The Unladylike Princess

Location: The Grand Ballroom, Eldoria's Royal Palace

Eva was beginning to regret ever agreeing to this ball.

After the disastrous dance with Lucian—where she had tripped, nearly fallen, and probably sealed her fate as the court's laughingstock—she had hoped to retreat into the shadows and let the nobles forget about her. But, of course, fate (and her father) had other plans.

The banquet was now in full swing, with long tables adorned with golden platters overflowing with the finest delicacies in Eldoria. The nobles dined with practiced grace, sipping wine, dabbing their lips with silk napkins, and engaging in painfully dull conversation about trade routes and alliances.

Eva, however, was struggling.

For starters, the ridiculous corset she was forced to wear made breathing an Olympic feat. Then, there was the absurd number of utensils before her—why did she need three different forks? The cherry on top was the constant judging stares from the ladies who clearly found great entertainment in watching her fail at basic etiquette.

She picked up a spoon, eyeing the creamy soup before her. Simple enough. She dipped it in, brought it to her lips—

And promptly burned her tongue.

Eva jerked in her seat, knocking the spoon against the edge of her bowl. A small splash of soup landed on the pristine white tablecloth. The noblewoman across from her, Lady Vivienne, gasped softly behind her fan, and Lord Magnus, ever the vulture, smirked.

"Careful, Your Highness," he said smoothly. "The soup fights back."

Eva shot him a glare while discreetly dabbing at her tongue. Lucian, seated beside her as her ever-watchful shadow, leaned in slightly. "Try blowing on it first," he muttered.

She clenched her jaw. "I know how to eat soup."

"Do you?"

She elbowed him under the table, which only made his smirk widen.

Trying to regain some dignity, she moved on to the next course—roasted pheasant. That should be safe. Except when she tried to cut into it, her knife slipped, sending a chunk of meat flying straight onto Lord Percival's lap.

A stunned silence followed.

Percival, a high-ranking noble known for his pompous attitude and obsession with cleanliness, froze. He slowly picked up the piece of meat with two fingers, as if it were a dead rat, his face contorted in sheer horror.

Eva swallowed. "Uh… my apologies?"

The entire table burst into whispers. Lady Vivienne looked scandalized, Lord Magnus was barely suppressing his laughter, and King Aldric massaged his temples as if regretting his entire life.

Lucian, ever the infuriatingly composed man, simply reached over and took her knife. "Perhaps I should cut that for you before someone declares war over a piece of pheasant."

She scowled but let him.

The meal continued, and Eva did her best to avoid further disaster, though it seemed the universe had other plans. She reached for a goblet of wine, but as she lifted it, the wide sleeve of her gown caught on the edge of the table, yanking the entire goblet over. The deep red liquid spilled across the table, soaking the fine linens—and worse—spilling directly onto Lady Vivienne's lap.

A collective gasp.

Lady Vivienne shot up from her seat, shrieking as she fumbled to pat her expensive gown dry. The stain spread like a crimson bloom, ruining the delicate golden embroidery.

"I—" Eva started, but it was too late.

Vivienne turned to her with wide, furious eyes. "You—!"

"I—um—it was an accident?"

The nobles were already whispering. The wild princess had struck again.

King Aldric's expression was a storm cloud. "Evangeline."

Eva winced. When he used her full name in that tone, it meant trouble.

She considered apologizing again, but before she could, Lord Magnus let out a dramatic sigh. "It seems our dear princess is unaccustomed to the refined ways of the court." His smirk was almost predatory. "Perhaps she is more suited to, say… the stables?"

Soft chuckles rippled through the nobles. Eva's blood boiled.

Lucian tensed beside her, his fingers tightening around his goblet, but before he could say anything, Eva shot Magnus a saccharine smile. "Oh, I don't know, Lord Magnus. The stables seem like a fine place. At least the horses don't pretend to be something they're not."

Magnus' smile flickered.

Somewhere down the table, Tobias, the dishwasher who had somehow snuck in, snorted. Isolde, ever the rebel, looked on with pure delight.

King Aldric, however, was not amused.

"Enough," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "Evangeline, I will not tolerate such behavior."

Eva gritted her teeth, but she bit back a retort. The damage was done. The nobles now had even more reason to doubt her ability to be a proper princess.

And if things weren't bad enough, the final humiliation came when she tried to stand and leave—only for her heel to catch on the hem of her gown.

She stumbled forward, arms flailing, and crashed face-first into Lucian's chest.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then, Lucian sighed. "For someone so eager to avoid me, you certainly find ways to throw yourself at me."

Her face burned. "Shut up."

The nobles were staring. Some looked appalled. Others amused. And Magnus? He looked like a cat who had just caught a particularly entertaining mouse.

King Aldric's voice was low, dangerous. "You will meet me in my chambers after this."

Eva swallowed hard.

Tonight was officially the worst night of her life.