The Princess’s speech was so commanding that it left the next candidate completely frozen, her lips trembling as if the words had physically lodged themselves in her throat. She stood there, paralyzed, unable to do more than clutch the edges of the podium like it was the only thing keeping her upright. The crowd’s attention waned imdiately, whispers rippling through the room as people barely tried to hide their disinterest. It was brutal to watch, and for so reason, I felt a twinge of pity. Having to follow up after Myrcella’s speech was like being thrown into a pit of wolves without even a stick to defend yourself.
The one after her fared no better, stamring through their turn like a fish gasping for air. The Princess had carved out such a dominant space in the room with her presence alone that no one else could hope to match her. Her voice still seed to echo, lingering in the air like a challenge no one was ready to face. The outco felt sealed, her victory etched into the expressions of everyone present.
Then it was Titania’s turn.
Unlike the others, she didn’t falter. As she ascended the podium, there was a calmness to her steps—a asured poise that made her appear taller, stronger. She placed her hand firmly on the polished wood, her fingers steady as they curled over the edge. There was tension—hell, even so nervous glances from the audience—but she locked eyes with them, radiating determination. It was her mont now, and she knew it.
***
Titania’s POV
I’ve always been told I’m special. Born into royalty, destined for greatness—those words have followed like a shadow since the day I was born. But if you strip all of that away—the titles, the jewels, the gowns—I’m just a girl. An ordinary girl. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself when I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling of my grand, gilded bedroom.
But ordinary? That’s not my reality.
I’m a princess. My kingdom may not be as grand or powerful as others, but it’s ours. A place of rolling green hills, ancient forests, and traditions that breathe life into the land. We pride ourselves on independence, on the trust we’ve built with one another. It’s a kingdom that stands firm, not because of riches, but because of heart. And I am its princess.
My life has been a dream for others—silken dresses that shimr in candlelight, horses bred for speed and elegance, feasts that stretch late into the night. Private tutors who drilled swordsmanship into as easily as court etiquette. Every luxury a girl could imagine, handed to on a silver platter.
And yet, for all that, I yearn for the simplest things.
Friends, real ones—not servants who bow at my every word. A lover, not a pawn in a political ga.
But I know better. People don’t see for who I am. To them, I’m a title, a prize, a pawn to be played in their endless sches. Friends? They’d only stay close for the privileges my na brings. A lover? Just another calculated move on the political chessboard.
So, I stopped hoping.
What is "normal," anyway? The word feels foreign, sothing I can’t grasp no matter how much I stretch for it. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe I was never ant to be normal. Instead, I leaned into the role I was born into. If I can’t have normal, then I’ll take power. I let the weight of my title shape , hardening my desires into steel.
That’s how I beca what I am—arrogant, demanding, untouchable. My presence alone demands respect. When I walk into a room, heads bow, and knees bend.
But deep down, I knew better. What I truly wanted… was to feel normal.
When the kingdom was thrown into chaos, with whispers of civil unrest and rebellion spreading like wildfire, my father decided to send away. The excuse? "Studying abroad." The real reason? Keeping safe. So ambitious fools were plotting to usurp the throne, and he didn’t want caught in the crossfire. That’s how I ended up here, in the neighboring kingdom of Milham, attending the prestigious Milham Academy for Magic Knights.
I should’ve been upset. Being sent away was practically a royal exile, after all. But instead, I felt excitent bubbling up inside . Finally, I thought. I can live like everyone else. An ordinary girl at last. Milham Academy boasted that everyone was equal here—titles and status didn’t matter.
Or so they claid.
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The illusion shattered when I was placed in the Gold Class. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the system was rigged. Almost all in the Gold Class ca from privilege—people like who’d had life handed to them on a silver platter. anwhile, the Silver Class and Bronze Class was full of students less fortunate, the ones who didn’t fit the academy’s lofty image. Was I strong? Yes. Strong enough to deserve Gold? Doubtful. My royal title probably did most of the work.
Still, I clung to hope. Maybe, just maybe, I’d finally make so friends.
But of course, my stupid, bratty personality got in the way. On the very first day of class, I sauntered in, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and declared, "Hello~ peasants! I am Princess Titania Bethlan! Rejoice, for you have the honor of basking in my presence! Ufufu~ you should be grateful I’ve graced you with it!"
What the actual hell was I thinking? It was cringe as hell. Everyone imdiately decided I wasn’t worth their ti, and honestly, I couldn’t even bla them. My chances of making friends? Gone. Dead in the water.
I let out a dramatic sigh, slumping in my seat.
The days dragged on, each one lonelier than the last. My dream of being surrounded by laughter, friends, and companionship faded into the distance. The academy, once so full of promise, beca nothing more than a gilded cage.
And then I saw her.
She was magnetic. A shining beacon in the dull monotony of academy life. She stood at the center of a crowd, her golden hair catching the sunlight like strands of pure light. She tossed it over her shoulder with a graceful flick, the motion so fluid it almost seed rehearsed. The people around her weren’t just standing there—they were captivated, drawn to her like moths to a fla.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I want to be her, I thought, my chest tightening with envy.
It didn’t take long to learn her na. Miss Artemis. The student council president.
She was everything I wasn’t. Loved, respected, admired. People followed her willingly, their smiles genuine, their admiration unforced. I wanted to be like her. To command that kind of presence. To have people surround , not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
But how? How could I beco soone like her?
I considered imitating her—copying her style, her mannerisms, her fashion. But no. That would be creepy and beneath . I wasn’t about to beco so weird person.
No, the only path was to follow her example. If I wanted to be like her, I had to beco the student council president.
That’s why I started campaigning, even though the election wasn’t until the third sester. I poured my energy into it, plastering on my most dazzling smile, giving speeches, trying to win people over. But no one cared. They didn’t even look at .
And why would they? My so-called "visions" were shallow and half-assed. Deep down, I wasn’t running for president because I wanted to make the academy a better place. I just wanted to feel less alone. I just wanted friends.
It was hopeless.
But then, just when I thought all hope was lost, he appeared. My one and only follower back then—the person who helped when no one else even gave a glance.
Leon.
At first, I thought he was pathetic. How could I not? He was the bottom of the rankings, the absolute weakest. Everything about him scread loser, from his clumsy movents to his awkward, almost submissive mannerisms. It was hard not to look down on him.
But the more ti I spent with him, the more I realized how wrong I was. Beneath that unassuming exterior, Leon was strong. Not just physically—though he had that too—but in a way that made feel like I could lean on him, trust him. And then, without even realizing it, I started seeing him in a different light.
It was slow at first, just a tiny flutter in my chest whenever I caught him smiling or heard his laugh. But those flutters grew stronger, day by day, until they took over entirely. Before I knew it, I was infatuated. Every ti I thought about him, my heart raced like it was about to burst.
But even as my feelings for him deepened, doubt gnawed at . Would he even accept if I confessed? My personality was trash, and everyone knew it. No one liked because of how I acted—why would Leon be any different? Maybe he was just helping out of pity.
And yet… I couldn’t stop myself. I needed him to know.
So, one day, I confessed. I poured my heart out to him, trembling with fear, expecting rejection. But instead, Leon told he loved too.
I thought I might actually explode from joy. My heart felt like it was soaring higher than I ever thought possible.
Being with him—being his girlfriend—was like stepping into a dream. The more ti I spent by his side, the more I learned about him, and every little thing I discovered only made fall harder. He wasn’t just strong. He was everything I’d ever wanted in a man. He was kind, supportive, dependable—and, honestly, so hot.
Leon was everything I could’ve ever asked for. He was my everything.
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