Meanwhile, I? I'm literally invisible in all of this. My father's mentioned—once, in passing, probably about territories dying, yada yada—but me? Not a single word. I'm a ghost, a shadow, a sassy footnote that nobody expects to be a literal game-changer. And yet, here I am, fully aware, fully rested, fully fed… fully thriving.
I know the canon. I know the story beats. Milabuella and Sir Alex are going to traipse through those dusty villages, rescuing poor farmers, bonding over heroic deeds, dramatic sunset hair flips, and probably arguing about taxes or crop rotations or something equally romantic in a medieval princess kind of way.
