The Princess

Chapter Three: Forearmed is Forewarned

While Uncle Alphonso stood there, puffed up like a toad in heat, thinking I was waiting for him to speak—as if—I was, in truth, only waiting for Greta to announce breakfast.

He didn’t know it yet, but breakfast was the grand stage for the performance I had planned. The news I had carried in my chest like a dagger would be served alongside honeyed toast. Let the fat ghoul feed before I pulled the rug out from under his crusty feet.

“Princess Sia! Breakfast is ready!”

The familiar warmth in Greta’s voice brought a flicker of softness to my otherwise stony expression. I turned to her and smiled. Not the polite, calculated curve I used with nobles, but a real one. She had earned it. Thirty years in this palace, and not once had she faltered. Her daughter, Lia, was the only person in this golden prison who reminded me what friendship could feel like.

As if on cue, Alphonso swiveled his bloated neck toward Greta like a broken wind-up doll.

“Don’t you have any shame, serving breakfast this late?” he snapped.

Late. By which he meant eight in the morning. The absurdity.

I didn’t bother hiding the eye roll that followed. “Uncle,” I said, voice laced with ice, “Greta works for me, not you. I am the only one authorized to scold her.”

Perhaps it was the sharpness in my tone, or maybe the way I didn’t blink when I said it, but I watched him swallow hard. A flicker of fear. Good. That was just the starter pack.

“I—I would like to have pancakes for breakfast,” he said, and stuttered.

Now that was new.

I glanced at Greta, and she subtly shook her head. No pancakes today. Perfect.

With a sigh too delicate to be called rude, I turned back to him.

“You make me wonder, Uncle. Doesn’t your wife cook? Or is begging for pancakes your newest hobby?” I smiled, slow and cruel. “It must wound her deeply, seeing you grovel for food. For pancakes, of all things. Ew.”

I didn’t wait to see the offense ripple across his face. I didn’t need to.

I knew his eyes would bulge like overfilled pouches. I knew he would still follow me, tail tucked behind bloated pride.

Because whether he liked it or not—this palace danced to my rhythm now.