Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Peter with a great sigh nervously looked upon the playground.

Well, if it was meant to be so.

He found himself with a very fast beating heart which then he slowly walked towards the table.

About four men in red armored-suits and one girl with a very puffy dress were sitting there.

Could make a nice introduction with them—might actually find some friends.

After all, he is a prince.

He strolled himself towards the table, finding himself staring at men whose faces were broad and bold. "Who are you?" one of them asked.

He had scruffy brown hair and dark brown eyes, somehow not scaring Peter. Then, another one explained brightly, "He's the king's son, the one that came back yesterday."

"Is that so?" he wondered, giving a sudden smile as he was giving out cards. "I find that to be almost unbelievable." Peter shrugged dumbly, quickly regretting his choice. "He's not even sure himself," the explainer bellowed.

"Well don't be too harsh," the girl declared. "It's not like he knew that his whole life." The man scoffed, "Well, he should stay that way."

It was quite disturbing towards Peter, causing him to slowly move away from the table.

He stared curiously at the swings, which seemed to spark memories inside his brain. Him and Micah swinging, talking amongst each other as if they had them and the swings all together. The memories were bringing tears, alarming Peter to wipe them away immediately, trying to understand that things are what they are. Before he could blink, he found himself gazing towards a red-haired girl with freckles putting her hand on him.

"Are you okay?"

Instead of feeling consoled, he felt almost shamefully embarrassed to where his hand immediately pounced on her hand—shoving it off.

"I'm fine," he said, looking to the right in shame.

Her face started to seem concerned, as Peter rushed away from her.

He sat down at one of the tables, looking down on the table wondering and thinking about his first day as prince as a complete failure.

And for that, things just got worse.

Suddenly, he felt a violent grapple on his shoulder, frightening him.

He looked back quickly, staring at the mangled face that stared into his soul.

"What are you doing with my girl?!" he shouted.

Confused, Peter asked, "I'm sorry—who?" The man didn't seem amused of his confusnance, and returned, "You were just talking to her!"

"Her?"

"Yes, her!"

Peter stood up and adjusted his jacket. "I'll be leaving."

"No one is leaving without a fight."

Peter looked back, now scared as he saw the speed of the man towards him. Before he knew it, he felt a sudden crack in his stomach, as if his bones gruesomely popped out, as the man's head collided with his stomach.

Peter could feel the table collapse on his back, stinging pain into him so disgustingly he flipped over and slumped down.

Weakly, he scrambled, crawling with his hands away from.

Until, he felt a clutch on his knees pulling him back like a excuraited monster, wanting to grab him and chop him up.

Desperately, he drives his fingers into the earth, trying to stop the unbearable pain.

But, it was all in vain; he finally slipped away into the man's clutches, getting forced into a headlock. His arm tightened Peter's neck like a rope gradually being tightened. "Let go!" he shouted, holding his neck and coughing. He could taste the spit sputtering out his mouth, as his breath was falling short.

"So you wanna mess with her again?" the man screamed, constringing Peter's neck. Peter started to have a heavy breath, almost releasing the grip of his arm.

Then, by luck someone came and thankfully broke them apart.

In release, Peter rolled onto his side, gasping and pleading for breath, smacking violently on the floor.

Suddenly, he felt his arms being picked up—finally stabilizing his legs to the ground.

He looked back, staring at the surprise on Micah's face. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

Peter sighed. "I don't know." Micah nodded in agreement, pushing Peter to slowly walk—limp with him.

By the side, he found a little bench where he could lay Peter.

He did so, putting him down gently on the bench. Peter seemed, and felt very immobile through his legs.

"You okay?" Micah asked, setting his legs down finally to the ground.

"Yes, of course," Peter vexedly replied. "I already told you this." "Yes, I know—but I'm still concerned about your health though bro—" Suddenly, he felt something drop dead on his tracks to say the full word; realizing something that he never tried—attempted to think about.

"Yeah, you know what—let's go home," he said, smiling at Peter.

He seemed confused at best, but took no heart to it; so he got up with Micah, proceeding towards the castle.

They finally made it there, which without further ado—the guards immediately closed them inside the gates.

The night was now present in the air, as the boys prepared for bed. Their room was not bad, but it was quite underwhelming due to their expectations.

It was a regular bed with one window, and a desk where they could sit.

But, at least they had a place to sleep, after all—it was possibly the best thing he could do. Micah was quite interested in Peter's occupation, asking him some questions he may not have wanted to reply.

"So, how was your day?" Micah asked, trying to spring up a conversation.

Peter refused to answer, giving the room an awkwardness that wasn't trying to be done.

"Okay, um—how about my day?" Micah asked, now hesitant about his plan.

Nothing.

No words came out of Peter's mouth, as he only stared at the window, glaring at his bruise.

"You know, I thought that there would be more respect for a prince in this place," he finally said.

Micah didn't respond, curious of the certain question challenged towards him.

"Apparently, being choked is totally normal here."

"Well, people aren't used to us—so maybe after we do something, we might gain respect."

Suddenly, Peter's eyes widened with awe, and he instantly turned his head in amazement.

"That's it, we need to act like princes!"