Shivawn, Prince of Vileria, is tired of the way he's being smothered in his Kingdom and leaves home every day to a magic waterfall, to be free, to be someone else - to be him.
Darius, Prince of Adromena, is more of a rebel and leaves home just to sp...
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"Now sit upright, Prince Shivawn. Head slightly tilted upwards and spine straight, hands delicately holding the reigns..."
Prince Shivawn of Vileria refused himself the urge to grit his teeth. The white Pegasus beneath him had been chewing some indigestible substance since they'd left the castle stable, and it was getting on Shivawn's nerves. He wanted to aggravate the winged horse, but his parents were watching from some random balcony – their bedroom's, probably – unwavering eyes boring holes into the back of his head.
It was a beautiful day. The grass looked even greener, wet with the dew of the morning and lightly glinting off the sun's rays. Birds sang happily and the servants snipped and plucked at the large garden in front of the field – a useless garden according to the Prince – while Shivawn was on his second lesson in Pegasus riding.
Shivawn was bored out of his mind.
To be a Prince, one must learn to act like a Prince. His inner voice was a comic mockery of his mother's. Shivawn just wanted to ride, for goodness's sake. All his etiquette trainer did was teach him how to prance, like he was some sort of delicate daisy. His parents would soon rather ban the Kingdom from seeing their son than let him do anything rash. There were times his mother literally put him in an invisible bubble of protection so he wouldn't hurt himself and it angered him to unbelievable heights. Not that he'd ever do anything about it.
For a minute, he daydreamed about giving the reigns in his hands a sharp flick with his hands so the Pegasus would fly forward, so he could feel the wind sailing through his hair, the muscles on the animal's back rippling as it ran while he laughed in exhilaration. Sadly, that was all it was going to be – a daydream.
If he let that happen, his parents would restrict his movements to within the castle itself. It was bad enough he was already confined to the castle walls.
Shivawn was suffocating.
This time, he allowed himself the urge to grit his teeth, his hands tightening a little on the reigns.
"Relax," his tutor spoke gently beside him, an old Vilerian with a bald patch all the way from his forehead to the middle of his head, making his green hair look like the letter 'U' when spotted from above or behind. Shivawn found it amusing that the people of Vileria loved riding winged horses the same colour of their hair. "Don't grip the reigns, Prince Shivawn. You should barely hold it – now give it a little flick with your wrist and we shall move into a trot."
Shivawn relaxed his hands and did as he was told. The winged horse immediately followed the command.
"Very good Prince Shivawn," his tutor commended, and made to ride alongside Shivawn and into the field.
To Shivawn, the thing was barely moving. They'd been at this ridiculous trotting for days. He wanted real riding. He wanted to actually fly the Pegasus. Was it so bad to want that? Apparently yes, because his mother would have a fit. She would fuss about him falling and spraining his neck, his father would nod solemnly beside her and from then on, flying on the Pegasus would be banned. He wished he was being dramatic.
