Hidden Spirit

Chapter Four: The Prince & the Princess

When Amelia was in her room once more, she felt each emotion, each thought ebb from her mind and engulf her entire being until she felt no longer connected to herself. Sadness, anger, regret, hatred, heartbreak, gratitude, all jumbled together to supply her with sufficient means. She would not hold anything back, as it had been stifled for too long. Every bit was funneled from her mind through her arms. This time not only her palms glowed, but her entire body shone with a white-hot intensity. Every object in the room shuddered at the touch of her magic.

The second Amelia waved her hand, silver vapor formed from the nothingness, coming together in one point before her. The bright silvery streaks merged together, shaping and forming, until a large she-wolf was created in front of the girl. Its fur danced around its body without restraint, the mists still flowing around the shape of the graceful figure. The wolf's violet eyes glowed, staring into Amelia's own, until suddenly the girl became lightheaded, and the spirit disappeared the moment the princess collapsed on top of her bed.

***

"Work harder, Andrew. Blade up!" the trainer barked.

"Watch your shout, Maurice. There are workers about."

Maurice, the scolding man of about Andrew's own age, scowled at his friend. "I'm payed to do this, remember?" he said, panting slightly as the sweat dripped down the side of his face. They had been at this a couple hours now. It was still not yet noon, but even Andrew grumbled as they still had a bit to go.

"Oh please. We haven't been able to afford your rates in over a year. Admit it, my friend. You like fighting me."

A twinkle shone in Maurice's eyes. "What other chance will I have to raise a blade against my king?"

It was Andrew's turn to scowl. He picked the tip of the blade off the ground, barely pointing it at Maurice. "I told you not to call me that."

Maurice leapt at Andrew, swinging his blade over his shoulder. Andrew brought the blade up in time to slide the metal together and spin from under the trainer's long arm.

"Soon, Andrew. Soon you will be there."

Andrew growled as Maurice locked him in a grip of the blades. Every second the metal seemed to get heavier, and he just wanted to win this fight so he could drop it. He knocked their swords to the side, leaving a gap between their faces large enough for Andrew to release the blade with one hand and grab a fistful of Maurice's shirt. He was shoved aside, and Andrew moved away to rest his arms.

"That was not real sparring," Maurice annoyingly pointed out.

"No, but it worked. I would have had enough time to do so much in that second your back turned toward me."

"'Ey," Maurice called. "Let me be the trainer, here."

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Well then raise!"

The two men again came together, swords hissing against each other as a sudden burst of energy came from either one, but then they would relax again, and a small shove was all it would take to create a break in movement. Sweat dripped from their faces and down their necks as the warm midday sun hovered right above them.

Andrew sensed Maurice's tiredness and found an advantage in the way his opponent's guard was not a swift as it could have been. He quickly built off of that feeling, clashing against the other more quickly, and pounding that last bit of energy into the swings he took in order to hopefully jar Maurice into submission. It worked.

"Alright, alright!" he panted. "I give!"

They both gasped out breaths of hot air. Andrew threw the tip of his sword into the dirt they were sparring on before turning and walking away, Maurice at his heels.