The Frog

The New Tutor.

      "Ah yes. A tutor." Immediate and eternal loathing swam through poor Prince Ambrose's body. "How dare they, do they really think I'm so stupid? And from Foliana too." all these thoughts clouding his vision made him blind to the oncoming disaster ahead of him.

     Ambrose had a small handful of siblings and as many as there were, you'd think somebody would teach them to clean up after themselves or they'd begin to learn on their own. Unfortunately, they hadn't and they left their toys all over the floor, several of those toys being figurines of knights with the sharpest of helmets.

     "Lord above!" Ambrose's voice rang through the halls of the castle.

     A valorous knight had declared war upon the sole of Ambrose's foot, piercing his skin just briefly.

     Ambrose growled, kicking the toys to the side. "Felix, Damien, Peter and Lorien come here now!" he shouted, waiting for his siblings to come running around the corner, wrestling with each other like the heathens he thought they were. Felix was the first to scurry through the hall, he was the oldest out of this specific group at 12 years old. Next was Peter and Lorien, the twins, shoving and tripping each other. These two were only 9, but the youngest was yet to come running around the corner at 7 years old with the largest frog Ambrose had ever seen.

     Ambrose, shocked at its size, shifted his eyes between Damien and the frog as he tried his best to keep his composure.

     "Y-.." Ambrose tried to begin, but staring at the frog made him feel as though he was staring into the eyes of God. "Where did you find that thing?" he finally broke, bending down to look at it.

     "Behind the castle in that pond!" Peter boasted, as if he'd never been so proud to have anything such as this amphibian.

     "Why, that's almost as big as you are," Ambrose smiled, poking the webbed hands that would most definitely haunt his dreams that night.

     "No way," Peter laughed, hugging his new friend. "I'm at least four heads taller!"

     Ambrose chuckled, hating how Peter almost always found a way out of trouble.

     "At least." Ambrose repeated. He'd almost forgotten why he called them all in here until he tried to step around them and found another spear trying to force its way into his skin. It took almost every ounce of self control in his body to not scream at these poor boys.

     "Pick them up." he growled through gritted teeth. "Before one of these knights goes through my foot and I have no choice but to pummel you all"

      The boys nodded, quickly cleaning the mess they'd made. Ambrose would never hit them, but he knew how to make their lives exceptionally harder for a short period of time.

     A clock nearby struck 12, making Ambrose suck his teeth in disgust. "I'm late." He mumbled to himself. He was supposed to go meet his new tutor at 12, on the dot. It would take at least five minutes for Ambrose to find his way down to the foyer.

     Ambrose wiggled around the main playroom, taking a shortcut to his own quarters to put on some shoes like he was originally planning on doing. "How juvenile." Ambrose muttered to himself, nearly knocking himself over trying to get his foot in the damned thing.

     The door opened quite suddenly, scaring Ambrose halfway out of his skin. "Lord above!" He repeated, the two words quickly becoming the two things he'd say the most as long as he stays here. The knight who had scared him so poked his head through the door, "Sire, your tutor is waiting for you." His low voice rumbling through the room. He was around the age of 21, while Ambrose was barely turning 19 that summer. He was certainly not supposed to be up here. In fact, he should be down training in the field, why ever would he be up here?

     "I am well aware of who is here and who is waiting, Weylin!" Ambrose snapped. "Come here and help me with this stupid boot would you."

     Weylin nodded and made his way to Ambrose, kneeling down and pulling the shoe over the prince's heel, tying the laces securely around the ankle. "How's that, highness?"

     "Just fine." Ambrose grumbled, stomping past Weylin and out the door, taking shortcut after shortcut to get to his tutor.

     Ambrose shuffled into the room, straightening himself out. "My apologies, I had the most awful work to attend to," he explained.

     "Couldn't button your shirt, hm?" The tutor smiled. "My name is Sorin."

     Ambrose snapped his head up to look at Sorin, unappreciative of the sarcastic tone.

     "Actually, I had a responsibility with my siblings." he glared, sitting down on the chair next to Sorin.

     "How adorable," Sorin crossed his legs and brought out his books, watching Ambrose's face twitch and twist in growing annoyance.

     Ambrose took a breath. "Did my parents not hire you to tutor me."

     "Why, yes of course they did." Sorin teased, resting his head on his fist. "But I thought we could get to know each other a little better before we dive right in."

     "Of course you did." Ambrose growled, his eyes slowly dragging over Sorin's form. "Well if you wanted to get to know each other so bad, go on. Ask your questions."

     Sorin smiled to himself, getting ready for all the glares and huffs from his new student. "How old are you anyways, you mustn't be younger than 16!" he chuckled at Ambrose's cringe.

     "I'm 19 this year, thank you sir." Ambrose growled under his breath. Watching the smug look on Sorin's face. How he yearned to smack it off. Especially when Sorin straightened himself with the most delicious smirk.

      "Oh my mistake, you're just so..." Sorin faked a hesitance. "Small."

     Ambrose felt a rise in his chest, a bright heat warming his cheekbones. He took several deep breaths, trying his best not to lose his patience but lord did this man make it difficult. It was painfully obvious how Sorin was doing all this on purpose. He wanted to know how far he could push this prince before he reached a breaking point. Sorin wanted to watch the boy squirm under his words alone.

     "I am not small." Ambrose used a warning tone, keeping his composure.

     "Oh, but of course you are." Sorin stood, offering his hand for Ambrose to join him.

     Ambrose refused to take the hand offered to him, knowing he would come short. He was only 5'6, and compared to Sorin, who was unfortunately 6', made Ambrose look quite small. However, it was nothing compared to Weylin who stood at 6'7, and continuously made Ambrose feel inferior.

     "Come on, where's your head?" Sorin asked, snapping Ambrose out of his thoughts. Ambrose hadn't even realized he was so deep in thought, especially when he was thinking so much about Weylin.

     "Take your hand out of my face, Sorin, I am not in the mood for games." Ambrose spat, smacking Sorin's hand away.

     Sorin's face grew dark, not appreciating Ambrose's attitude. He looked around, looking for whoever may see them. When he was satisfied to see everyone had so generously given them some privacy, Sorin trapped Ambrose into his chair. Sorin moved quickly, almost too quickly for Ambrose to even realize what was happening. A hand slammed into the chair's back on the right side of Ambrose's head, a firm hand wrapped tight around Ambrose's left wrist, keeping it above his head. A knee snakes its way between Ambrose's leg while Sorin leans in close.

     "You will not speak to me that way. I am not only older but I am smarter, better, bigger than you, and I could crush you like a bug." Sorin spat. "And as your superior you will call me Sir, or Cascane. Do you understand?"

     Ambrose's chest rose and fell as heavy breaths left his nose. "Go to hell." He whispered. "And let go of me."

     Sorin glared at Ambrose but he backed away, sitting back in his chair.

     "Open your book to page 17."

     "Gladly."