"Next up, we have a very special guest visiting us all the way from the Belfour Kingdom. As famous as she may be, her powers remain a mystery. Will her magic be as stunning and royal as she is? Or will she be just another noble failure? Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage—Princess Haley Belfour!"

  As I step from behind the curtain onto the stage, a wave of forced cheers ripples through the stadium. A thousand people fill the seats, all clapping out of fear rather than admiration. They don't want to risk offending the daughter of the most powerful man in Kirk.

  But today, I'll give them a real reason to cheer. Their empty applause is an insult.

  I lift my gaze to the highest room in the stadium, where my father stands behind the glass, speaking with the other nobles. He doesn't even spare me a glance. Below him, my brother Hue sits in the front row, flanked by two Guar Knights, watching—waiting. The crowd's excitement fades to hushed whispers, anticipation thick in the air.

  "Any moment now. You have one minute left." The announcer's voice booms through the speakers.

  I take a slow breath. This is my moment.

  I take a slow breath, feeling the mana pulse through me. I raise my left hand, letting my power flow freely, shaping the air and energy around me. A brilliant white flame blossoms into the form of a lotus, its petals flickering as I lift it high above the stage.

  With a wave of my right hand, I summon a twisting stream of water, encasing the lotus in a shimmering sphere. The fire burns brilliantly within the bubble, undisturbed, as though both elements have learned to coexist.

  Then comes the real test.

  I stretch my fingers, calling forth lightning, shaping it into a bow and arrow of pure electricity. The hum of power vibrates through my fingertips as I pull back the string. Holding my breath, I release.

  The crackling arrow slices through the bubble and lotus, shattering them apart into a swirl of flames, droplets, and static. But instead of letting them fade into nothing, I twist my fingers midair, drawing the broken pieces back together.

  The elements bend to my will, reforming into something greater—a phoenix, wings of fire and lightning, body formed from spiraling water. It screeches, soaring above the stadium, glowing with a dazzling, untamed brilliance.

  Gasps ripple through the crowd. The murmurs of skepticism turn into stunned silence.

  And then, I vanish.

  One step forward, and a portal opens beneath me, swallowing me whole. The phoenix bursts apart in a final explosion of shimmering light. The arena is left empty, nothing but glowing embers drifting through the air.

  The crowd doesn't even have time to react before a second portal rips open—behind them.

  I step out silently from the shadows of the upper stands, my gaze locking onto my father behind the glass. His expression doesn't change. But I know I have his attention now.

  For the first time, the crowd doesn't just clap—they roar.

  This time, the cheers are real.

  "Wow, what a wonderful display of mana manipulation!" the announcer calls out, his voice echoing through the grand stadium.

  As the event draws to a close, a sudden shift in the atmosphere makes my skin prickle. A young man steps forward from the crowd, his movements deliberate, his presence demanding attention. His armor gleams beneath the sunlight, the crest of Kirk's noble lineage proudly branded on his right shoulder. A Veldrin.

  The murmurs in the crowd grow louder as he raises his voice.

  "You fools dare cheer for that?" he scoffs, his voice dripping with condescension. "A poor excuse for mana manipulation is what I call that."

  Before anyone can react, he lifts his hand and fires a violent beam of light toward a distant tree. The impact is devastating. The tree shatters into splinters, its remains burning with an eerie golden glow. Gasps ripple through the audience.

  "This is true mana manipulation," he declares. His eyes, sharp and hungry, lock onto me, studying every movement as if waiting for me to flinch, to prove I am unworthy. Then he smirks. "Prince Alistair Veldrin challenges you to a duel."

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Mana crackles between his fingers, wild and unstable. The sheer energy radiating from his body is suffocating.

  This isn't what I came here for. But I refuse to back down.

  I open my mouth to accept, but before I can speak, a familiar hand lands on my shoulder.

  "If you are looking for a fight, Alistair," Hue's voice is calm, commanding, "then it is I you will fight."

  My jaw clenches. Hue. Always stepping in, always assuming I need protection. As if I couldn't knock this arrogant noble on his ass in ten seconds.

  Alistair lets out a dry chuckle. "Hue." His expression barely changes, as if unimpressed. "I do not deem you worth—"

  CRACK.

  Before the words can fully leave his mouth, Hue vanishes from my side in a blur of movement. A split second later, the hilt of his sword slams into Alistair's gut. The force of the impact is instant—Alistair's body jerks, his breath chokes in his throat, and before he can even summon another spell, he collapses unconscious onto the stadium floor.

  Silence.

  Then—

  "Enough."

  The single word shakes the stadium.

  The weight of it is enough to crush any lingering whispers. The voice—**deep, commanding, absolute—**comes from above.

  I look up.

  There, standing in the royal observation chamber, is King Belfour.

  My father.

  King Belfour steps forward, his eyes locked onto Hue. Not me. Never me.

  "Hue," he says, his voice a low growl. "Have I raised you to attack men while they speak?"

  Hue straightens. "I only acted because Alistair disrespected our family."

  King Belfour scoffs, his gaze flicking to Alistair's unconscious body. "He was a fool to let his guard down. And you—" He turns to me, his eyes as sharp as his axe. "You stand here as if you have proven something."

  My hands curl into fists. "I did."

  He raises a brow. "Did you?"

  A single question, drenched in disdain.

  I feel the blood rush to my face. The crowd had cheered, hadn't they? Hadn't they seen what I could do? But here he was—standing above me, towering, reminding me that no matter what I accomplished, it would never be enough.

  Then—

  A pained groan cuts through the silence.

  Alistair stirs.

  His body shudders, and he forces himself upright, clutching his stomach. But his glare is on me—not Hue.

  "I do not accept this disgrace," he spits, pushing himself to his feet. He staggers slightly, but the mana sparking around his fingertips tells me he isn't done. His eyes burn with shame and fury—and it's all directed at me.

  "If your brother wishes to steal your battles, fine," he sneers. "But I will not leave this stadium without proving that you—the 'great' Princess Haley Belfour—are nothing more than a fraud."

  Gasps ripple through the audience.

  Hue steps forward again, but this time I hold out a hand. Enough.

  I meet Alistair's gaze, and for the first time tonight, I feel excitement.

  "If you want a duel," I say, mana crackling at my fingertips, "then you'll have one."

  King Belfour lets out a tired sigh but does not stop me. Instead, he crosses his arms. "No weapons," he declares. "Magic only. You have one minute."

  A slow smirk spreads across Alistair's face. "That's all I need."

  I drop into a stance. "We'll see."

  The crowd erupts as the duel begins.

  Alistair was fast—too fast for someone of his mana class. His attacks came in a relentless flurry, light-infused blasts firing in every direction like he was actually trying to kill me.

  The force of his strikes sent ripples of energy through the air, and each hit grew stronger, wilder, more desperate. But intimidation? No. I wasn't even breaking a sweat.

  Him calling himself a noble is an insult to my very bloodline. And we aren't even related.

  I move with ease, weaving between his attacks like I'm dancing on the wind. His frustration grows with every missed strike, and I can see it—his composure cracking. He's throwing everything at me, and yet—I haven't even started.

  Enough playing.

  Mana crackles in my palm, raw and untamed. The air around me shifts as I pull in the current, molding the energy into my next move. A paralyzing strike. If I hit him with this, he'll be stunned before he even realizes he's lost. And then—I'll freeze him in place.

  One move. One second. One victory.

  "You're slowing down, girl," Alistair sneers, a cruel smirk twisting his face.

  He's right. But not for the reason he thinks.

  I was slowing down because I was ready to end it. But just as I prepare to release the attack, my eyes flick upward—

  To him.

  King Belfour.

  My father.

  His gaze pierces through me, colder than any ice I could conjure. And for the first time, I see something worse than disappointment in his expression.

  He knows.

  He knows exactly what I'm about to do. He knows exactly how this ends. And he disapproves.

  The realization makes my breath hitch. The mana in my palm surges—unstable, erratic.

  And instead of striking Alistair down, I let my foot slip.

  The shot veers wildly, streaking into the sky in a crackling arc of wasted energy.

  Mistake.

  Alistair sees the opening and takes it. His mana-infused fist slams into my ribs.

  The pain bursts through me like a shockwave, and I tumble to the ground. Hard.

  For the first time today, the crowd roars with genuine excitement. Their cheers rise like a tidal wave, deafening in their intensity. They aren't chanting my name.

  They're chanting his.

  "Prince Alistair! Prince Alistair!"

  I hear it. I taste it. And I hate it.

  "I knew you were a fraud," Alistair taunts, looking down at me with his self-satisfied smirk.

  Hue is already by my side, his hands gripping my arm to help me up. His voice is low, sharp. "What was that? You don't mess up that bad."

  I wipe the dust from my lip and meet his concerned stare.

  Lie.

  "He was the better mage."

  The words taste like poison. Even I don't believe them.

  And then, just as I'm about to shake off the loss, his voice cuts through the noise like thunder.

  "Haley."

  The stadium falls silent.

  I turn my head upward and see him standing there—King Belfour, unmovable as stone.

  His voice is a decree, a final judgment.

  "You're riding in my carriage back to Belfour City tonight."

  A cold chill runs down my spine.

  Because I already know.

  This isn't just a ride home. This is punishment.