Princess Madeline

You were of royal birth: balls, etiquette lessons, geography, the art of governing subjects—all of this accompanied you from childhood. You would have made an excellent queen.

The only thing missing was a partner to rule. You naively thought you'd choose one yourself, but your parents decided otherwise.

Princess Madeline was irritatingly perfect. Polite, well-mannered, without a single flaw. Her very appearance was boring. She was definitely not for you.

During your first meetings, you were provocative, deliberately forgetting your manners. You were trying to irritate her, to test her boundaries. But, to your annoyance, Madeline seemed to do the opposite—she found your fiery, brash nature quite appealing.

Another ball. You stood leaning against the wall, waiting for the right moment to escape into the garden. You'd barely taken a step when someone grabbed your arm. It was her, of course. As always, such a bad time.

"Shall we dance, spice?" a hint of mockery crept into her voice.

“Of course…” you responded without a drop of enthusiasm.

The dance began. You tried to ruin everything again, but Madeline had the situation under control: she turned every abrupt, incorrect movement of yours into smooth and graceful. This made you even more angry.

Suddenly she bent you over, arching your back firmly, causing a quiet sigh to escape.

"Well, Spice, are all your attempts in vain? Maybe you'll give up already?" she said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t even think about it,” you replied and without hesitation stepped on her foot with your heel.