The Princess

chapter two- Ready or not

"How are you, Uncle?"

My voice slithered through the air like velvet smoke—firm, unshaken, and laced with an authority I no longer had to fake. There was no greeting. He hadn’t earned it. The very thought of pretending respect for a man like Alphonso was laughable. And judging by the way his beady eyes narrowed at me, shimmering with a mixture of rage and disbelief, he knew it too.

The contempt he felt for me—oh, it glittered like poisoned jewels in his expression. But I? I didn't flinch. I didn’t care. I was no longer the trembling heir hiding behind velvet curtains and whispered prayers. I was here to reclaim what was mine. He no longer belonged in this house. And he damn well knew it.

"Such a disrespectful brat!"

His voice was pure venom, hissing through clenched teeth like a serpent denied its prey. But I’d long grown immune to his poison. He was all bark—no bite. Once upon a time, I would have shriveled under his glare, afraid he'd raise his hand, afraid he’d strike me. But that was before I learned who I truly was. Before I realized that touching me now would be no different from declaring war on a crown.

I smiled, slow and cold.

"To what do I owe this grave visit?" I drawled, my gaze flicking briefly to the butler—my butler—whose lips were a tight, grim line. No one in this household liked Alphonso. Not the staff. Not the family. My father had barely tolerated his excesses, and my mother—goddess rest her beautiful, pride-laced soul—tried to play the gracious queen. Tried being the operative word.

"You brat!" he spat, his face contorting into something monstrous. "Just leave the crown already—for someone more reasonable to rule!"

And there it was. The broken record of ambition, spinning wildly in his chest. Every word he uttered was drenched in greed, in the sickening hunger for power that had long since blackened his soul. He didn’t want a kingdom; he wanted control.

I stared at him. And for the first time, truly, I saw him.

A toad.

Not just in looks—but in spirit. Slimy. Pathetic. A walking disaster with delusions of grandeur. I didn’t just need an advisor. I needed a sword. A spell. A miracle. Something magical to sever his hold and banish him into shadows, where monsters like him belonged.

Because one thing was certain—this palace was mine now. And I wasn’t going to share it with a ghost wearing my father’s robes.