Delusional

The morning had started off wonderfully. The sun was just right, the air was crisp, and I'd been wrapped in the comfort of a warm bed, drifting in and out of pleasant dreams. I was in the perfect state of bliss—until Stacy decided to drag me out of it with news that Prince Frederick required my presence. Really, at this hour?

Now I'm sitting across from him, forced into a corset that's squeezing the life out of me, and I can't help but fume silently. It's barely 9 AM, and here I am, stuck in the garden when I should still be in bed. It's infuriating.

Prince Frederick, with his annoyingly perfect blue hair and overly polite smile, dares to compliment me. "You look beautiful in the morning sun, my Princess." His voice grates on my nerves. "My Princess." Ugh. I hate that. When my boys say it, it's sweet and endearing, but when it comes from him, it's just… irksome. It feels uncomfortable.

I don't bother responding, just stare at him with a blank expression. Maybe if I stay silent long enough, he'll take the hint and leave. But somehow, I doubt I'll be that lucky.

"You called it a night early yesterday because you said you weren't feeling well. Are you feeling better?" Fredrick asks, trying to loop his arm through mine. I quickly pull away, not willing to let him even try. He chuckles awkwardly, clearly taken aback.

"I would like to say rest made it all better," I reply, my voice dripping with fake politeness, "but unfortunately, before I could get adequate rest, here I am."

"I do apologize," Fredrick says, flashing what he probably thinks is a charming smile. "It's only because I couldn't wait to see you again."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He's stereotypically handsome, I suppose, with his neat blue hair and tailored clothes. But honestly, when you're surrounded by otherworldly gorgeous men on a daily basis, he's just... average. His cheesy compliments do nothing for me. I simply stare at him in silence, letting the weight of my disinterest settle between us.

I can barely hold in my frustration. "I don't know what Luan said to you, but I'm not interested," I blurt out, cutting through the unbearable silence.

Fredrick tries to play it cool, saying, "I don't know what you mean," but his facade cracks almost instantly.

"Fine," he admits, "but the Emperor and my brother-in-law said it can be me or Gerald, and honestly, Gerald is married. You wouldn't want to be a concubine." He carries on as if he's offering me some grand favor. "I suggest you let me court you, and I will never treat you wrong."

Is this supposed to impress me? The audacity is staggering. I feel my fury boiling beneath the surface. I've met guys like this before on Earth—arrogant, self-serving, and completely clueless. But unlike on Earth, where I could've rushed across the table and bashed his head in with a chair, here I have to maintain some semblance of royal decorum. Not that I don't care about my reputation; contrary to what Luan thinks, I do care enough. I can't bribe the police here to keep an incident under wraps after all.

"Is that supposed to be some sort of favor?" I ask, my voice dripping with disdain. Without waiting for his response, I take a sip of my tea, savoring the sweetness. Valendor always knows how I like it, and for a brief moment, I'm grateful for his thoughtfulness.

I set my cup down and fix my gaze on Fredrick. "Let's get one thing straight. The only reason I'm having a semblance of a normal conversation with you is because of your sister."

His expression shifts, but I don't let up. "Who on earth do you think you are? Do you think this is Brendholm? Should I swoon at the fact that I've gained your favor? Are you delusional?"

I can see the discomfort in his eyes, but I'm not finished. "Let's establish a few facts. I am Lucina Solana. A princess, direct bloodline of the Salona Empire. I was born blessed by the moon. If anything happens to my two brothers, I am next in line for the throne. The Salona Empire—your Brendholm is practically a vassal kingdom. The Empire runs this entire continent. You know that."

I stand up, my movements deliberate, and walk towards him. Leaning against the table, I look down at him mockingly. "Look at me. Look at you. Who should really be the confident one here? If I decided to put my hand out for marriage, do you think there would be a lack of suitors across the whole continent?"

I scoff, grabbing his chin forcefully, forcing him to look at me. "Trust me, if I put you in a race with thousands of my would-be suitors, you would be nothing. Nothing about you is special. Royal blood? I can find a prince better than you. Looks? Please. I'm surrounded by ethereally handsome men every day. Your talent? How pitiful. My personal knight is the genius of the century."

I release him, letting the weight of my words sink in. "Let's be real. You're mediocre. It's an insult that you'd even offer me such a pathetic proposal."

I straighten up, no longer interested in this farce of a conversation. "This is over," I declare with finality, motioning with my hand. Haroun steps forward almost immediately, his presence solid and reassuring.

"He's done here," I say, turning my back on Fredrick and heading towards the inside of my palace, leaving him to stew in the realization of just how insignificant he is in my world.