Cyril was a good person, Rie would be the first to say. The problem was that Cyril also had some very silly ideas about what was and wasn't appropriate. Rie graciously attributed that to Cyril being his etiquette master. The older boy clearly just didn't understand that if you were a prince, you had to have a sword! If you didn't have a sword, how were you supposed to fight to defend your kingdom?

Take now, for example. Rie had been in the garden, peacefully addressing a cluster of daisies, encouraging them to grow strong and beautiful -- and then suddenly, a fierce lion had attacked! A mutant lion too, striped golden and grey, with vicious green eyes and big fangs. Rie, of course, hadn't reacted with any fear. He was a prince! He didn't know the meaning of the word 'fear'! (Actually, he did, Cyril had given him a dictionary last time he'd tried to claim that he didn't know the meaning of the word 'housework', but Rie refused to let the facts get in the way of a perfectly good line).

He'd picked up a club, brandished it at the lion and with a fierce yell, jumped forwards to attack. Like the cowardly beast that it was, the lion had turned tail and run. Heartened, Rie had pursued it, chasing it down the avenue and the streets outside.

By now, he was lost. And the lion had evaded. Or so it seemed. Rie wasn't stupid. He knew the lion was still there. Waiting. Somewhere. About to spring on him.

Still holding the thin branch in his arm like it was a weapon, Rie looked around for any sign of the fearsome feline. It'd attack him again, he knew, and then it would DIE!