So, listen.
I’ve been thinking.
And by “thinking” I an: spinning yet another brilliant, flawless, entirely-plausible story about my past. Because why not? My real childhood is a mud‑stained ss anyway; might as well upgrade it.
See, I’m obviously a lost twin of a princess.
Don’t roll your eyes.
Let finish.
Maybe Delvida. Maybe Liet. Maybe one of those shiny-pink map places where girls are raised on honeyed figs and embroidered pillows instead of stale bread and disappointnt. Doesn’t matter. Every kingdom has at least one princess with perfect posture and a massive hereditary nose, and I’m clearly her other half — the one with the personality.
And here’s how it went — because tragic backstories are all about logistics:
The royal midwives took one look at the two of us: one pink, angelic, destined-for-the-throne baby…
…and then .
Blue eyes already narrowed like I’d just spotted my first con. A tiny fist clenched like I was ready to punch fate in the crotch. I probably bit soone within the first hour — wouldn’t surprise .
Anyway, they panicked. They couldn’t have two princesses. Gods forbid. So what do they do?
They do what any sensible, morally bankrupt palace does with surplus babies:
They toss one into a basket and send her drifting down the river like a slightly damp problem.
And of course they picked .
Because of course they did.
My luck is absolute trash and consistent.
My twin sister — the other — probably still sits on her nacre-inlaid throne right now, combing her silky hair, being all regal and boring, blissfully unaware she’s got a street rat sibling sowhere out there sharpening her stolen dagger on a rock and ruining the dragon’s peace and sanity on a daily basis.
anwhile I floated past reeds and frogs and probably a dead fish or two, straight into whatever sorry cesspit eventually spat out into Seebulba.
And the best part?
The dragon actually humors when I tell him this. He just looks down at with that ancient, jaded face of his — scales glittering, eyes judging, centuries of sophistication pulsing out of every pore — and goes:
“Saya, darling, if you were a princess, the gods would’ve smote the monarchy out of rcy.”
And I tell him:
“Well maybe they did, scaled gossip.”
Do I believe any of this?
Who cares.
It’s a better story than “I crawled out of the gutter like a feral kitten soone forgot to drown.”
And honestly… being the lost twin of a princess?
Feels right.
I carry myself like royalty anyway.
Barefoot royalty, sure — but still royalty.
And sowhere out there my prim, perfect sister is probably having tea in a sunlit courtyard while thinking the weirdest, strangest feeling:
Like the universe is missing soone loud, barefoot, and catastrophically slutty.
And she’d be right.
Because that soone is .
Saya.
Princess of Absolutely Nowhere.
Lost twin of Whoever-Is-Currently-Ruling-Delvida.
Future claimant to a throne I will absolutely ruin inside a month.
Of course it’s all part of the plan.
You think this is random?
You think fate just tossed into the lap of a thousand‑year‑old, arthritic, gay dragon accidentally?
Please.
This is destiny with eyeliner.
See, the mont I started telling people — loudly and frequently — that I’m the lost twin of so princess sowhere, the universe nodded, cracked its knuckles, and said:
“Alright, girl. Prove it.”
Why else would I, a humble street‑urchin‑turned‑luxury‑nuisance, end up paired with a dragon?
A dragon.
A siege engine with sarcasm.
A flying war cri with gout.
A glittery, fussy, hoarding lizard who complains about my sandal choices but also vaporizes anyone who even looks at funny.
We were ant for this.
Obviously we’re supposed to storm a kingdom together, reclaim my rightful birthright, and traumatize an entire aristocracy. He’ll burn the gates, I’ll strut in barefoot like the scandalous royal miracle I am, and the court will gasp:
“By the gods! She has returned!”
And then I’ll be like:
“Move. I need a bath, a crown, and a treasury audit.”
The only tiny insignificant problem?
…I have absolutely no idea which kingdom I’m allegedly heir to.
Delvida?
Liet?
Thalveth?
One of those tiny marsh princedoms nobody rembers unless they’re drowning in them?
I don’t know! Any of them could’ve lost a princess. They misplace royal children all the ti. They’re like socks.
So obviously, the next step is research.
Which ans traveling to each kingdom until sothing clicks.
And by clicks, I an:
I see a palace with nice marble floors, good food, fine fabrics, a proper bathhouse, and preferably a treasury that jingles when you look at it.
Then I’ll turn to the dragon and say:
“This one. I feel a deep ancestral connection to this one.”
And he’ll roll his ancient eyes and mutter sothing dramatic like:
“For the love of all sacred hoards, Saya, you cannot overthrow every governnt we pass.”
And I’ll say:
“Watch .”
Because if you think being a fake princess disqualifies , think again.
Half the crowned heads of the continent are fake — I’d fit right in.
So yes.
It’s all part of the plan.
First: identify which kingdom deserves .
Second: find my “twin sister” and either hug her, dethrone her, or borrow her wardrobe.
Third: sit on a throne like I was born on it and imdiately misuse royal authority for petty reasons.
And the dragon?
He’ll pretend to hate every mont…
…while secretly polishing his wings at the thought of becoming Royal Consort of nace.
It’s going to be glorious.
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