Prince of Clanta

"You are what!?" Harold asked, his jaw dropped. He knew who the Prince of Clanta was—the most famous prince in the whole North Continent, albeit for rather negative reasons.

Julius simply nodded in confirmation, while Klaus, who seemed shocked for a literal second, was adjusting his sword as if uninterested in the conversation.

"Are you seriously the loser prince-" Harold began, but then quickly bowed. "I am sorry for my ignorance, my prince." He looked tense and sweaty, glancing at Klaus, who stood without bowing. Harold psst him and mouthed, "Bow, idiot," but Klaus rolled his eyes in return and said, "I bow to no one," starting to walk away.

"Yeah, it is fine. Please raise your head, Harold, no need for all this" Julius said nervously chuckling. He didn't like when anyone bowed in front of him just because he was a prince. He knew everyone hated him but still acted as if they respected him just out of fear.

"Why not, my prince?" Harold said as he slowly stood straight. "You are the prince of the greatest kingdom on this continent, son of the fearless King Titus Marcus, who slew the King of Elves with his elegant sword." Harold finished, his eyes gleaming. Julius could sense he was like every other admirer of his father, everyone respected, loved, and actually respected him.

"Hmm, stop it, Harold. He's a prince, we We don't meddle in royal affairs," Klaus said as he started walking. Harold looked back and joined him, whispering in his ear.

"What do you mean? he's a prince, Klaus? Let's help him; he's literally going to be the next king in just a month." Harold said, looking back at the prince who stood there, a sad look on his face.

"It's alright. He is right; you will just get in trouble if you associate with me."

"Bullshit, my prince, we will be honored," Harold said, bowing.

"Honored for saving me?"

"Of course, we will escort you to your throne city. I heard the throne ceremony is near, and you are our next king."

"My family wants me dead."

"Huh?" Harold looked at him with surprise.

"See, I warned you about getting mixed up with these royals," Klaus remarked, shooting a knowing glance at his companion.

"Yeah... It's been nothing but trouble. My own family's hunting me down for the throne," Julian confessed, his gaze falling to the ground, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"That can't be true," Harold interjected, his eyes meeting Julian's, sympathy evident in his expression.

"It is. I'm just a nobody. Always have been," Julian choked out, tears welling up in his eyes.

"But the king named you as his heir. You're his only son," Harold reminded him, confusion tinging his voice.

Klaus remained silent, observing the conversation with a focused intensity.

"It's complicated. My stepmother is plotting against me, pushing for her brother to take the throne," Julian explained, frustration lacing his words.

"That's absurd! You're the rightful heir, even if you are a bit of a disappointment, right Klaus?" Harold turned to Klaus for confirmation, noticing the intensity in his closed-eyed concentration.

"Disappointment?" Julian echoed, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone.

"Yeah, you're not a prince anymore, and you probably have a hefty bounty on your head. We could make a pretty penny if we turned you over to the royal guards of Clanta," Harold suggested, eyeing Klaus cautiously as he inched towards his sword.

"W-what are you doing?" Julian questioned, alarmed as he watched Klaus draw his sword.

"Uh, we don't have to go that far, Klaus," Harold urged, his uncertainty evident. "Wait, are you—"

Before Harold could finish, an arrow whizzed through the air towards Julian's head. In a split second, Klaus reacted, swinging his sword to intercept the projectile.

Julian flinched, bracing for impact, but instead, he found Klaus standing protectively in front of him.

"There's the Prince!" a knight in crimson armor, bearing the crest of Clanta, announced as they approached.

"It's them..." Julian whispered, attempting to retreat, but finding his legs unwilling to move.

The soldiers closed in, twelve strong. As they neared, one of them, a freckled woman with fiery red hair, removed her helmet, revealing her determined expression.

"Hand over the prince," she demanded, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.