.
The ballroom of Torain Palace stood grand with white marble pillars and glittering crystal chandeliers. Yet, the splendor couldn't erase the grim expression on Avelyne's face as she stepped in, her deep blue gown swaying gently with her movements.
Her dance tutor, an elderly man with a curled mustache and creaky shoes, immediately bowed with deep respect.
"Come, teach me quickly," Avelyne ordered in a flat tone, without turning to look at him.
But her movements were sluggish. Her head slightly bowed, eyes vacant. For her mind had already drifted far away, through time, tracing memories of a childhood long past…
When Avelyne was just seven years old, she often sat atop a large cushion in the castle tower's corner, beside a silver-braided woman who smelled like lavender—the royal mage, a warm-hearted court sorceress full of stories.
"I met my prince while adventuring," the mage had once said at dusk, sitting on the windowsill, staring at the orange sky.
"Wow! I want that too!" little Avelyne had exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "I want to meet my prince too! Out there!"
But the next day, the entire palace was in uproar—because the princess had tried to escape… climbing out the window using a rope made from her bed sheets.
From that day on, escaping became routine. Through the kitchen, chimney shafts, even attempting to swim across the castle moat—she tried every method.
Until one cold night, the mage summoned her, her face somber and filled with regret.
"As a queen, Avelyne… you must sit gracefully in your tower and wait for your prince to rescue you."
Young Avelyne was silent. She didn't reply. She only bit her lip.
The next day, the mage was gone. Banished. Accused of spreading 'dangerous' ideas. And she never returned.
Avelyne grew. But her heart kept waiting. Waiting for a prince who never came.
Until one night, she decided—if her prince would never come, then she would go find him.
She began training her body in secret. Climbing walls, crawling across rooftops, leaping from balcony to balcony like a wild bird. The guards were driven mad. But no one could stop her.
Then one cold night, just as her spirit nearly faded… she found something slipped under her bedroom door. A letter. No royal seal. No sender's mark.
"Dearest Princess Avelyne,
I know you long to see the outside world. I know you're tired of walls and etiquette.
If you truly wish to be free… tear this paper. And you shall be released from the chains of the crown.
The world you dream of… awaits you beyond."
Her hands trembled. Her breath hitched. But there was no hesitation in her heart.
With a gray cloak draped over her body, she tore the letter.
In an instant, red light enveloped her. Her body floated, weightless as air. And when the light faded—she wasn't in a field. Not in a forest. But…
A dark room. Damp. And suffocating.
"Uh… this isn't a forest or a field of flowers…" she muttered, confused. "Hello? Anyone here?"
A voice echoed from the shadows.
"Hehe… it worked. The spy's info was right. Princess Avelyne really was easy to fool."
Footsteps approached. Heavy and menacing.
"Tie her up quickly! We can negotiate with the royal family!"
Avelyne said nothing. But the red crystal necklace around her neck glowed brightly. The kidnappers panicked.
"Damn! Where's the detector?! Destroy the tracker before they find us!"
But it was too late. Avelyne's whole body responded. Her movements were swift—fruit of years of secret training.
She kicked the stomach of the nearest thug, dodged the ropes, and slammed her knee into a masked man's face. Two others fell as Avelyne leapt to the wall, spun her body, and escaped.
"You idiots! Did you really think a princess only knows how to dance and sit still?!"
She ran. Her breath became ragged. The narrow, suffocating corridor gave her no room to think. Four dark figures still chased her.
Her legs nearly gave out.
But…
At the end of the dim alley, someone stood. A man.
With jet-black hair, eyes sharp like a night hawk. His stance was firm, calm, wearing a long leather coat that swayed slightly in the breeze.
Two daggers dangled at his belt, reflecting the pale moonlight.
Avelyne froze. Her steps slowed. Then, guided by an instinct she couldn't explain—she ran toward the man. Without a second thought.
And embraced him.
Her body trembled. Her face pressed against the stranger's chest. Her chest rose and fell, burdened by years of fear, hope, and exhaustion.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she spoke in her heart.
'Finally… I've met my prince…'
The man—Darwin—looked down at her, bewildered.
The journey to find Liriel… may now become far more complicated than he had ever imagined.