He waded into the ogres: hacking and slashing his way through the thick of them, arms covered with gore up to the elbow, flag flying behind him.
On a nearby hilltop, he was the object of much discussion.
“The Prince acquits himself well,” said the Chamberlain.
“He has a knack for it. Like his father,” observed the Master at Arms.
The Queen was quiet for a moment. “His father died on a field not far from here.” There was a pause, an uncomfortable silence full of a cold wind. She continued, “I could almost wish he was hopeless at it.”