"You can't just let her be!"

When you hear the words "teased" and "bullied", you tend to think of school and kids.

"She's a good child, she wouldn't abuse it."

But, due to private schooling, to royalty it is different.

"Bias!"

The names are the same...

"You fail to see I am being honest."

But they all come with sticks and stones.

"Your daughter has the temper like the fire she throws! She is not fit for royal power!"

The girl in question sat next to her father. When these trials first began, she was not anxious or worried, but as the trials progressed, and she pieced it all together, she figured out just how much this trial could effect her life.

The king was annoyed. "She's helped this whole kingdom with it, even you! Surely that has earned your trust by now?"

But now it's just routine.

"You aren't BORN a dictator, you BECOME one. With time. All it would take for your daughter to become a genocidal tyrant would be some off words."

"Like the ones leaving your mouth?"

"Is that a threat, my king?"

"It's the truth."

"We've been through this times before, do I have to say it again? If she gets mad at that, then she shouldn't be able to inherit the throne!"

"Because she has rational feelings?"

The noble rose from his seat. "What are you implying?"

The judge slammed the gavel on his well-furnished and designed desk.

"Calm down, sir." The judge ordered, laying the wooden hammer's head on the pedestal he whacked.

"She has notable, prominent anger problems, she has proved their existence in the past, and you're telling me if she kicked her flaming high heels in my eye, it would be rational?" The paranoid noble exclaimed.

The king looked back at him with low, flat, and annoyed eyebrows. "In the past. She has, since, learned to control most of it. Most of her irrationalities, at least. Unlike you."

CLACK CLACK CLACK

"That's enough of you two." The judge complained, sensing anger spark up between the two. "Now, if the Jury has anything new to say..."

And they didn't. Six say guilty and six say innocent on a trial of twelve. A tie. At first, it was unsettling, so they replaced the jury. The second tie, which was the next court case, it was confusing. The third, the case after that, outrageous. The more it went on, the more it seemed like some cruel joke found only on political cartoons; the entire kingdom is split so evenly on a topic, they can't pull in a jury with more people in favor of either side than the other. Even the girl herself felt split.

Perhaps that's what it is, a cruel joke played by the populace. The political cartoon joke may be accurate, but there was one thing it couldn't have gotten right: It assumed that it had to end at some point, and it was just to tease the poor girl. They thought it would be over in a month. A month turned into half a year, and then into a full year. Eventually, one who would normally say guilty would say innocent, and close the case, but that is when another noble comes in, and starts the same exact thing as the last one, perhaps with fabrications about the girl ready to spew from their mouths. It all felt like one case, with different plaintiffs every couple of months.

When the anniversary of the trials beginning hit, most people stopped listening to juries. That's when it stopped being a trial by jury, but an argument between a king and a legion of nobles over a girl's right to marry, inherit the throne, stay within the royal palace, stay within the kingdom, and to live, right in front of her.

And she just sat there with a cold, blank stare.

"Another tie by the jury." The judge said, putting on tone of false amusement. He took a pen and marked a tally on an old piece of paper with hundreds of other marks across it. "Day number six of the sixteenth trial of Princess Blaze, no verdict. Two weeks from now, you three will return at the same time to this court to continue."

"Yes, your honor." The defendant and the plaintiff said in unison.

The judge nodded. "Good. It would be nice to come to some conclusion of this whole debacle after... what, seven years?"

The king shook his head. "If the jury is honestly split like that, let it be..."

The judge sighed.

"This system is biased." The noble groaned on the way out.

The judge etched his fingernail onto his desk, gaining a smile. "And that's the two hundredth time I have heard in my court room. Congratulations."

The same people. The same time. Every two weeks. For two hours. For seven years. Seven and half, to be specific. Repeatedly told by old, respected nobles, that she is "too powerful" for the throne, claiming she'd kill those who pose a threat to her or get in the way of what she wants. Her father, protecting his only child took the matter into his own hands to defend his daughter's reputation. He had never expected the noble families his ancestors befriended would be so stubborn about it. So stubborn, that they persisted for seven years; from the moment she, as a seven year old, had only overreacted to a simple cat joke, through the times she saved her world and her people, including those angry lords, to this current day.

And there was no end in sight, even after years of repetitive trial. The appearance of a new argument was rare. They said the same things, present the same arguments, same counterarguments, and it all looped back to the first one. "Pyromaniac." "Freak." "Pussy." And unlike any normal case of teasing and bullying, there was no "my dad can beat up your dad" or "I could beat up you" way out. Those would only prove his point. Due to law, she had to sit and listen to the paranoid and crazed men insult her every other Wednesday from the day she turned seven until now, when she was fourteen for half a year. Not because they are right, but because they had believed some day she could snap and ruin the country she worked so hard to save, and if her father were to simply decline and send them off, they would get the media and the people against them. They would rebel. So instead of shooing them away and dealing with a rebellion, the king took it in the mannered and civilized way he did.

But this wasn't law. It couldn't be. Blaze didn't see these as actual court cases, not anymore. She just saw them as anger management sessions for the royal nobles to let out all their anger at a girl, calling her a witch. She was fine with other insults, but "witch" hit her hardest, because of how they were treated in the old world.

The society did not smile upon those with special powers, especially witches. They watched with cautious eyes, since most people that did, did not use them for good deeds. They were a rare breed, and for the rare breed, they used rare punishments for their crimes to discourage the rest. These punishments were typically old fashioned. Old fashioned, as in lynching, beheading, iron maidens, roasting, and such, depending on how they used their powers. Some would call it barbaric. Although she wasn't doomed if found guilty, people wouldn't be to happy if she ever used them again.

Yet, disregarding all of the hate, Blaze used her powers to protect her people from Eggman Nega, the constant, relentless and psychotic threat to the whole planet. Not just her people, but the nobles as well. And still, they wanted her hanging from a rope around her neck on her own front lawn. With nobles forming lines to harass her by trial, she swore there was some conspiracy against her.

She hated politics.

As she was walked outside, the roar of the crowds filled her ears. Whether they were shouting at her, or shouting at people with a different opinion on her, whether it is for or against her royalty status, she hated it. She wished she could just turn off her ears. She'd be fine if she didn't have to come to the court trials, but the law required her to.

In an attempt to ignore the crowd, she looked at the snipers. They were her guards from afar. From the moment her father told her she had seven teams of two watching over her every time she walked out of the court room, she spent the walks back to the armored car looking for them, spending seconds at a time. She never met any in person, and did not know which group she found. She found six total. She never quite found the last one.

But then, something shook. The something budged on the roof of the building just to the right. Blaze slowed down to see what it was. Whatever it was, it was not there now. She walked down the walkway toward the escort car a few more steps, and just as she was at the door, she looked again.

There he was. White, yellow eyes, holding a rifle, pointing it straight at her.

All the other snipers were dressed in black.

And that's when she realized she stopped moving completely.

Blaze glared at the assassin's only slightly faster boat from the bow of her only slightly slower battleship, and groaned.

She chased him all across the capital city to the ports, and she almost had him, but he had taken a speedboat that already had the engine started there. Sure, she was currently aboard the Ocean Tornado, which along with the Deep Typhoon was taken from Marine with permission (and on the grounds that they were plain dangerous in seven year old hands) when Blaze returned to the mainland, and it could blow the tiny boat to bits very quickly, but by the time it would take to turn the ships guns toward the boat and aim, he would already be near the edge of reasonable combat range. The range alone is enough to disqualify the flamethrower. And even then, it's too fast of a target to attempt to combat with cannons, and too small to be hit with a machine gun, from this distance at least. It wasn't much faster than this battleship, but it was enough that by the boat turned to open fire, the speedboat would have a second or two window of being vulnerable until the shooters are just guessing where the rounds will land. So all they could do was follow him until he landed somewhere, or stopped. It was fast enough to get away, but slow enough to mock Blaze further.

Which brought her to the next question: How much planning did the assassin do? Blaze saw that he had simply knocked out the sniper team stationed on the building, took the rifle, and shot at her. And missed. Then, taking a completely improvised route with a lot of pushing and shoving involved, he found the port, took a speed boat, and head off. Given the rest of his "plan", it probably wasn't even his. Regardless, he executed what little of an idea he had to do decently, minus the killing her part.

"Your highne-Um, Blaze..." Gardon began, correcting himself to what he remembered her preference. "We have identified the assassin."

"I already know." Blaze responded. "I hate politics, but I have to follow them."

Gardon understood. "Ah, yes."

To top it all off, she knew who the assassin was. A prince of a rival kingdom, which was in shambles. Because he thought the majority of his people were perfect. He was too naïve. He expected too much from his people. She almost felt sorry for the situation his nation was in, but now she didn't give a second thought. Nations other than hers were not her problem, and the attempt on her life ruined any positives the nation might have had for her. Blaze didn't know what she'd do to him when she got her hands on her. Probably return the assassination favor. Maybe she was too hateful, but she couldn't think of anything that could lead to another friend over the fact that he just tried to end her life.

"And Blaze?" Gardon asked again.

"What?" She asked.

"There is a nasty storm ahead, and he's heading right into it." Gardon explained.

"Really? With just a speed boat?" Blaze wondered. She was a bit worried she wouldn't get revenge.

Gardon nodded. "Yes. There have been cyclones spotted within it."

Blaze shook her head in disbelief. "I wouldn't think he had nothing prepared for us this whole time. Get ready for an ambush of some kind. And maybe while he's trying to get over the waves, we could plow through them and get some good shots off. Maybe."

"Yes, your majesty!" Gardon saluted, accidentally letting the "majesty" out from his lips, before turning to shout orders to the crew members. As Gardon let the term slip from his mouth, Blaze did as well. She didn't like nagging on people for the smallest things.

Looking at the boat ride into the storm, Blaze wondered quietly, as if to speak to her attacker. "What are you doing?"

As the two ships dredged deeper into the storm, it got worse and worse. The waves slammed onto the sides of the boat, and winds ripped as whirlwinds formed and made the situation all the more worse. The assassin's speed boat had to have been flipped at least once, but it always landed in a proper functioning condition.

As the scene got more and more confusing, the less she cared about the thunder, rain and lightning, and the more she focused about the speedboat's miraculous landing ability. Waves that managed to reach over the hull and hit the deck of the Ocean Tornado would send the tiny speed boat straight into the air, but then it would backflip, and land as if it went off a tiny ramp. It was irritating to watch. She felt her hair stand on end. Despite her dull pains, she almost managed to block out the rest of the world.

"Blaze!" Gardon tried shouting over the fierce winds, to no avail.

She squinted her eyes. It really was irritating to watch. Her eyes felt dull pains, she was feeling tense, and she felt some different presence of force amongst the now-drowned out thunder, rain and lightning. It was something more... exotic than the winds. She wondered what it was, until she widened her eyes. Then she noticed something in the corner of her eye and realized what was making her tense.

A tornado was getting within close vicinity of the ship was pulsing in a green aura.

She looked over one last time to the speed boat, to see it was turning, and in the driver's seat, she could see the assassin waving.

Before Blaze could shoot off every rude hand gesture she knew at him within seconds with privately practiced expertise, the Ocean Tornado tilted the other way, into the cyclone.

It was a massive cyclone of immense force. It was so strong, not only was it pushing the boat not from the wind hitting the sails but instead the wind hitting the stern of the boat, but it was creating a whirlpool, which sent the ship going faster, and closer to the tornado. Things on the boat were being lifted now, and people were grabbing onto whatever they could. Blaze grabbed onto the railing, while Gardon, desperate and in the middle between the railings, sunk his sword into the ship's deck at an angle, all the way until at least half the blade was under the deck, and held onto the hand-guard.

Everyone was ready for the ship to start being ripped apart, inevitably sinking the ship, killing most of the crew, a miracle that involved Blaze being the lone survivor, or some such event, when suddenly the green aura receded. As it receded, so did all the forces of nature. The vicious cyclone seemed to stop, the ship was beginning to rebalance itself, and not a wave hit the side of the ship.

Then came the flash, and with it, unconsciousness.