Night had settled over their rooms in the palace, and the three sisters were still awake.
Cinderella was brushing her hair in front of the small mirror, Drizella was untangling ribbons she bought from the market, and Anastasia was staring at nothing, lost in thought.
Drizella noticed first. "Why is your face like that?" she asked, squinting at Anastasia.
"My face is normal," Anastasia said quickly, sitting up straighter.
"No, it's not," Cinderella chimed in.
"You look soft. And dreamy." She fluttered her lashes dramatically.
Anastasia blinked hard. "I am not dreamy! I am thinking about… the gifts. Yes. The market gifts."
Drizella snorted. "Sure. Gifts. Or was it a certain guard grabbing you by the waist before you died under a cart?"
Anastasia turned red. "I wasn't going to die! And he didn't grab me. He just— caught me. That's all."
Cinderella gasped theatrically. "Caught you! Like in a romance book!"
"It was not romantic!" Anastasia protested, hiding half her face behind a pillow.
Drizella leaned closer.
"You should have heard yourself. 'Thank you…'" she mimicked in a soft voice.
"I thought you would faint into his arms."
Cinderella giggled.
"And then he said, 'Stay close,' like he owned you."
Anastasia threw the pillow at her. "He did not! He said it because the market was crowded!"
Drizella smirked. "And because he likes you."
Anastasia froze. Her heart suddenly felt too warm. "He— he does not. He is a guard. A normal one. There is nothing between us."
Cinderella whispered, "Yet."
"Stop that!" Anastasia buried her face in her blanket, but her voice was muffled and shy.
"I don't like him."
Drizella and Cinderella exchanged a look and identical evil smiles.
"You thought about him all evening," Cinderella teased.
"And you kept touching your waist like you could still feel his hands," Drizella added.
"STOP LOOKING AT ME!" Anastasia groaned, now more red than human. "I didn't feel anything. I don't feel anything."
Cinderella leaned over. "Your ears are red."
"They are not—!" Anastasia slapped her hands over them, which only proved the point.
Drizella softened slightly, nudging her. "It's fine, you know. Falling in love isn't a crime."
Anastasia peeked out from the blanket, eyes wide and uncertain. "I'm not falling in love."
"Of course not," both sisters agreed immediately—too quickly.
Which only made Anastasia sink lower into her blanket, heart fluttering in quiet betrayal of her own words.
The next morning, I woke up with a problem.
Not a political problem, not a kingdom problem, not even a "fairy godmother didn't appear and the plot is doomed" kind of problem. No. This was worse.
It was a Kit problem.
I sat at the vanity staring at my own reflection as Drizella hummed and Cinderella braided ribbons into her hair.
My face looked normal. Completely normal. No dreamy eyes. No blush. No "I'm falling for a guard who saved me" kind of glow.
"I don't like him," I told my reflection quietly, just to make it clear.
It didn't answer, which was rude.
The sisters left to visit the kitchens, but I lingered. My heart was strangely light and fluttery and annoying. I pressed my palm to my chest like that would stop whatever nonsense was happening in there.
"This is not love," I whispered. "This is… respect."
Yes. Respect. For saving me from the cart of doom.
"And gratitude," I added. "Also normal. Very normal."
In my old world—before I transmigrated into this fairy tale—it would have been easy.
Step one: have a crush.
Step two: deny for ten years.
Step three: tragic wedding or dramatic airport scene.
Here, however, airport scenes did not exist. Only horses. Which were less romantic.
I walked outside into the courtyard to clear my head. The palace gardens were bright and loud with birds and sunlight. I told myself I was only going for a walk and absolutely not looking for a certain guard with unruly hair and annoyingly sincere eyes.
But then I saw him.
Kit.
Talking.
To a girl.

She was giggling like the universe had handed her the last piece of chocolate in existence.
And Kit—my Kit—not my Kit, absolutely not mine was smiling back at her. A bright smile too, not a polite smile. A real one.
Something inside me pulled tight.
"Oh no," I muttered. "No, absolutely not."
I walked faster, pretending I wasn't looking, except I definitely was. The girl leaned closer and tapped his arm. Tapped. His. Arm. That was practically flirting with fireworks.
Kit laughed again.
I stopped walking.
"What are they talking about?" I whispered to the air.
"Why is she smiling like that? Why is he smiling like that? Why am I even asking questions?"
Jealousy, I decided, did not feel nice. It was sharp and weird and made me want to throw bread at someone.
Kit finally noticed me. His eyes lit up, just a little, and he waved.
"Lady Anastasia!"
I walked over, smooth as ice. "Hello," I said, then looked at the girl with polite but deadly interest.
"Kit was just telling me about the market yesterday!" she said brightly. "How exciting it must have been!"
Exciting? Almost being crushed by a murderous fruit cart was not exciting.
"So exciting," I replied flatly.
Kit laughed. "You were very brave," he told me.
The girl blinked at him. "Brave?"
"Yes," Kit said, smiling again. "She didn't panic at all."
I crossed my arms. I had definitely panicked. But hearing him say I didn't made my stomach do something jumpy.
The girl fluttered her lashes and giggled—again. "How wonderful that you two are so close."
Close.
I almost choked. "We're not close," I said quickly. "We are normal. Very normal. Just guard and lady. Simple. No drama. No closeness."
Kit raised an eyebrow at me. The girl excused herself and left.
When she was far enough away, Kit asked, "You seem… different today. Are you alright?"
I stared at him. His concern made everything worse. Or better. I wasn't sure.
"I'm fine," I said. "Just—thinking."
"About yesterday?"
"Yes. About how I do not have feelings for you."
He blinked. "I… didn't ask."
"Good." I nodded sharply. "Then we are on the same page."
We were not on the same page. I was in denial. Very strong denial. Possibly Olympic level.
When Kit smiled at me again, gentle and warm, my heart betrayed me completely.
"This is not love," I told myself.
But it sounded less convincing the second time.
* * *
Rowan and Drizella were supposed to be discussing ribbon colors for the candidates' gift wrapping.
Instead, Rowan was chatting with a young maid from the palace laundry, and Drizella was staring as if she had just discovered a villain in her favorite fairytale.
The maid giggled. "Lord Rowan, you're so kind to help us carry the baskets last week."
"It was nothing," Rowan said, smiling politely. "Anyone would have—"
"No," the maid insisted sweetly, "not anyone. You are very—"
Drizella slid in between them so smoothly it almost looked rehearsed.
"Yes, yes, Rowan is wonderful, heroic, and entirely unnecessary right now." She smiled brightly at the maid, all teeth and no warmth.
"We have important matters. Important noble matters."
Rowan blinked. "We do?"
"Yes," Drizella hissed, then cleared her throat and switched back to her elegant voice.
"We certainly do."
The maid curtsied, slightly confused.
"Of course, my lady." She glanced at Rowan again. "Thank you for the help."
"Oh! He helps me all the time," Drizella announced, placing her hand on Rowan's shoulder as if staking a claim. "He carries things for me. Talks with me. Advises me. All day. Very busy man. No extra time."
Rowan looked at her, amused. "I do those things?"
"Yes," Drizella snapped, then added in a softer tone, "and you should continue."
The maid bobbed another curtsy and left. As soon as she vanished around the corner, Rowan crossed his arms, a grin forming.
"Were you… jealous?"
"Jealous?" Drizella repeated, horrified. "Me? No. Don't be ridiculous. I was protecting you."
"From what?" Rowan asked.
"From being stolen," she whispered, then immediately covered her mouth.
"I mean! From being distracted."
Rowan chuckled. "Stolen, hm?"
Drizella lifted her chin. "People can steal things. Like ribbons. And… people."
"So I'm a ribbon?"
"No!" She paused. "Maybe. A very good ribbon. One I want to keep."
Rowan leaned closer, eyes softening. "Then keep me."
Drizella's breath caught. Her face went pink, then stubborn. "Fine. But don't talk to girls who giggle too much. It's suspicious."
He laughed. "And what about boys who smile too much?"
Drizella considered. "Depends. If they're smiling at me, it's fine."
Rowan gave her that exact kind of smile.
"Oh," she muttered, suddenly shy. "That's acceptable."
And just like that, Drizella's belongingness was declared—loud, dramatic, and slightly ridiculous—but Rowan didn't seem to mind at all.
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SIDE NOTE: Jealousy and possessiveness is a good sign 😉
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