Hall of the Ninth Prince.

In the guest courtyard

Ahem, Edlyn—if you plan to drift in the sky like a kite, remember this: don't wear a skirt.

Eli slumped half-paralyzed in his chair like a rag doll.

Head tilted, he watched Edlyn drift above like a lazy cloud, and couldn't hold it in.

Edlyn frowned, her brows ink-strokes on snow. Do I look as clueless as you?

Uh-heh-heh.

He was half a wreck, a broken puppet fed by attendants with gloved hands.

It weighed on him, a stone in the chest, weary as rain-soaked wool.

In the snowbound empire, the rare sun broke the clouds like a pale coin, so they came out to air the damp.

Angela still isn't up?

Edlyn checked the time, her mouth a thin line, worry like frost on glass.

Left alone, that brat starts running wild.

It's freezing; little Angela cuddling her blankets like a warm cave is understandable.

He smiled and opened his mouth like a baby bird, waiting for Edlyn to feed him.

Edlyn curled her lip, plucked a ping-pong-sized snow-fruit from the floating dish beside her, and lobbed it in a comet arc.

Tsk. If you spoil my sister into bad habits, I'll beat you to death like a drum.

He chuckled, tugged a wound like barbed wire, and bared his teeth in pain.

She mocked him a bit, then let the wind take her mood.

These days, she felt bliss like warm current under ice.

In her last life of flight, she lifted herself by mana like a crane on ropes, and it felt no different from walking.

Since the wind element acknowledged her, flight became the softest bed in the world.

Gravity slipped off like wet chains, and she floated at will like a feather.

She could condense clear steps like glass at any moment, sit and rest, and never fear dirty hems.

Edlyn smiled sweetly; elements were truly wonderful, like spring after drought.

Of course, it all rode on her vast mana like an ocean, and her high affinity like a tuned harp.

Even Eli couldn't just fly anywhere, anytime, as if wind were his road.

I mean, Hero, why wade into these power squalls like a boat in storm?

What if you slip and die here, like a candle in a gust?

Unease pricked her, so she glided down and stood by him like a willow shadow.

What's there to fear? I've got you under my wing like a mountain.

Eli rolled his eyes, his bravado thin as paper.

Edlyn looked him over from head to toe and back, a mummy on a chair, until he squirmed.

Try moving an arm.

Uh-heh-heh, Edlyn, don't joke. I'm still in a near-death state, like a candle guttering.

Oh-ho, so you know you're half-dead?

Where do you find the confidence to say that?

She poked his hand, a needle to a balloon.

Hey, relax, relax.

Look, this past year, haven't I kept you safe like a guardian dog?

Nothing really happened, right?

Hm. That does make some sense.

Edlyn propped her chin with a small hand, thoughts flocking like sparrows.

But, Hero, so far you haven't truly won against any of them.

She tapped her cheek with a finger, eyes blinking like bright lake water.

Eli fell silent; it was true, and it stung like cold wind.

Every strong foe so far had fallen to tricks and luck, cards up his sleeve rather than the sword.

For a heartbeat, Eli stood on the cliff-edge of despair, toes over the fog.

Seeing his dead-fish face, Edlyn doubled over laughing, bells scattering on the sunlit air.

After a while, she caught her breath.

Bask in the sun, slow as a lizard on a rock; I'll go drag Angela up for homework.

Eli still wore the look of a man at his own funeral, unmoved as stone.

Edlyn ignored him and was about to whoosh away, when a scene from a book he hid surfaced like ink in water.

She blinked, and mischief pooled in her belly like black tea.

She grabbed Eli's luggage and rummaged through it, cloth rustling like reeds.

Eli shifted, unease pricking like ants. Hey, what are you doing?

Edlyn didn't answer; she fished out a cat-ear headband from the trunk like a secret fish.

The Hero's face went green; he rushed to explain, words tripping like loose beads.

Whoa, Edlyn, that, that is just merch from a comic. I never meant to wear it.

Huh? You want to wear it?

Edlyn blinked, honest confusion clear as spring water.

Eli blinked back, sensing no scolding, and stalled mid-breath. Huh?

I think I've discovered something dangerous, Edlyn murmured, voice like silk hiding thorns.

Eli closed his eyes and wept inside, tears thin as drizzle; he really wasn't into that.

Already halfway buried in shame, he heard a shout like a pebble hitting a pond.

Hey, lousy Hero, look at me.

Eli looked up at the voice, and a tremor ran through him like thunder down a tree.

Edlyn set the cat ears on her head, her silver hair tucked behind, moonlight caught on strands.

The girl's emerald pupils held a hint of allure, a fox-fire in green.

She lifted her left fist and gave a tiny swing, a kitten's paw swiping air.

Meow.

Thump.

Eli felt something strike his heart like a mallet on a temple bell.

Mom, I'm in love!

Only long after the beauty left did Eli come back to himself, and he shook his head with a helpless smile.

You're gonna be the death of me, he muttered, the words smoke in the cold.

Then he called toward the gate, voice steady as a drawn blade.

Ninth Prince, thank you for waiting. Please, sit.

Before him, Xili's figure shimmered into view like heat over snow.

Mr. Eli and Miss Bruyal share a fine bond, Xili praised, a smile polite as lacquer.

Heh.

Are your injuries healed, sir?

Of course, Eli said, and the air around him shifted like a taut bowstring.

So, your matter can begin.

He rose from the chair without a hint of broken bones, moving like a shadow loosed.

He stripped off the casts and bandages, white shells falling like shed cicada skins, and rolled his shoulders.

Third Prince should have received the message, yes?