Leaving Amy's house, the evening air carried the echoes of laughter and warmth from within. The festival's spirit lingered, but as I descended the steps, an unexpected scene unfolded before me. I was worried about Amy, however.
In the dim light, Amy's aunt, a stern figure with a countenance hardened by years of bitterness, stood berating Amy. Duchess Rosalie was unforgiving. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and I hesitated, hidden in the shadows, as their exchange unfolded.
"You think you're strong, Amaryllis? You are a mere flower, delicate and easily crushed. Don't delude yourself into thinking you can navigate the complexities of this world. Your so-called strength is nothing but a fleeting illusion," her aunt's venomous words slithered through the air.
Amy, standing tall but visibly shaken, bore the brunt of her aunt's verbal assault. Her resilience, a quality I admired, clashed against the harsh words hurled in her direction.
"You're weak. Weak and foolish. Sneaking out into the night like some common delinquent. Do you think this world will spare you? You're setting yourself up for disappointment," the aunt continued, each word a deliberate attempt to chip away at Amy's confidence.
Fury bubbled within me, an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation. Amy, strong and resilient, deserved respect and encouragement, not the bitter words of a misguided relative. The urge to intervene, to shield her from this undeserved tirade, overpowered me. It's a surprise she has been suffering in this manner for a whole year. Why didn't she ever try to fight back? What compelled her to let herself suffer in this manner?
Once more, I found myself in a position where I couldn't directly intervene, compelled by the need to maintain the dignity befitting a prince. However, this did not equate to being a passive spectator.
"Duke," I began, my voice resonating with firm authority, "I command you to cease this nonsense immediately."
Duke, visibly taken aback, attempted to engage in negotiation, "I apologize, Prince, but I cannot comply, and I am prepared to face any consequences. Amaryllis is my niece, and this incident of her sneaking out—"
"I did not request you to halt them, Duke," I interjected, cutting through his words, "I commanded you. Learn to respect the title. Do you consider me on par with some mere Count? Cease this immediately, or I will personally intervene, and we both know the consequences of that course of action."
Duke, a formidable magician within the empire, possessed considerable power, but he couldn't harm me. My reliance extended beyond my royal title to encompass my unique magical abilities, bestowed upon members of the royal bloodline by the Goddess herself. This magic allowed us to manifest our imagination into reality, emitting a golden light when casted. As a member of the royal bloodline aged, their magical prowess increased.
I had diligently practiced and honed this unique power, a tool that set the royal family apart from the rest. Duke was well aware of this, understanding that only my father held the authority to restrain me. He comprehended the potential repercussions if he resisted my directive. Despite his strength, the royal family stood on a tier above him.
Taken aback by the assertion of my authority, Duke bowed and offered an apology, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to question the Prince's judgement. I will put an end to it immediately."
The words uttered by Duchess Rosalie cut through the air, resonating in the room. "You are not as strong as you think," she declared to Amy. It was a blatant falsehood; Amy possessed a strength far beyond what her aunt perceived. She hadn't done anything to warrant such treatment.
In response to Duke's move to quell the situation, Amy's resilience transformed into a formidable force. Until then, she had kept her gaze lowered, but when her aunt cast doubt on her strength, she lifted her eyes defiantly. Anger blazed in her gaze, a fiery response to the unjust accusation. Before anyone could react, in an act of sheer defiance, Amy's hand connected with her aunt's face with a resounding crack that reverberated through the room. The suddenness of the action left even me momentarily stunned.
Caught off guard, Amy's aunt crumpled to the ground, her cheek now adorned with a vivid crimson hue. The room fell into an awkward silence, broken only by the echo of the slap. The defiant act spoke volumes about Amy's strength and determination. She refused to be belittled or treated unfairly, standing up for herself with a fierceness that demanded acknowledgment.
In that moment, witnessing Amy's assertiveness and refusal to be a victim, I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. The slap, a symbolic rebuke, marked a moment of empowerment—a declaration that Amy would not succumb to the manipulation and cruelty aimed at her.
As her aunt lay on the ground, nursing the consequences of her own toxicity, Amy stood tall. The crimson mark on her aunt's cheek mirrored the resilience that had blossomed within Amy. It was a pivotal moment, a small victory that spoke volumes about Amy's determination to rise above adversity. Duke was too shocked to move or do anything.
The room, once filled with the sting of hurtful words, now reverberated with a newfound strength. Amy, having asserted her agency, looked at me with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. In that gaze, I saw a glimmer of gratitude, a silent acknowledgment of the support she found in my presence. I am surprised she knew all this while I was here.
As I left the scene behind, the weight of the moment lingered in the air. Amy's courage had not gone unnoticed, and I knew that this encounter would leave an indelible mark on both of us. In the face of adversity, Amy had shown the strength of a resilient flower, unyielding in the face of storms. This trip really proved to be useful. As I went back to the palace, I couldn't help but admire the blooming strength of the girl who had dared to defy the forces that sought to diminish her light.