The wind was lazy that morning. Real lazy. Even the clouds looked half-asleep, drifting like fluffy sheep who forgot where the sky-farm was.
Keal lay on the grassy hill, arms behind his head, legs kicking slightly as if the breeze was a song only he could hear.
He wasn't thinking about bugs today. Or threads. Or god-staring competitions.
He was thinking about princesses.
And dandelions.
And the absolutely 10-out-of-10 possibility that somewhere out there, a lonely, slightly older (but not too older, because Nylessa said twelve-year-olds could go to magic academies), beautiful princess was also looking at clouds and saying: "Oh no... where is my flirty little cloud poet boy?"
So he sang.
Not just any song.
It was his version of "Dandelions" — (copyright) hehehe= from the auther
He cleared his throat.
Took a deep breath.
Raised a blade of grass like a microphone.
And belted out:
🎵
"I see clouds like dandelions,
Floating high where my dreams align,
I pick one, and I wish real hard—
Please give me a princess with a nice gold card."
🎵
An actual squirrel dropped its acorn mid-leap.
From behind a tree, Nylessa looked up from her book with the expression of someone who just discovered their child was either an artistic genius or had finally gone thread-mad.
Keal, unbothered, stood up and spun slowly like a prince at a concert.
🎵
"In a world of boring kings,
I need someone who likes magic rings—
Maybe older, maybe wise,
But she gotta have pretty eyes!"
🎵
He dropped to his knees.
Pointed dramatically at a particularly fluffy cloud.
"You! Fluff 37-B! I dedicate this one to you!"
He sang louder:
🎵
"I wish on every puff of white,
To find someone who holds me tight—
Who won't ignore me when I flirt,
Even if I fall face-first in dirt."
🎵
From behind the tree, Nylessa muttered, "Is he flirting... with atmospheric water vapor?"
Yes.
Yes, he was.
Keal paused, wiped invisible sweat from his brow, and whispered to the heavens: "Take my voice, clouds. Deliver it to the hottest princess in all seven kingdoms. Or ten kingdoms. Or however many there are. Maybe I'll find out if I enroll in magic academy. The romantic division."
He flopped back onto the grass.
Whispered, "I call that one... 'Dandelions for Her Royal Hotness.'"
Behind the tree, Nylessa slowly closed her book.
"…That boy's gonna be a problem," she said with a sigh.
But she couldn't stop smiling.
The clouds floated on.
And somewhere, probably, a princess sneezed.
Because the wind carried pollen.
And maybe a song.
Or maybe both.
The end. (For now.)