Chapter 2

Morning sunlight streamed through the window shutters, scattering gold dust across Lucien's modest study. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of dew and wildflowers from the forest beyond.

Lucien stepped outside, stretching his arms skyward until his shoulders popped. "Another quiet day," he murmured, breathing in deeply. "No princesses. No debt collectors. No surprises."

Birds chirped from the rooftops, and somewhere down the road, he could already hear Fifi's cheerful singing drifting from the inn. It was the sound of peace — the sort of peace he'd worked hard to build since landing in this world.

"Elder Lucien!"

The shout came from across the square. A tall young man in a long coat hurried toward him, waving one gloved hand. His tousled silver hair caught the light, and a faint cloud of fizzing vapor rose from the glass flask strapped to his belt.

Lucien smiled. "Morning, Maxim. You look alarmingly awake for this hour."

Maxim grinned, his green eyes bright with excitement. "I've done it! I've finally done it!"

"Done what?" Lucien asked, though he already had an idea — Maxim only used that tone when his experiments hadn't exploded.

The alchemist reached into his satchel and produced a small metal cylinder. It gleamed faintly in the light, cool to the touch, with a simple pull-tab at the top. "You asked me to recreate something called 'soda,' yes? I followed your notes exactly. Fermentation, carbonation, sugar levels — all precise."

Lucien blinked in mild surprise. "You actually pulled it off?"

"I think so," Maxim said proudly, holding it out like a trophy. "But I'll let the expert be the judge."

Lucien accepted the can reverently, his fingers brushing the cool metal. The last time he'd held something like this, he'd still been in his old world — back before waking up in Keimonomimi with a broken roof and a head full of questions.

He took a breath and pulled the tab.

Psssst—!

The sharp hiss of pressure filled the air, followed by the crisp scent of citrus and sugar. Tiny bubbles fizzed to life at the opening, whispering like old memories.

Lucien smiled — a rare, genuine smile that softened his usually calm features. "Perfect," he murmured. "Exactly like I remember it."

Maxim puffed his chest out, grinning ear to ear. "Ha! I knew it! I call it 'Sparklebrew!'"

Lucien winced. "Please don't."

But he laughed all the same, the sound light and warm. It was such a small thing — a can of fizzy drink, a memory reborn — yet somehow it grounded him again. In this strange, beautiful world, the little familiar joys mattered most.

Lucien had barely finished enjoying the last fizzy sip when the door of the village inn burst open.

"Lucien!" Fifi came bounding out into the morning light, her apron fluttering and her tail swishing anxiously behind her. Her oven mitts flapped dramatically as she hurried toward him.

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Fifi. You seem… energetic."

"Terrible news!" she declared, clutching her mitt-covered hands as though the world were ending. "I oversold the inn's entire stock of beer and wine last night! We have nothing to serve today except water and despair!"

Lucien blinked. "Despair's not on the menu, I hope."

She pouted, ears drooping. "It's a disaster, Elder! Belle says I'm banned from handling the ledgers for a week. The guests are already asking for something to drink, and I—"

She suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her nose twitching. The crisp, citrus scent of Lucien's soda wafted through the air.

"What's that smell?" she asked, ears perking straight up.

Lucien held up the can with a faint smile. "Something new. Maxim managed to recreate a drink from my homeland."

Fifi leaned in closer, curiosity pulling her forward as surely as gravity. Her eyes sparkled, catching the light as she sniffed the air.

"It smells… bubbly," she said, wonder softening her voice.

Maxim placed a cold can into her hands. The metal hummed faintly with pressure.

"Go on, try it," Lucien encouraged, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Fifi turned the can over, examining it as though it were some peculiar artifact from a forgotten age. Lucien showed her how to hook her finger beneath the tab and pull. When she did, the can answered with a sharp hiss—a sudden, lively sound that made her jump despite herself. For a heartbeat she froze, ears flicking, tail stiff. Then the scent hit her: bright lemon and crisp lime, fresh and sharp, blooming from the opened can.

She hesitated—only a moment—then raised it to her lips.

The first sip fizzed and crackled across her tongue like tiny sparks. Her eyes widened instantly, pupils blown with delight. Her tail began to wag, faster and faster, a blur of motion that looked as though it might lift her right off the ground.

"It's amazing!" she burst out, laughing. "It's sweet, it tickles, and it pops!" She looked up at them, awe written plainly across her face. "What's it called?"

"Soda," Lucien replied, clearly entertained by her reaction. "A simple refreshment. In my world, it's as common as tea."

Fifi took another sip—longer this time—still grinning as if she'd just discovered magic in liquid form. She then turned the can over in her hands, studying the little metallic container as if it were a sacred relic. "I could serve this to the guests! It's refreshing, fancy, and doesn't require a tavern license!"

Lucien laughed softly. "I see your priorities are as practical as ever."

"Please, Lucien!" she said, gripping his sleeve. "Make more! I'll even name a dish after you — 'Lucien's Sparkling Delight!'"

He chuckled. "You can thank Maxim for that. But… it seems I'll need to visit Drakenburg again anyway. If I'm to brew more soda, I'll need sugar, yeast, fruit extracts—and since you've run your cellar dry, beer ingredients as well."

Fifi clasped her mitts together like a praying saint. "You're my hero! Bring back everything! Oh, and maybe a few pies?"

"I'll see what I can do," he said, shaking his head with a faint smile.

As he turned toward his home to gather supplies for the trip, he glanced at the empty soda can in his hand. The faint hiss of the remaining bubbles reminded him of his old world — and of someone else who'd made quite the fizzing impression.

A certain golden-haired princess with chains, charm, and a dangerously expensive appetite. Lucien sighed under his breath. "Let's hope she's found someone else to pester."

He tucked a few fresh cans of soda into his satchel, just in case. Experience had taught him it was always wise to come prepared—especially when visiting Drakenburg.

And so, once again, Lucien set out on the familiar road that wound from the peaceful hills of Keimonomimi to the bustling heart of Drakenburg City. The journey was long, but it carried the kind of quiet simplicity he'd come to treasure—a steady rhythm of boots on packed earth, the hum of cicadas in the tall grass, and the gentle weight of the satchel at his side. It was his time to think, to breathe, to let his mind drift beyond ledgers and markets and the occasional crisis Fifi managed to summon.

When the walls of Drakenburg finally came into view, towering and sunlit, the guards at the gate gave him a curt nod. They'd grown used to the sight of the young village elder with the calm eyes and the easy smile. He presented his bronze emblem, the mark of Keimonomimi's leadership, and the iron gates creaked open without delay.

Inside, the city breathed with its usual rhythm—alive and sprawling, full of scents and sounds that mingled like music. The afternoon sun shimmered over the canals, turning the rippling water into molten gold. Every cobblestone and slate roof gleamed beneath its warmth, and the marketplace pulsed with fading energy as the day's commerce began to close.

Merchants rolled down their awnings, their laughter mingling with the clatter of crates and the jingle of coins. The air smelled of roasted chestnuts and spiced bread, slowly giving way to the briny perfume of the docks beyond.

Lucien adjusted his satchel and smiled faintly to himself. To others, Drakenburg might have been overwhelming—a maze of commerce and chaos—but to him, it was simply familiar. The city had its rhythm, and he had learned how to walk in step with it.

Lucien adjusted the straps of his satchel, the weight of fresh ingredients pressing comfortably against his side. Sugar, yeast, fruit syrup, hops—everything Fifi could possibly need to make up for her "liquid catastrophe."

As he passed the last stall, a few merchants waved him over. "Oi, Elder Lucien! What's with all the sweetwater and spice orders?"

"Starting a tavern of your own?" asked another curious merchant.

"Or maybe you're making perfume? Never seen sugar bought by the sackful!"

Lucien chuckled politely, but his eyes remained sharp. "Just… an experiment. Nothing for sale yet."

They pressed for more details, but he only smiled—a closed-lip, diplomatic sort of smile that said 'I won't tell you, and you won't make me.'

Inwardly, he thought, "The last thing I need is half of Drakenburg bottling knockoff soda before I can even share it with Fifi."

His business finished at last, Lucien should have gone straight home. It would have been the sensible choice—efficient, orderly, and befitting the sort of man who liked his days neatly concluded. There was nothing left to accomplish, no loose ends demanding his attention. By all reasonable measures, the day was done. And yet, he didn't go home.

Curiosity tugged at him instead, insistent and irritating, like a child pulling relentlessly at his sleeve. Lucien resisted for all of three steps before yielding with a quiet sigh of resignation. Turning from the main road, he followed the familiar path that sloped toward the docks, already suspecting where it would lead him.

He heard them before he saw them. The voices rose and collided in the narrow spaces between warehouses—pleas layered over protests, fatigue strained thin by forced politeness and theatrical despair. Guards, he realized, and weary ones at that. With every step closer, the scene sharpened into focus, until it unfolded exactly as he had feared it would.

Lucien stopped at the corner and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a brief, futile moment. There was no mistaking it. Even without looking, he knew precisely who waited around the bend. Some disturbances carried a very particular signature.

There she was again. Lulu, Princess of Atland, sat regally atop her self-proclaimed throne: a sturdy wooden crate positioned just so, as though it had been placed by servants rather than dragged into position at the docks. Her skirts were arranged with meticulous care despite the grime beneath them, and her crown gleamed in the afternoon light as if freshly polished rather than worn for hours. A chain still circled her ankle, fastened securely to the crate below—unchanged, stubborn, and unmistakably symbolic.

The surroundings, however, told a far less dignified story. Empty plates littered the ground at her feet, crumbs dusting the crate like fallen snow. Snack boxes had been stacked with surprising ingenuity into a defensive wall around her throne, forming a small fortress of indulgence. It was the unmistakable evidence of a prolonged siege—and one she was very clearly winning.

"Princess Lulu, please," one of the guards pleaded, his voice worn thin from repetition and restraint. "You must return home at once."

Lulu did not deign to look at him. Instead, she struck a dramatic pose, lifting her chin high and pointing a dainty finger toward the horizon as though addressing an unseen army beyond the docks. "No matter what means you use," she declared loudly, her voice ringing with conviction, "this princess will never surrender!" Her eyes burned with righteous determination as she continued, "My honor as royalty demands that I remain here until my debt is repaid!"

She paused only long enough to snap her fingers imperiously. "Now bring me more food!"

Lucien exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. Of course she was still here. The guard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your Highness, the people of Drakenburg are growing… concerned. They're pitying you. They send snacks out of sympathy, not loyalty."

"Good!" she said proudly, flicking her braid over her shoulder. "Let their sympathy fill my table! The people love me; it is only natural they wish to feed me."

Lucien had to stifle a laugh. It wasn't the sort of arrogance that stung—it was more like watching a cat pretend it owned the sunbeam it was sitting in.

The guard noticed him and gave a look of exhausted recognition. "Elder Lucien! You're here again."

"Passing through," Lucien said, adjusting his satchel. "Is she… still doing this?"

The man groaned. "She insists on remaining 'imprisoned' until her debt is repaid. But the problem is, she keeps adding to it. Every meal doubles her balance!"

From her crate, Lulu's eyes flicked to Lucien. "Ah! The serious man from the marketplace!" she said, recognizing him instantly. "Are you here to deliver my lunch?"

Lucien folded his arms. "No, Princess. I'm afraid I'm here for business, not indulgence."

She gave a delicate sigh, as though disappointed by the world itself. "Tragic. You'd make a fine servant—you look efficient."

"Flattering," Lucien said dryly. Lucien then gave a faint smile and looked over at the guards. "How about this—you two go take a break. I'll watch over her for a while."

The guards exchanged a look that hovered somewhere between gratitude and disbelief.

"You're serious?" said one of the guards.

"She'll probably bite," said the younger guard

Lucien chuckled. "I'll take my chances."

The men saluted with something that might have been relief and promptly marched off toward the nearest tavern, muttering blessings as they went.

As soon as they were out of sight, Lucien dragged a crate over and sat across from the princess. She didn't look at him. She had turned her face toward the glittering sea, chin tilted up in defiance, her expression that of someone performing for an imaginary audience.

Lucien folded his hands. "Your Highness," he began calmly, "is there anything I can do to convince you to return home to Atland?"

She flicked her gaze toward him for a heartbeat, then away again. "You're probably a spy," she declared. "Sent by my kingdom to make me talk. Well, I won't tell you anything! You can torture me, bribe me, starve me—nothing will make me reveal the royal secrets of Atland!"

Lucien blinked. "…I wasn't planning to."

"Ha!" She smirked triumphantly. "A likely story. That's exactly what a spy would say."

Lucien exhaled through his nose, trying not to laugh. It was clear she only heard what she wanted to hear. Still, there was something oddly endearing about her absurd self-assurance—like watching a cat refuse to admit it had fallen off a table.

"All right then," he said lightly. "If that's the game you want to play."

He reached into his satchel, producing one of the chilled cans he'd packed before leaving home. The faint metallic click of the tab breaking echoed between them, followed by a soft hiss as carbonation escaped into the salty air.

The crisp scent of citrus and sugar drifted across the dock, curling toward the princess like invisible fingers. Lulu's head turned immediately. Her nose twitched once, then twice. "What… is that smell?"

Lucien took a calm sip, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. "Something from home," he said simply.

Her eyes narrowed. "Home? You mean your kingdom?"

"Something like that."

She leaned forward ever so slightly, curiosity slipping through her royal composure. "What are you drinking?"

Lucien swirled the can lazily in his hand, watching the bubbles rise within. "It's called soda. Sweet, fizzy, refreshing. I suppose you could call it… liquid joy."

Lulu's expression shifted from suspicion to fascination in an instant. "Liquid joy, you say?"

He smiled faintly. "Tempting, isn't it?"

The princess straightened, determination glinting in her sapphire eyes. "If you think you can use some strange potion to loosen my tongue, you're mistaken! But—" her voice softened just enough to betray her intrigue "—if you were to share that drink, I might… evaluate its threat level."

Lucien hid his grin behind the rim of the can. "Of course. Strictly for security purposes."

Lucien produced a second can and watched the princess eye the can like a cat sizing up a curious new species of prey. Her royal poise wavered between suspicion and fascination as he handed it to her.

Lulu accepted it with exaggerated care, holding it up to the sunlight as though inspecting a relic. The polished silver reflected her face—bright eyes, golden braid, a faint pout of curiosity.

"So this… is soda," she murmured. "A humble-looking vessel for something you claim is liquid joy."

"Careful," Lucien warned lightly. "It's carbonated. The pressure inside makes it hiss when opened."

She blinked, tilting her head. "Hiss? What's that supposed to mean? It's not alive, is it?"

Before he could answer, she found the tab. Her brow furrowed with royal determination. "Hm. A strange little handle. You pull it, yes?"

"Wait—"

Crack! The can burst open with a sharp pssst! that echoed off the dockside walls.

"Eek!" Lulu squeaked, jerking the can away as a tiny mist of fizz shot upward. She stared at it in wide-eyed horror, then looked accusingly at Lucien. "It attacked me!"

Lucien pressed his lips together, fighting back a laugh. "That's… normal. It's just the bubbles escaping."

She glared at the can, affronted by its insolence. "Bubbles? You put bubbles in a drink? What are you, some kind of alchemist?"

"Not quite. Just a man with a good recipe."

The scent reached her then—sweet and tangy, a bright citrus fragrance unlike anything Drakenburg's taverns or bakeries had ever produced. Lulu's eyes softened, curiosity warring with her pride. She raised the can again, cautiously this time, and took a small sip. Then, another. Then, without hesitation—half the can.

Lucien watched as her entire expression transformed. Her eyes lit up, wide and shimmering, sparkling like twin sapphire stars. Her mouth curved into an astonished smile as the fizz danced across her tongue.

"Wh—what is this magic?!" she gasped between delighted giggles. "It sparkles! It tingles! It sings!"

Lucien smiled faintly. "So you approve."

"Approve?!" she cried, her voice rising with genuine glee. "This is divine! The perfect balance of sweetness and excitement! Each sip feels like—like drinking a festival!"

Her legs kicked lightly beneath her gown, and the heavy iron ball at her ankle clanked as if in applause. The guards in the distance turned to look, but Lucien only chuckled.

"I take it you haven't had anything quite like it before."

Lulu shook her head rapidly, golden braid whipping behind her. Her eyes still sparkled as she stared at the can like it contained the secrets of the universe. "In Atland, our finest chefs could only dream of such brilliance! You must teach me this recipe at once!"

Lucien leaned back slightly, amused by her sudden enthusiasm. "And have an entire kingdom addicted to sugar and bubbles overnight? I think not."

Her lips pursed in a dramatic pout. Lucien leaned forward on his crate, watching the princess sip at the last of her soda with a blissful hum. The chain at her ankle jingled lightly as she swung her legs, utterly content for the first time since he'd met her.

When she finally lowered the can, she let out a small sigh of satisfaction. "I've decided," she announced, "that this is officially my new favorite drink. I'll have it served at every royal banquet from now on."

Lucien smirked. "You might want to start by returning home first."

Her smile faltered for a moment, and her gaze dropped to the ground. For the first time since he'd seen her, Lulu looked… uncertain. The bravado slipped just enough for him to glimpse something honest beneath the glitter.

She turned the empty can slowly in her hands, her voice softening. "Do you know why I came here in the first place?"

Lucien shook his head. "Enlighten me."

She was quiet for a heartbeat, as though deciding how much truth to share. Then she spoke—not with the lofty arrogance of a princess, but with the hesitant honesty of someone who'd carried a secret too long.

"Atland… wasn't always a kingdom," she began. "It used to be a tiny farming town at the edge of the plains. Dusty fields, half-empty wells, nothing but wind and dry grass. My parents were just… well, the kind of people everyone went to when things went wrong. If someone needed advice or food or help, they came to us."

Lucien listened quietly. The sun caught on her crown, now tilted low as she spoke.

"Then one day," she continued, "a group of merchants from Drakenburg visited. They said they could help us build something greater—farms, roads, trade, all of it. All they asked in return was a loan. My parents… they wanted to believe. So they signed."

Her fingers brushed the chain at her ankle. "And just like that, our little town became the Kingdom of Atland. My parents were crowned, and I—well, I became 'Princess Lulu.'"

Lucien frowned slightly. "So this debt of yours…"

She laughed lightly, but there was no humor in it. "Inherited. The price of a crown made of borrowed gold. Every time I come to Drakenburg, the officials politely remind me of what we owe. And I—" she glanced at him, a guilty sparkle in her eyes "—I remind them how much I enjoy their food."

Lucien couldn't help the faint chuckle that escaped him. "So you eat to spite the people collecting the debt?"

She puffed her cheeks, indignant. "I eat to remind them that royalty deserves the finest meals! It's not my fault their desserts are too delicious!"

There it was again—that flicker of charm, the ridiculous self-confidence that somehow didn't ring false. Beneath her theatrics, he could see the truth: she wasn't cruel or selfish, just lost in a role she hadn't asked for.

"You could always go home," he said gently. "They're probably worried about you."

Lulu looked out toward the horizon where the sea met the sky. "Home is… complicated," she murmured. "Atland depends on Drakenburg now. On the food, the trade, the kindness of strangers. And I…" she smiled faintly, lifting the empty can, "…I suppose I depend on that too."

The breeze shifted, carrying the faint scent of sugar and salt. For a while, neither of them spoke. The sun dipped lower, painting the harbor in amber light.

Lucien finally stood, dusting off his coat. "You know, Princess, for someone so determined to stay chained to a dock, you're surprisingly easy to talk to."

Her eyes brightened again, playful once more. "That's because you brought me the finest drink in all the kingdoms. Consider yourself honored."

Lucien tilted his head, studying the princess as she finished her story. For a fleeting moment, she almost seemed fragile — just a young woman caught between duty, hunger, and a crown she hadn't chosen.

He let a beat of silence hang in the air before asking softly, "So… are you ready to go home now?"

The shift in Lulu's expression was immediate. Her eyes snapped toward him, all warmth vanishing in an instant. "Absolutely not," she declared, crossing her arms with the kind of royal stubbornness that could outlast time itself. "I told you, I can't return until my debt is paid!"

Lucien sighed, rubbing his temple. "You do realize that eating the kingdom's entire food supply doesn't help with that, right?"

She turned away with a huff, nose in the air. "A princess must maintain her standards. Even if those standards are… deliciously expensive."

That earned a small chuckle from Lucien. He reached into his satchel, fingers brushing against the smooth aluminum surface of one last unopened can. The faint hiss of carbonation whispered inside. An idea flickered across his mind — mischievous, maybe a little cruel, but irresistible nonetheless.

He held the can up between two fingers, letting it glint in the late afternoon sun.

"Well then, Your Highness," he said casually, "perhaps this will change your mind."

Lulu glanced over, her composure wavering just slightly.

"Oh no," she said, trying to sound imperious. "That won't work this time. I am immune to your fizzy temptations."

"Is that so?" Lucien drawled. He began to sway the can from side to side, slowly, rhythmically — the faint slosh of liquid inside teasing the air between them.

Her blue eyes tracked it, almost involuntarily. Left. Right. Left. Right. Her posture stiffened, but the faint twitch of her lips betrayed her struggle.

"I said—" she began, only to trail off when he gave the can a little shake. The soft hiss of bubbles rose from inside, and the sweet scent of soda drifted toward her.

Her resolve cracked.

Like a cat spotting a dangling ribbon, she leaned forward unconsciously, eyes gleaming with that same starry sparkle from before. "You… you wouldn't dare…"

Lucien smirked. "Oh, I might."

She lunged forward, trying to snatch it from his hand, but he easily lifted it out of reach. The sound of her chain rattling filled the dock as she hopped in place, her elegant skirt puffing with each bounce. The guards across the square paused mid-bite from their meals, watching with open-mouthed confusion as the royal princess of Atland batted playfully at the air like a kitten chasing a toy.

Finally, Lucien decided to end her suffering. "Tell you what," he said, lowering the can slightly. "If you agree to return home, I'll make you a promise."

Lulu froze, panting a little from the effort. "A promise?"

He nodded. "I'll open trade between Keimonomimi and Atland myself. You'll have all the soda you could ever want—and maybe a few new flavors, if you behave."

Her eyes widened. "You mean… a limitless supply?"

"Within reason."

She bit her lip, visibly warring with herself. Pride on one shoulder, sugar-laced temptation on the other. It wasn't a fair battle.

"…Deal!" she finally burst out, snatching the can from his grasp. "But only because I'm doing this for my people. Not because of this—this divine nectar!"

"Of course," Lucien said with a straight face. "Entirely for diplomatic purposes."

She yanked the tab open with more confidence this time. Psshhh! The fizz made her flinch again, but she immediately followed it up with an eager gulp. Her eyes sparkled like twin stars as she sighed in bliss, utterly lost in the taste.

By the time the guards returned, the can was already empty, and Lulu was sitting contentedly on her crate again — the picture of royal satisfaction.

Lucien rose to his feet as the soldiers approached, his tone casual. "Gentlemen, I believe the princess has agreed to return home."

The guards blinked. "She… what?"

Lulu raised her empty can proudly. "Yes! I shall return to Atland and oversee the construction of a grand soda fountain in my palace!"

The guards exchanged bewildered looks, then turned to Lucien with visible relief. "By the gods, you've done it! You've actually convinced her!"

Lucien just smiled faintly, brushing a bit of dust from his coat. "Let's just say diplomacy comes in many forms."

As the princess chattered about her "glorious beverage empire," the guards thanked him profusely, already making plans for her safe passage home.

The next morning dawned soft and gold, the first light spilling across the docks of Drakenburg like a quiet promise. The waves lapped gently against the pier, their rhythm slow and unhurried—as if the sea itself knew that a farewell was about to unfold.

Lucien stood outside the kingdom walls beside a modest carriage adorned with the crest of Atland—a newly painted sun rising over a field of grain. The guards were already making final preparations, fastening the last of the cargo and tightening the reins. And there, standing a few steps away, was Lulu.

Without the heavy chain around her ankle, she looked somehow lighter. Freer. The morning wind tugged at the ribbons in her hair and set her skirt fluttering softly around her ankles. The same golden braid that had gleamed with ridiculous extravagance now caught the sunlight like a crown of spun honey.

For once, she wasn't eating, nor was she demanding snacks. She simply stood there, watching the sea, her hands folded in front of her as if uncertain what to do with them.

Lucien approached quietly. "So," he said, "heading home at last?"

She smiled faintly. "For now. I suppose I've caused enough trouble for Drakenburg."

"That's one way to put it," he teased, earning a small laugh.

For a moment, they both stood in comfortable silence. The gulls circled overhead, their cries distant against the sound of sails being hoisted. Lulu turned to him, her blue eyes bright but softer than before.

"I never thanked you properly," she said. "For listening to me yesterday. Most people either scold me or pity me. You just… treated me like a person."

Lucien smiled. "Well, most princesses don't sit on docks eating half the kingdom's food supply, either. You're an interesting person to treat like one."

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that carried over the water. "You have a strange way of giving compliments."

He stepped a little closer, his expression gentle. "You know, Lulu… you look very pretty without those chains. Freedom looks good on you."

Her breath caught ever so slightly. The color rose in her cheeks—not from embarrassment exactly, but from surprise, as if no one had ever said something so simple and honest to her before.

"You shouldn't say things like that so easily," she murmured, eyes glancing away. "A princess might get ideas."

"Then maybe that's not such a bad thing," he replied.

Their gazes met for a heartbeat that lingered a little too long, the kind that carried more meaning than either dared to voice aloud.

One of the guards cleared his throat discreetly. "Your Highness, it's time."

Lulu blinked, as if waking from a daydream. She turned toward the carriage, her composure slipping back into place like a mask. "Very well." Then, glancing back at Lucien, she added with a playful grin, "Don't forget your promise. I expect Atland to be well supplied with soda. The people will demand it, you know."

Lucien bowed slightly, that same amused glint in his eyes. "And their princess most of all, I suspect."

She climbed into the carriage, settling into the seat beside the window. As the horses began to move, she leaned out and waved, her golden braid fluttering in the wind.

"Until we meet again, Elder Lucien!" she called. "And next time, bring more of that divine fizz!"

Lucien lifted a hand in return, smiling as the carriage rolled away down the sunlit road.

When she was finally gone from sight, he found himself staring at the horizon longer than he meant to. There was a strange emptiness in the air, as though something bright and chaotic had been plucked from the world and taken with her.

He chuckled softly to himself. "She's trouble," he said, shaking his head. "Beautiful, impossible trouble."

And with that, he turned toward the city gates—unaware that fate had already started weaving the threads that would soon bring her back into his quiet village life once more.

The next morning dawned quiet and serene over Keimonomimi Village. Lucien sat at his table, a steaming cup of tea in hand, the sunlight spilling through the window in lazy ribbons. For the first time in days, he felt at peace. No princesses, no chaos, no talk of debts or kingdoms—just the comforting sound of birds and the distant chatter of the village waking up.

He leaned back with a sigh of satisfaction. "A calm morning. A successful negotiation. Maybe things are finally—"

"Lucien!" The front door burst open with the force of a minor explosion, and Fifi barreled inside like a fluffy hurricane. Her apron was still dusted with flour, and one of her mitten covered hands waved frantically.

Lucien blinked, then smiled. "Fifi, please tell me you didn't accidentally set the inn on fire again."

Fifi's ears twitched indignantly. "That was one time! And no, this is worse!"

"Worse than fire?" he asked, taking another calm sip of tea. "I doubt it."

She stomped a foot. "Drakenburg soldiers are outside!"

Lucien nearly choked. "What? Here? Why?"

Fifi shrugged helplessly. "I don't know! They said they're here to see you!"

A sinking feeling twisted in his stomach. He set down his teacup and stood, already dreading the possibilities. "Please tell me this isn't about the princess…"

Moments later, Lucien stepped outside to find two very familiar Drakenburg guards waiting beside their horses, looking equal parts exhausted and apologetic.

"Elder Lucien," one of them said with a stiff bow. "We need you to come with us. Immediately."

Lucien's expression darkened. "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm not going to like what I'm about to see?"

Neither guard answered. They simply gestured toward the road. The journey back to Drakenburg felt longer than usual. By the time they reached the city gates, Lucien's patience was hanging by a thread.

And then, as the carriage rolled to a stop by the docks, he saw her. Sitting on the same crate. In the same spot. With the same ridiculous royal posture. Princess Lulu of Atland—back in all her glory, chain and all.

Lucien's eye twitched as he left the carriage. "…You have got to be kidding me."

Lulu beamed as if nothing were amiss. "Ah, Elder Lucien! You came to visit me again! How thoughtful!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lulu. Why… are you here?"

She clasped her hands together, her tone cheerful and matter-of-fact. "Well, after I returned home, my dear parents informed me that the royal trade agreement between Atland and Drakenburg prohibits any private foreign arrangements. So!"—she gestured proudly at her surroundings—"your offer was deemed invalid, and I am once again a proud debtor of Drakenburg!"

Lucien stared blankly. "You… came back… voluntarily?"

"Of course!" she said brightly. "One must honor tradition, after all. Besides…" Her expression softened into something dangerously cute. "You didn't think I'd leave without tasting that delightful 'soda' again, did you?"

Lucien opened his mouth, closed it, then simply let out a long, weary sigh. "I don't get paid enough for this…"

Lulu tilted her head innocently. "So, did you bring more soda?"

That was the final straw. Lucien collapsed to his knees on the cobblestone, hands limp at his sides, staring into the middle distance as if questioning every decision that had led him to this point.

The guards, unsure whether to comfort him or salute, exchanged awkward glances. Lulu, meanwhile, clapped her hands together in delight. "Wonderful! I knew you couldn't resist visiting me again!"

As the guards muttered something about "fate being cruel," Lucien groaned softly to himself. "Why do I feel like this is just the beginning…" And somewhere above them, a gull squawked loudly—as if the universe itself was laughing along.