Keal sat upside-down on a chair. His feet were on the backrest, and his head was nearly touching the floor. A dusty book titled "Continents, Crowns, and Cuties: A Guide to Royal Lineages" lay open beside him.
"Nylessa," he called, still upside-down. "Do you think it's creepy if I wanna marry a princess?"
Nylessa didn't look up from stirring soup. "Depends. How old is she?"
Keal rolled off the chair dramatically. "I don't know yet! That's the problem! I'm on a quest. A romantic mission. A noble endeavor of the heart!"
"You're wearing your shirt backward."
He looked down. "Even love has laundry days."
---
Keal had decided, quite heroically, that if he couldn't go to the magic academy yet, he'd prepare. Not with magic.
With romance research.
He flipped a page. "Okay, so the continent of Brevalon has three kingdoms. That's three possible princesses. Maybe four if someone's hiding a cute cousin."
He winked at a painting of a castle. "Show me your royal daughters."
---
Page after page, he made dramatic notes in his Very Serious Notebook:
Kingdom of Velmire: Princess Elwina. Age: ??? Looks: Tall. Probably smells like roses and war.
Duchy of Frindlehorn: Not technically a kingdom, but has a Countess. Name: Beatrix. Age: 14. Danger Level: High. Wears armor. Hot.
Empire of Solvanna: Princess twins. Age: 10. Fashion: capes. Also possibly psychic.
"Twins... double the drama," Keal whispered.
---
He marched into the kitchen holding a map and wearing a crown made from bread crusts.
"Behold! The Lonely Boy Prince seeks his Royal Babe!"
Nylessa sighed. "If you get crumbs in the soup, I'm turning you into a teacup."
"That's fair. But only if it's a charming teacup with mysterious eyes."
---
Hours passed. Keal sprawled across scrolls, books, and something that may have been Nylessa's tax records.
He muttered to himself: "She has to be smart, beautiful, politically interesting… but also not allergic to frogs. That's important."
He drew little hearts around the name Princess Talia of Krovane.
"Likes poetry. Wears red. Strong opinions about soup. I love her already."
He sighed dreamily, then blinked. "Wait. She's twelve. I'm eight. That's not too bad, right? Four years older means I'm dating up. I'm classy."
---
He ran back to Nylessa. "Hey! Is four years a lot? Like... romantically?"
Nylessa didn't even flinch. "Ask me that again when you hit puberty."
"What's that?"
"Emotional fire and sweat. Lots of sweat."
Keal looked horrified. "Do princesses know about this?!"
---
Back to research.
He found a scribbled entry: "Princess Mirelle of the North Sea Isles—missing."
"Mysterious! Possibly cursed! Definitely my type!"
He kissed the page. "Don't worry, Mirelle. I'll rescue you, flirt heroically, and share my sandwich."
---
Hours later, Keal had a wall of princess portraits (badly drawn), a list of romantic goals, and a schedule titled: "Kiss a Princess by Age 12 or Die Trying."
He held it up proudly. "Nylessa! I have a life plan!"
She glanced over. "You spelled 'princess' with two Zs."
"That's the extra kiss."
She groaned.
---
That night, he stared at the stars.
"Somewhere out there is a girl with a tiara, a sword, and maybe a pet ferret. I don't know her name yet… but I already love her eyebrows."
The wind didn't answer.
But his heart fluttered anyway.