When the World Demands a Crown

I thought loving a prince meant forever. No one told me forever had an expiration date. ============Chapter 1============ The market of Ranu woke long before the sun fully rose. Morning mist still clung to the ground, curling lazily around wooden stalls and hanging fabrics. The earth was damp from last night’s rain, soft beneath passing footsteps. Puddles reflected pale light and blurred colors—baskets of fruit, faded cloth, and the slow movement of people who had nowhere urgent to go. Life here did not rush. Vendors called out prices without desperation. Their voices blended with laughter, chatter, and the occasional cluck of wandering chickens. Children darted between stalls, barefoot and fearless, while adults argued cheerfully over the worth of bread and vegetables. In the middle of it all, a girl walked alone. She could not have been more than ten years old. Her dress was simple, the fabric worn thin at the edges, falling just below her knees. Mud clung to the soles of her shoes. Her hair was neatly tied down the middle, though a few loose strands escaped and brushed against her round cheeks. She whistled as she walked. The tune was uneven and quiet, something she seemed to make up as she went, meant for no one but herself. Her steps were light, unbothered by the noise around her, as though the market were a place she belonged to—if only for the morning. Alice slowed near the food stalls. Warm air drifted toward her, carrying the scent of freshly baked pastries and sweet drinks. Her eyes followed trays of golden bread still steaming, candies coated in sugar that stuck to other children’s fingers, and small cakes arranged neatly as if waiting to be chosen. Her stomach tightened. She stepped closer, hesitated, then lifted her hand. Just a little closer. Then she stopped. Alice slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress. Nothing. She searched the other pocket, slower this time, as if the coins might appear if she looked carefully enough. Still nothing. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at the food as if committing it to memory. The smile on her lips faded—only slightly—before she straightened her shoulders and turned away. Hunger, she decided, could be ignored. A sudden burst of laughter cut through the market noise. Alice turned toward the sound and found a small crowd gathered ahead. People stood shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks toward a makeshift stage. Curious, she followed, weaving easily between adults until she reached the edge of the circle. A wooden puppet show was underway. The puppets were clumsy and stiff, their painted faces chipped with age, but they moved with surprising life. Strings pulled them into awkward bows and exaggerated steps. One tripped over its own feet and fell flat on its face. The crowd laughed. Alice laughed too. Her eyes lit up as she leaned forward, completely absorbed. She followed every movement, every mistake, every dramatic pause as though the performance were meant just for her. She did not notice the boy standing beside her. He was slightly taller than she was, his posture straight, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Unlike the others, he did not laugh easily. His expression was serious, almost thoughtful, as his eyes tracked the puppets’ movements with quiet focus. They stood side by side, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. Neither of them looked. The moment broke when someone behind Alice shoved forward. She stumbled. “Ow!” Her foot came down hard on something solid. “Hey!” a voice snapped. Alice jerked back, startled, as the boy beside her pulled his foot away. He glared at her, clearly offended. “What are you made of?” he said. “Stone?” Alice blinked, then frowned. “You’re the one standing weird.” “You almost crushed my foot!” “Then move next time.” They stared at each other, both equally convinced they were right. On the stage, a puppet collapsed again, dramatically this time, and the crowd burst into laughter once more. Alice laughed first. The sound escaped her before she could stop it—bright and unguarded. The boy stiffened, then quickly looked away, pretending he did not care. “…It was kind of funny,” he muttered. Alice glanced at him, surprised. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly before he caught himself and straightened, returning to his serious expression. She smiled.