The King's Lost Princess

Chapter 2 – Seina Wilson

The smell of espresso, exhaust fumes, and freshly baked cornetti was the unofficial perfume of Milan.

Seina inhaled it as if it were oxygen forged just for her.

At twenty-three, she had finally mastered the art of looking like she had her life together—right up until she tripped over absolutely nothing in the middle of Piazza Leonardo da Vinci.

“Dio mio, who put this invisible rock here?” she yelped, arms flailing as she caught her balance.

“Seina!” Mia shrieked dramatically. “Why are you fighting gravity at 8 a.m.?”

Seina flipped her hair with fake elegance. “Gravity started it.”

Behind them, Arjun groaned into his cappuccino. “Can we not be embarrassing this early? The campus security knows us by name.”

“That’s because you hacked their Wi-Fi,” Luca commented, tossing his football in the air.

“It was slow!” Arjun protested.

“That doesn’t mean hacking it was the solution.” Elena, ever the calm one, adjusted her glasses and smoothed her ponytail.

“Although… thank you. My Netflix never lags now.”

Seina grinned. This was her squad—her found family.

❖ Mia Rossi

Medical student. Dramatic. Swears she’s allergic to stupidity.

Also the reason Seina hasn’t died from skipping breakfast.

❖ Arjun Mehta

Tech genius. Quiet sarcasm. Chaos magnet in denial.

Can break into anything with Wi-Fi.

❖ Luca Bianchi

Criminology major. Broad shoulders. Protective golden retriever energy.

Could arm-wrestle a car and win.

❖ Elena Marino

Design + Art history. The calm in everyone’s storm.

It could turn a broken pencil into abstract philosophy.

If someone ever wrote a book about the five of them, Seina was convinced it would be titled:

“The Academically Gifted Idiots of Milan.”

And she would be the main i***t.

Today was a typical morning:

Mia complaining,

Arjun calculating,

Luca flexing,

Elena observing,

and Seina juggling all of them while also holding three textbooks, two coffees, and one sanity.

She slurped her cappuccino. “Who’s ready for Applied Financial Modeling?”

“Not me,” Mia declared instantly. “The only model I recognize is a runway model.”

“You’re in medicine,” Arjun said.

“And I diagnose bullshit when I see it,” Mia shot back.

Elena giggled.

Luca stretched. “I’ll carry you all to class if needed.”

Mia slapped his arm. “Put those arms away, Greek God. You’re distracting the female population.”

“Thank you,” he said proudly.

“Not a compliment,” Mia muttered.

Seina burst into laughter.

This—this life—was something she never dared dream about when she was younger.

A group of friends who accepted all her chaos?

A university where she was more than a file number?

A future that didn’t feel impossible?

This was everything.

Seina hadn’t always laughed this easily.

There were days in her childhood when laughter felt like rationed water—something precious, only available in small drops.

She had grown up in the system. Not the worst, not the best. Just… the system.

Sometimes she stayed with kind families.

Sometimes she stayed with people who ignored her.

Sometimes she stayed with people who shouldn’t have been around children at all.

She learned to pack fast.

Learned not to cry.

Learned to smile even when she didn’t feel like it.

Learned to observe before speaking.

And most of all—

She learned to depend on herself.

At thirteen, she started taking small jobs—helping at a grocery store, cleaning a bookstore, sorting mail. At thirteen and a half, she got her first taste of coding when a foster home donated a half-broken laptop.

It was the beginning of something big.

When she realized she could understand algorithms faster than people could explain them, she felt a spark.

When she realized she could decode patterns in financial charts better than most adults, she felt a sense of accomplishment.

By sixteen, she knew one thing:

“No one is coming to save me.

So I will save myself.”

The scholarship that landed in her inbox at eighteen—the one whose donor remained anonymous—had felt like a miracle.

She didn’t know why someone had chosen her.

She didn’t know who believed in her.

She didn’t know where fate was leading her.

But she walked into that university with her chin high, her heart steady, and her soul determined.

She had no idea she was walking back into the kingdom she was born to rule.

“Seinaaa!” Mia poked her cheek. “What are you daydreaming about now? One of your fantasy finance equations? Or that hot senior from the AI lab?”

Seina gasped. “That man is a walking danger to my GPA.”

“Exactly,” Mia said. “Perfect match.”

“Leave her,” Luca grinned. “She’s thinking about money.”

Seina placed a hand over her heart. “Finally, someone understands me.”

Arjun pointed at her. “Your love language is spreadsheets.”

“And yours is hacking government servers for fun,” she shot back.

“Allegedly,” Arjun corrected.

The five of them burst into laughter again.

They entered the massive glass building of the Politecnico di Milano, climbing the stairs toward their lecture hall.

Students filled the atrium, sipping espresso, scribbling last-minute notes, arguing about projects.

Posters lined the walls:

“FINANCE & AI SUMMIT – Speakers: CEOs, Innovators, Analysts”

“INTERNSHIP FAIR – Banks, Startups, Tech Firms”

“SPECIAL GUEST SEMINAR — L. W.”

Seina slowed, staring at the last poster.

L. W.

No full name.

No picture.

Just the initials.

Elena noticed. “Why so serious?”

“I just… feel like I’ve seen those initials before.”

“In your bank account?” Luca joked.

“Not funny,” she muttered—but her fingers tingled.

L.W.

Why did her mind recognize it?

Why did her heart react?

Why did it feel… familiar?

She shook it off.

Mia looped her arm through Seina’s. “Come on. If we’re late again, Professor Santi will feed us to the pigeons.”

“Those pigeons already owe me money,” Seina said.

Together, they rushed inside.

Milan in the late morning was a different kind of beautiful.

Shadows cast by tall glass buildings stretched across the pavement, scooters zipped through narrow lanes, and distant laughter from the street musicians under the arches echoed faintly across campus.

Classes were done, and the five friends spilled out of the lecture hall like they’d just survived battle.

“THAT EXAM WAS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY!” Mia announced, dramatically throwing her hands in the air.

“No,” Arjun corrected. “It was a crime against basic logic. Who asks about derivative models in an introductory quiz?”

“You’re all weak,” Luca said, smirking. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You wrote your name in the wrong corner of the paper,” Elena reminded him.

“And still,” Luca flexed, “I will get a B.”

Seina burst into laughter. “How is that fair? I studied all night!”

Elena raised an eyebrow. “Seina, sweetheart, you say that no matter how much you study.”

“That’s because studying is my way of flirting with destiny.”

Mia groaned. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

“And proud,” Seina said, flipping her hair.

They crossed the university courtyard toward the outdoor café, a spot with wooden tables and the best tiramisu within 5 miles.

As they sat, the sunlight filtered through the orange-leaved trees, hitting Seina’s face. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the warmth seep into her skin.

“Okay,” she said dramatically. “Someone needs to treat us today. This morning was trauma.”

Luca grinned. “Don’t worry, princess. I got it.”

“Did you just call me princess?” Seina blinked.

He shrugged. “You act like one.”

Her heart did a strange little twist. The word “princess” always felt… familiar. Strange. Like a whisper from somewhere deep in her chest.

She shoved it aside.

Mia slapped the table. “Alright, Luca is rich today. Everyone order dessert!”

“I’m just trying to buy your forgiveness from yesterday,” Luca said.

“For what?” Seina asked.

“For eating your last croissant,” Mia answered, glaring.

“That’s a capital crime,” Elena added.

Luca raised his hands defensively. “I apologized! Kind of.”

“Kind of?” Mia gasped.

Arjun shook his head. “You’re hopeless.”

The waiter approached, smiling politely. “Buongiorno, ragazzi. What can I bring you today?”

“One tiramisu for all of us,” Luca said confidently.

“Make it two,” Mia corrected. “Seina eats like a tiny black hole.”

“I do not!” Seina gasped.

Arjun murmured, “You literally ate both portions of pasta last night.”

“That was survival instinct,” she said proudly.

They all laughed.

This group—this chaotic, ridiculous, lovable group—was her heart.

They weren’t just friends; they were a four-person safety net holding her up from every side.

She had survived childhood alone.

But adulthood?

She didn’t have to.

Not anymore.

After dessert (which Seina did, in fact, inhale with alarming speed), the group split for the day.

Mia headed to her anatomy labs.

Elena left for her design internship.

Luca had sports practice.

Arjun disappeared with a mumble about “fixing his illegal algorithm.”

Seina walked toward the tram station, adjusting the strap of her backpack. She had her part-time job next—data assistant for a small financial firm.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid, and it kept her close to the fields she loved.

She took the No. 33 tram, squeezing between tourists and locals, clutching the overhead rail as the tram jerked forward.

The city blurred past the windows:

Renaissance buildings

chic boutiques

Narrow alleys lined with bakeries

and cafés, with the smell of fresh espresso drifting out,

scooters flying dangerously close to pedestrians,

graffiti walls mixing art with rebellion

Seina loved Milan.

It was messy. Loud. Beautiful.

A place where she could vanish in a crowd and still feel like she belonged.

When she arrived at the firm, she greeted her supervisor, Paolo, with a bright smile.

“Hi!”

“You’re late,” Paolo said without looking up.

“I brought biscotti,” she added.

“You’re forgiven,” he replied instantly.

She gave him a victory smirk.

At her desk, she put on her blue-light glasses, cracked her knuckles, and started typing.

Financial datasets.

Stock patterns.

Algorithm outputs.

Error logs.

Simulated trading environments.

For most people, it looked like a headache.

For Seina?

It was comfort.

Numbers made sense.

Patterns never lie.

Data didn’t abandon her.

People had.

Systems had.

Families had.

But numbers? They were loyal.

Around 6 PM, she left work, craving street food. She walked toward the nearest vendor selling paper cones of warm roasted chestnuts.

She dug into her pocket for coins.

“Keep the change,” a voice said behind her.

She froze.

Her back straightened.

Her fingers tightened around the paper cone.

Her breath caught.

She turned slowly—

Empty street.

Shadows.

People crossing.

A cyclist passing.

But no one was standing behind her.

Her heart pounded in confusion.

She heard the vendor speak in rapid Italian, thanking someone behind her.

But nobody was there.

She frowned and scanned the area again.

Then her gaze stopped.

Across the road, under a streetlamp, a figure stood.

A man.

Late sixties.

Simple coat.

Hands behind his back.

Observing her quietly.

His face was barely visible in the dim light, but she felt warmth spread through her chest.

Recognition.

A strange comfort.

It was the same man she thought she saw earlier on campus.

He didn’t wave.

He didn’t walk closer.

He stood there, watching her with an expression she couldn’t read.

Sadness?

Pride?

Shock?

Love?

Her breath hitched.

She blinked—

—and he was gone.

As if swallowed by the city.

Her chest tightened painfully.

What was happening?

Why did she feel like the threads of her life were being pulled toward something huge?

Or someone.

She shook her head and forced herself to focus.

Maybe she was tired.

Maybe she was imagining things.

Italy had too many poetic shadows.

She turned and headed toward the tram stop, the night breeze brushing her cheeks.

Back in the dorm, Mia was sprawled dramatically across the couch.

“I failed!” she wailed.

“You say that after every class,” Seina said.

“No, this time I FAILED,” Mia insisted. “My professor said my diagnosis skills are ‘too emotional.’ Too emotional! How else do I diagnose a broken heart, Seina?!”

Seina snorted. “You’re not becoming a cardiologist, Mia.”

“I COULD!” Mia shouted.

Elena looked up from her sketchbook. “Guys… can someone pass me the pencil? No, not that one. The other one. The one that looks like it hates capitalism.”

“On it,” Seina said, tossing it to her.

The door burst open, and Luca entered like a golden retriever with muscles. “Pizza?”

“Yes!” Mia screamed. “I take back everything I said about you today!”

Seina grabbed the box. “If this is pineapple pizza, I swear I will block your number.”

Luca gasped. “I would never disgrace Italian cuisine like that!”

“Good,” Seina said.

Arjun arrived last, holding a USB stick. “I have something.”

Mia squinted. “Is it illegal?”

“… No?” he said uncertainly.

“Then we don’t want it,” Luca said.

Seina laughed so hard she snorted.

They spent the night eating pizza, roasting each other, watching a crime documentary that Luca kept fact-checking out loud, and laughing until their stomachs hurt.

This was peace.

This was home.

This was the calm before the storm.

Much later, when everyone was asleep, Seina stepped out onto the small balcony.

Milan glittered below her—lights from streetlamps, passing trams, the glow of apartments, and distant laughter floating through alleys.

She leaned against the railing, letting the cold air cool her skin.

Something tugged at her.

A whisper in her blood.

A feeling she didn’t understand.

Like someone somewhere was watching over her.

Waiting for her.

Missing her.

Her fingers brushed the thin silver bracelet she’d worn since childhood—the only thing she’d ever been found with.

S.

Just an S.

“Who named me?” she whispered to the night.

The city didn’t answer.

But far away—

in a mansion she didn’t know existed—

A man looked at a wall of photos

and whispered her name

as if it were a prayer he had carried for 23 years.