Channeling a microscopic, highly concentrated spark of her defensive magic, she silently cast a spell across the room, directly targeting the delicate petals of his prized flower.
In an instant, she entirely replaced its natural, sweet floral fragrance with the overwhelmingly pungent, stomach-churning stench of fresh, wet cow dung.
Almost immediately, the horrific odor aggressively expanded.
The terrified Duke's daughter gagged loudly, covering her nose and literally bolting from her desk.
Within seconds, the girls, and even the boys, sitting within a ten-foot radius of Lucier scrambled away in absolute disgust, frantically pinching their noses.
Completely baffled by the sudden mass exodus, Lucier stood up, looking around the empty space in utter confusion.
Out of sheer, practiced habit, he brought his signature red rose right up to his nose, closed his eyes, and took a massive, dramatic sniff.
"EWW! Gag! What the absolute hell is this shit?!" he shrieked, his eyes watering violently as his face turned a sickly shade of pale green.
He violently hurled the cursed flower across the room as if it had burned him.
Isla casually stood up and strolled over to where the flower had landed on the floor. Without actually touching it, she pointed the tip of her perfectly polished shoe at the offending plant, looking at Lucier with a mixture of mock pity and extreme disgust.
"Wow.
Is this honestly what you spend your entire day sniffing?" she asked, her voice dripping with thick, theatrical disbelief.
"You really do have some incredibly bizarre hobbies.
A rose that smells like actual, literal manure, combined with clothes absolutely drenched in toxic, suffocating cologne... what a groundbreaking, absolutely putrid combination! Your tastes are truly one-of-a-kind, Prince Lucier. I suppose your sickeningly weird hobbies perfectly match your incredibly weird personality."
"You... you absolute bitch!" Lucier roared, his fists shaking with uncontainable, humiliating rage, completely abandoning his royal composure.
"This is going to cost you dearly, Isla! You will pay for this!"
Isla gracefully flipped her hair over her shoulder, offering him a devastatingly bored, utterly unbothered smirk.
"Oh, that is absolutely no problem at all," she replied coolly.
"I am the sole Princess of the incredibly wealthy Elephant Kingdom, after all.
I can certainly afford to pay for whatever I want.
Unlike you, I don't have a pathetic, cheap obsession with sniffing fresh cow dung in my spare time. Okay, bye, you bloody bastard!"The heavy wooden doors of the classroom swung open, and the professor marched to the front, clapping her hands to command immediate silence before delivering an announcement that would change the course of their studies.
"Starting tomorrow, the academy will officially commence rigorous practical training in the noble art of swordsmanship," she declared, her voice echoing off the stone walls.
"You will be instructed by a highly esteemed, master swordsman traveling all the way from the formidable Snake Kingdom.
Let me warn you, he is notoriously strict and ruthless in his methods, so I expect absolute, unwavering discipline from every single one of you.
You must bring your own personal swords. Furthermore, the student who demonstrates the highest proficiency and masters the foundational techniques first will be awarded a highly prestigious mark—the sacred Snake Stamp—engraved directly onto their blade, signifying their status as an elite, master swordsman."
A wave of excited, hushed whispers immediately rippled through the classroom as the young nobles eagerly discussed the thrill of tomorrow's lesson.
Amidst the chaotic chatter, Isla sat completely still, a profound, melancholic warmth blossoming deep within her chest.
'Tomorrow... my long-lost childhood dream is finally going to come true,' she thought, her bright blue eyes shimmering with a heavy, unshed emotion.
'The desperate dream that Miss Fransisco held onto for so many long years... Princess Isla is finally going to fulfill it.'
Learning the noble art of sword fighting hadn't just been her own personal ambition in her past life; it had been the greatest pride and deeply cherished dream of her late parents.
'I never got the chance to fulfill it for them,' she reminisced, a phantom ache painfully squeezing her heart as she remembered the screeching tires, the shattered glass, and the fatal car accident that had stolen them away when she was just a child.
'Swordsmanship was our family's greatest passion, our ultimate pride and legacy... and now, I finally have the miraculous chance to honor their memory.'
"Isla? Isla!"
Dorian's gentle voice abruptly pulled her out of her deep sea of memories. She blinked, looking over at him as he lightly tapped her wooden desk.
"Where did you zone out to? The teacher has already dismissed the class, and we really need to get going."
Isla quickly shook off her melancholy, wiping away the ghosts of her past and flashing him a bright, genuine smile.
"Ah, right! Let's go!"
When Isla returned to the grand palace that evening, her previous emotional exhaustion had entirely vanished, replaced by an infectious, buzzing excitement.
She practically sprinted into the lavish royal dining hall, breathlessly informing her parents that she was officially going to learn swordsmanship starting tomorrow, eagerly explaining how the absolute best student would earn the legendary Snake Stamp,
which meant—
"Alright, alright, that is quite enough excitement for one evening, my little Princess," the King chuckled, holding up a massive, calloused hand to gently interrupt her enthusiastic rambling. "Your mother and I have both undergone this very same rigorous training.
We know exactly what the Snake Stamp signifies, for we both earned it in our youth, just as our proud, warrior ancestors did before us.
We fully expect you to carry on our grand royal legacy and master the blade; it will be an absolutely vital skill for you to possess to protect your people when you eventually take the throne and become the Queen."
The King's eyes crinkled with a warm, knowing smile.
"Now, setting swords aside for a moment... how did you like the grand surprise gift I sent to the academy for you?"
Isla gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks.
"Oh! With all the overwhelming excitement about the swords, I completely forgot to mention it! Thank you so much, Dad. That royal decree was genuinely the absolute best gift I have ever received in my entire life!"
She turned her head, her expression instantly shifting from genuine gratitude to a wickedly playful, highly mocking smirk as she locked eyes with Prince Lucier sitting across the table.
"Today has just been an incredibly wonderful, perfect day... honestly, it was the absolute best! Isn't that right, Prince Lucier?" she teased, her voice dripping with sweet, venomous sarcasm.
Lucier, who had been angrily chewing on a sweet pancake, immediately choked.
He coughed violently, his face turning an unappealing shade of red as he desperately pounded his chest, forcing out a raspy, utterly furious response.
"Cough... Yes... it was an absolutely wonderful day."
Isla giggled, a soft, delightfully evil sound. "Heheheh."
"Alright, alright, if you two have finally finished your dinner, it is strictly time for you both to go to sleep so you are well-rested for tomorrow's trials," the King declared, signaling the end of the meal.
"Yes, Dad," Isla nodded.
"Yes, Uncle," Lucier muttered bitterly.
As they stood up from the lavish table, Isla and Lucier locked eyes, engaging in a fierce, silent battle of wills where crackling electricity practically filled the tense air between them.
'I am going to completely crush you in sword fighting tomorrow,' Isla's sharp blue eyes silently promised.
'No, I am going to absolutely humiliate you,' Lucier's dark, venomous glare fired right back. 'We will see exactly who strikes whom down.'
"Good night," they both muttered through gritted teeth.
Isla turned on her heel and strutted proudly toward the grand staircase, rolling her eyes.
'Hmph, as if that clumsy idiot could ever beat me,' she murmured quietly under her breath, highly amused by his pathetic overconfidence.
But Lucier remained sitting entirely alone at the grand dining table, his piercing gaze fixed intently on her retreating back.
As the heavy wooden doors closed behind her, the jovial atmosphere of the room instantly evaporated.
A chillingly dark, truly psychotic smile slowly stretched across his handsome face.
He lazily picked up a silver steak knife from the table, his thumb delicately tracing the sharp, gleaming edge as the flickering candlelight cast monstrous, dancing shadows across his features.
'Oh, Isla... you have absolutely no idea the kind of nightmare that is coming for you,' he thought, his icy blue eyes glinting with a dangerous, deeply murderous malice.
'Whatever happens tomorrow,
I promise you will remember the agony of it for the rest of your miserable, pathetic life.
Just as today was the absolute pinnacle of your joy... I will personally drag you down into the deepest abyss of despair.'
He paused, the metal blade catching the dim light as his smile widened into something genuinely terrifying.
The final words echoed in the dark, empty corners of his mind with a slow, chillingly possessive hiss.
'...my dear, sweet, doomed future wife.'