Chapter 5

Morning arrived quietly in Keimonomimi Village, as it so often did. A gentle mist rolled lazily over the surrounding fields, softening the edges of the world and lending the landscape a dreamlike stillness. Sunlight filtered through the curtains of Lucien's cottage in warm, golden beams, while somewhere down the lane the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from the bakery. It was the kind of peaceful morning that promised calm and simplicity—two things Lucien desperately needed.

After the chaos of the previous day—and the exhausting ordeal of explaining to half the village why the princess had, quite literally, burst out of her dress—Lucien had decided he had earned at least one morning of uninterrupted rest. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, turning away from the invading sunlight in a stubborn attempt to reclaim a few more moments of blissful nothingness. Sleep hovered just within reach, soothing and inviting, as he tried to ignore the world beyond his bed. Then he noticed it.

A faint tickle brushed against his arm, light and almost delicate. At first, he dismissed it as part of a lingering dream, but the sensation persisted. Long strands of golden hair shimmered in the morning light, their unmistakable color immediately signaling one thing—trouble.

Lucien froze. His eyelid twitched as realization began to dawn. Slowly, very slowly, he opened his eyes. And there she was. Princess Lulu of Atland lay sleeping soundly beside him, her expression peaceful and utterly unconcerned. Her lips were curved into a small, contented smile, and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing gave her an almost ethereal serenity. Strands of her golden hair fanned across the pillow like spun sunlight, and her eyelashes fluttered faintly as she slumbered. It would have been a charming sight—if it were happening anywhere other than in Lucien's bed.

Lucien's brain required exactly one second to process the situation before his soul seemed to vacate his body entirely.

"WH—WHAT IN THE—!"

He launched himself out of bed with impressive speed, tangling briefly in the blankets before colliding with the wall. The resulting crash echoed through the cottage, startling a flock of birds outside into sudden, frantic flight.

Lulu stirred at the noise, letting out a soft yawn as she blinked blearily awake. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sat up, her hair forming a halo of disheveled gold around her shoulders. Completely unfazed by her surroundings, she offered him a gentle, cheerful smile.

"Good morning, Lucien," she said sweetly, as though waking up in a man's bed were the most natural occurrence in the world.

Lucien, still clad in rumpled pajamas and teetering on the brink of a panic attack, jabbed an accusatory finger in her direction. "What—what were you doing in my bed?!"

She blinked at him innocently. "Sleeping, of course."

"I can see that!" he snapped, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Why here?!"

"Well," Lulu replied, stretching her arms lazily as though she had enjoyed the most restful night of her life, "I needed a place to sleep. And since you're taking care of me, I figured I'd stay in your house."

Lucien's eye twitched again, a sure sign that his patience was nearing its limit. "You—you figured—? Lulu, you can't just—"

"Your bed is surprisingly comfortable," she added cheerfully, patting the sheets with evident approval. "Though I must say, it's a bit small for two people."

Lucien made a sound that hovered somewhere between a strangled groan and a desperate plea for divine intervention. He pressed his fingers to his temples, as if attempting to physically hold his thoughts together. "Right," he muttered, exhaling slowly. "I forgot to find a place for you to live in."

Lulu tilted her head, entirely unbothered by his distress. "Oh, don't worry about that," she said brightly. "I think I've already found a suitable arrangement."

He blinked, suddenly wary. "You have?"

She pointed toward the window with a proud flourish.

Lucien followed her gesture, and the moment his gaze landed on the village square, he felt his blood pressure spike. Outside, standing prominently in the center of Keimonomimi, was Lulu's familiar "throne" of wooden crates. It had been freshly rebuilt and decorated with ribbons and flowers, while a small crowd of villagers gathered around it, offering breakfast pastries, fresh fruit, and steaming mugs of tea as if presenting tribute to a visiting monarch.

Lucien groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Of course you did…"

Lulu, still sitting cross-legged in his bed, suddenly gasped as though struck by divine inspiration. Her eyes widened with excitement, and she clapped her hands together. "Oh! That's right! My loyal subjects must be waiting for me!"

Lucien blinked, halfway through buttoning his shirt. "Your what now?"

"My people, of course!" she said brightly, hopping to her feet with renewed energy. "They've been ever so kind to me—bringing meals, fresh flowers, even polishing my chains! I must address them properly!"

"Address them?" Lucien repeated, a vein beginning to pulse ominously in his forehead. "Lulu, this isn't Atland! You don't have any authority here!"

She waved off his protest as if it were nothing more than an inconvenient breeze. "Authority, smuthority! A princess must maintain good relations with her public!"

"That's not your public!" Lucien exclaimed, his voice echoing through the small cottage as the morning's fragile peace shattered once again.

But it was already too late. Lulu had dashed across the room to the clothes rack where her newly mended dress hung neatly, the fabric catching the morning light with a soft shimmer. She lifted the skirt against herself with an approving hum. "I'll just slip into this," she said cheerfully. "Perfect! Spispi really did a lovely job fixing it."

"Lulu, wait—" Lucien began, reaching out in a futile attempt to halt the inevitable.

She spun toward him with a graceful twirl, her golden hair fanning out behind her, and flashed him a dazzling smile that radiated pure, uncontainable enthusiasm. "I'll be right back, Lucien! Don't go anywhere!"

Before he could utter another word, she darted out the door—barefoot, laughing, and utterly unconcerned with the growing sense of dread settling in his chest.

Lucien stood motionless for a long moment, staring at the open doorway as if hoping she might somehow reverse course. When it became clear that this miracle would not occur, he exhaled deeply, the resignation of a man long accustomed to chaos settling over him. "At least she's wearing clothes this time," he muttered under his breath.

Determined to salvage what remained of his morning, Lucien made his way to the kitchen. The simple routine of boiling water and preparing breakfast offered a comforting sense of normalcy. The kettle began to whistle softly, filling the cottage with steam, while the rich aroma of black tea mingled with the warm scent of butter melting into freshly toasted bread. He plated his meal with quiet care, savoring the rare stillness that seemed to settle over the house.

For the first time in what felt like a week, peace descended upon the little cottage. He made himself breakfast of toast and eggs, complimented with lightly sweetened tea. Lucien took a slow sip of tea, allowing the warmth to spread through him, and a faint smile touched his lips. "Maybe," he mused aloud, "today won't be so—"

CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

A loud metallic ringing shattered the silence, echoing through the village and bouncing off every rooftop like an alarm bell.

Lucien froze mid-sip, his expression going slack with dawning horror. "…Oh no."

Then, like the crack of a divine thunderbolt, Lulu's voice rang out across Keimonomimi Village with triumphant clarity: "GOOD MORNING, MY LOYAL SUBJECTS!"

Lucien groaned and set his cup down with a soft clatter. "Of course," he muttered, already rising to his feet. "And it's up to me to try and stop her."

When he rushed outside, the scene that greeted him was both magnificent and deeply alarming. Lulu stood proudly atop her familiar throne of wooden crates, bathed in the gentle glow of the morning sun. Her golden hair shimmered like spun silk, and she held one hand to her chest in a perfectly regal pose. The dress that had been so carefully mended fluttered gracefully in the breeze, while the iron chains at her ankle clinked dramatically with every movement—chains she had, apparently, reattached herself.

The villagers gathered around her in a cheerful semicircle, their expressions a mixture of amusement and enchantment. Many carried offerings: baskets of fresh fruit, loaves of warm bread, and steaming bowls of stew. Lucien stopped a few paces away and buried his face in his hands. "She's doing it again…"

A baker's wife stepped forward and presented Lulu with a tray of sweet rolls, while a young Usagimimi boy shyly offered a bouquet of wildflowers. Lulu accepted each gift with heartfelt gratitude, thanking them with the warmth and sincerity of a beloved monarch. Her demeanor was so genuine that it was easy to forget she was, in fact, a self-imposed prisoner presiding over her own captivity.

Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. "She's turned the village square into a royal garden party."

Fifi appeared beside him, holding a basket of fruit and watching the spectacle with undisguised delight. "It's adorable, isn't it?" she said with a giggle. "Everyone's been bringing her food!"

"Because they feel sorry for her," Lucien grumbled. "She chained herself there again."

Fifi tilted her head, her ears twitching thoughtfully. "Well," she said, "it does look like you're the one keeping her prisoner."

"What?"

She pointed toward Lulu's throne. Lucien followed her gesture—and felt his jaw drop. A large wooden sign had been planted prominently beside the crates, painted in bright pink letters with cheerful embellishments. It read: "Royal Debt Repayment Zone — Overseen by Elder Lucien!"

Lucien stared at it in stunned disbelief. "She made a sign?" he whispered, equal parts horrified and impressed.

Lulu waved enthusiastically the moment she spotted him, her face lighting up as though he had arrived precisely on schedule for a royal audience. "Ah, Elder Lucien! Perfect timing," she called, lifting her chin with theatrical authority. "I was just about to decree a tax reduction on snack imports!"

Lucien sighed as he approached her, his steps heavy with the resignation of a man already defeated before the battle had even begun. "Lulu, you can't just make decrees in my village," he said patiently. "Besides, there is no such thing as a tax on snacks."

"But everyone seems so happy!" she replied sweetly, accepting a basket of pastries from an elderly tailor with a gracious nod. "They like having a princess around!"

"They just like feeding the helpless prisoner," Lucien muttered under his breath.

Lulu giggled, her eyes sparkling as she bit into a flaky croissant. "Well, happiness and full bellies are the same thing, aren't they?"

The surrounding villagers laughed warmly at her remark, their affection for the princess evident in every smile and offering. Lucien could only stand there—half annoyed, half amazed—as he watched his once-peaceful village fall yet again under the spell of one very spoiled and very charming royal.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, observing helplessly as Lulu graciously accepted a basket of muffins from a teary-eyed baker's wife. "Bless her heart," the woman murmured, dabbing at her eyes. "So brave, so cheerful, even in chains!"

Lucien opened his mouth to protest—only to yelp as something sharply struck the back of his head. Spinning around, he found himself staring down the gnarled end of a walking cane. Its wielder was an elderly woman with piercing eyes and an expression that suggested she had spent a lifetime correcting the misdeeds of others.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" she scolded, punctuating each accusation with a firm poke to his chest. "Keeping a young woman like her chained up like an animal! Have you no decency, young man?"

"What—No! I didn't chain her!" Lucien protested, hastily dodging the next jab. "She does that on her own!"

"Excuses, excuses!" the old woman snapped, turning away with an indignant huff. "If I see one bruise on that sweet girl, I'll tell the mayor!"

Lucien opened his mouth to respond, but the words faltered as the crowd began to disperse. Villagers offered Lulu kind smiles and additional plates of food before continuing with their day, leaving Lucien standing alone in the square with his growing exasperation.

He remained there for a long, heavy moment, staring after the departing villagers. Then, with quiet disbelief, he muttered to himself, "We don't even have a mayor here… I'm the one in charge…"

Before Lucien could gather his thoughts, Fifi's hesitant voice sounded behind him. "Um… Lucien?"

He turned to find her standing a few steps away, clutching her account ledger to her chest as though it were a shield against impending doom. The pages were marked with an alarming amount of red ink, and her usually perky ears drooped low with worry. Her expression wavered between guilt and exasperation, as if she were bracing herself for the inevitable reaction.

"I know this probably isn't the best time to bring this up," she began nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "but, uh… last night, Lulu ate all the inn's food."

Lucien blinked, certain he had misheard. "All of it? But we just restocked your pantry!"

Fifi nodded solemnly, her ears sagging even further. "All of it," she confirmed. "Every loaf of bread, every pot of stew, every carrot. Even the emergency biscuits we keep hidden from travelers with bottomless stomachs." She let out a weary sigh. "We couldn't even open the inn this morning to greet any travelers."

Lucien's gaze drifted past her toward the inn. Sure enough, a crudely written sign now hung on the door, swaying gently in the morning breeze: "Closed until further notice — Out of food." The sight carried a strange finality, as though the village itself had momentarily surrendered to Lulu's unstoppable appetite.

For a long moment, silence settled between them. The cheerful chatter of the villagers continued in the background, and Lulu's delighted laughter rang out from her crate-throne as she accepted yet another offering. Lucien watched the scene with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant amusement.

Then, very slowly, he exhaled. "…I'm going to need a bigger farm."

By midmorning, Lulu's antics showed no sign of slowing. The villagers of Keimonomimi continued to bring her food, utterly convinced that she must be starving based on the sheer volume she consumed without any indication of fullness. Baskets of fruit, freshly baked breads, and steaming bowls of stew were delivered with heartfelt concern, transforming Lulu into a one-woman disaster relief project. Meanwhile, the inn's cupboards stood bare, and the villagers had begun quietly rationing what little food remained, casting worried glances toward their increasingly enthusiastic guest.

Lucien observed the situation from the edge of the square, his arms crossed as he assessed the growing crisis. The cheerful atmosphere that had initially surrounded Lulu's presence was now tinged with practical concern. Keimonomimi was a small village with limited resources, and even its generous spirit could not sustain such relentless consumption. After a long moment of contemplation, Lucien came to a decisive conclusion: there was only one viable solution—a resupply run to Drakenburg. And this time, he would not be making the journey alone.

Adjusting the strap of his satchel over his shoulder, Lucien approached Lulu's wooden crate throne with the steady determination of a man who had accepted his fate. "Come on," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "If you're going to eat half the kingdom's food, you're going to help buy more."

Lulu, perched daintily atop her makeshift throne, blinked at him in surprise. She tilted her head, golden curls catching the sunlight, as if the very notion were foreign to her. "Work? Me?" she asked, placing a hand dramatically against her chest. "But I'm royalty."

"Exactly," Lucien replied dryly. "Think of it as royal exercise."

Ten minutes later, they were on the road. The sun hung high above the forest path, scattering shafts of golden light through the leafy canopy and painting the ground with shifting patterns of shadow. Birds sang from hidden perches, and a warm breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and sunlit earth. It would have been a perfectly peaceful journey—if not for the endless chatter of the princess walking beside him.

"I must say," Lulu began cheerfully, balancing a pink parasol over her shoulder, "it's rather nice to walk for a change. Back home, everyone insists I ride in a carriage. It's terribly dull, you know."

Lucien glanced at her from the corner of his eye, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "So you're saying this is better?"

"Oh, absolutely!" she replied with enthusiasm. "I can smell the flowers, feel the wind, hear the sound of my—oh! My stomach."

Lucien's brow twitched. "We just left the village, Lulu."

She smiled at him with complete innocence. "Yes, and walking works up quite the appetite."

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "If you start eating the flowers, I'm turning around."

Lulu giggled, twirling her parasol so that it caught the sunlight like a spinning blossom. "You're so funny, Lucien~."

As they strolled along the dusty path, Lucien stole a sideways glance at the princess. Sunlight filtered through the trees and settled in her golden hair, giving it an almost ethereal glow. For once, she appeared peaceful—almost ordinary. There was a lightness to her steps, a gentle sway to her skirts, and an ease in her expression that made her seem less like a royal burden and more like a carefree traveler enjoying a pleasant morning.

Then he frowned. Despite having single-handedly consumed the entire stock of Fifi's inn the previous day, Lulu looked as slender as ever. There was no visible sign of the monumental feast she had devoured, a contradiction that defied both logic and common sense.

"How do you stay so thin?" he asked suspiciously. "Where do the calories from all the food you eat even go?"

Lulu turned toward him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and offered a playful wink. "It's a secret. Call it Atland genetics."

Lucien squinted at her. "Atland genetics… right. I'm starting to think you might actually be part void."

She tilted her head curiously. "Void?"

"As in a black hole," he clarified dryly.

"Oh!" Lulu beamed, as though he had just paid her the highest compliment imaginable. "Thank you!"

Lucien groaned softly. "That wasn't a compliment."

But Lulu merely hummed cheerfully, swaying along to a tune only she could hear, her golden hair shimmering in the dappled sunlight as they continued down the road toward Drakenburg.

Lucien shook his head, trying—and failing—to suppress a small smile. Somehow, despite the endless chaos, misunderstandings, and mild property damage that seemed to follow her wherever she went, the world felt a little brighter with Lulu in it. Her presence was like a burst of sunlight on an otherwise ordinary day, impossible to ignore and even harder to resent.

Then her stomach growled again. His smile vanished instantly. "…I am not stopping for snacks."

"But Lucien~!" she pleaded, clasping her hands together with theatrical desperation.

"Not. A. Word."

By the time the towering walls of Drakenburg came into view, Lucien felt as though he had aged several years during the journey. The capital's grand banners fluttered proudly in the noon breeze, their vibrant colors standing out against the pale stone of the city's fortifications. From beyond the gates came the familiar sounds of bustling life: the clink of armored guards shifting at their posts, the murmur of merchants advertising their wares, and the steady rumble of carts passing over cobblestone streets.

"Finally," Lucien muttered, adjusting the strap of his satchel. "We'll resupply, return to the village, and perhaps I can go one full day without you being mistaken for divine punishment."

"What was that?" Lulu asked sweetly, walking a half-step ahead of him.

"Nothing, Your Highness," he sighed.

As they approached the gate, Lucien reached into his coat and retrieved his identifying emblem—a small bronze token marking him as the Elder of Keimonomimi Village. He was just about to present it to the guards when Lulu suddenly broke into a delighted sprint.

"Alfred! Markus! My dearest gatekeepers!"

The two armored men straightened at once, their stoic expressions dissolving into boyish grins. "Princess Lulu! You're back again!" exclaimed Alfred, the older of the pair.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon!" Markus added. "The city's been quiet without you, Your Highness."

Lucien blinked, his emblem still held awkwardly in his hand. "Dearest gatekeepers?" he murmured to himself. "She really does charm everyone around her…"

Lulu beamed, clasping her hands behind her back with playful elegance. "I just couldn't stay away! You know how it is—one must ensure the city's snacks are properly appreciated."

The guards laughed warmly and stepped aside, offering respectful bows. "Then by all means, welcome to Drakenburg, Princess of Atland," Alfred said. "The gate is open to you as always."

Lucien cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Ah, yes, and I—"

"Oh, of course!" Markus interrupted, nodding toward him with friendly certainty. "Lulu's bodyguard is always welcome in Drakenburg as well."

Lucien froze. "…Bodyguard?"

Alfred gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "Good work keeping her safe, sir. Can't imagine the trouble she'd get into without someone like you around."

"I'm not her—" Lucien began, but the guards had already turned their attention to the next caravan approaching the gate.

Lulu, meanwhile, looked thoroughly pleased with herself. "Come now, Sir Lucien," she said, tugging him gently by the sleeve. "Our royal duties await."

"Sir Lucien?" he echoed weakly as she pulled him past the gates.

"Of course!" she replied with an innocent grin. "Every princess needs her knight!"

Lucien sighed and slipped his emblem back into his pocket, resigning himself to yet another unexpected role in his increasingly complicated life. "Remind me," he muttered dryly, "to start charging hazard pay."

The midday bustle of Drakenburg's bazaar wrapped around them like a living tapestry of sound and color. Laughter mingled with the rhythmic clinking of coins, while merchants called out their wares in cheerful competition. The air was rich with the sharp sweetness of citrus, the warmth of freshly baked bread, and the exotic spice of distant lands, creating an atmosphere both vibrant and intoxicating.

Lucien moved from stall to stall with quiet efficiency, his demeanor calm and focused. He traded coins, signed notes, and offered polite bows in the practiced rhythm of a man who had made this journey countless times before. Each transaction was deliberate, each purchase carefully considered, as he methodically worked through the growing list of supplies needed to replenish Keimonomimi Village.

Behind him, Princess Lulu trailed like a restless cat, her presence impossible to ignore. Every sigh she released was theatrical, and her steps grew increasingly heavy with exaggerated exhaustion. "Lucien," she groaned, dragging out his name as though it were a royal decree. "How long must I stand here and watch you talk about flour and sugar?"

"Until the flour and sugar are paid for," he replied, barely glancing up from the merchant's ledger he was reviewing.

"But it's so boring!" she whined, resting her chin dramatically on his shoulder.

"Don't even think about sneaking off again," he said flatly. "Last time you 'looked around,' I had to pay for an entire tray of candied apples you claimed were a 'royal tasting.'"

Lulu puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms in protest. "You're no fun at all."

"I'm still paying off your definition of 'fun,' Princess," Lucien replied dryly.

Her playful glare softened, however, as her attention drifted beyond the stalls and into the bustling crowd. A small group of children—three boys no older than ten—had paused a few steps away, clutching small wildflowers in their hands. They whispered among themselves, giggling nervously, until the bravest of the trio gathered his courage and stepped forward.

"Um… excuse me, Miss Princess?" he said, holding out a simple daisy with both hands. "My mum says you're really pretty."

Lulu blinked in surprise, clearly touched by the sincerity of the gesture. Then she smiled—an honest, radiant expression that caused the boys' faces to flush bright crimson. "Why, thank you, little gentleman," she said softly, accepting the flower as though it were a priceless treasure. "And your mother must be very kind to have raised such polite sons."

Encouraged, the other two boys hurried forward with their own flowers, one of them stumbling over his boots but grinning all the same. Lulu knelt gracefully, gathering all three offerings in her palms and thanking each child by name after they shyly introduced themselves.

Lucien turned just in time to witness the scene. Sunlight filtered through Lulu's golden hair, casting a soft halo around her as the children's laughter rang like distant bells. Her voice was gentle and sincere, and the warmth in her expression transformed the chaotic princess he knew into something far more dignified and compassionate.

Something in Lucien's chest eased. He had spent so much time viewing Lulu as a whirlwind of appetite and mischief—a persistent headache wrapped in pink silk—that he had nearly forgotten the responsibilities she carried. Moments like this reminded him that beneath the chaos was a woman raised to rule, one who genuinely cared for the people around her, even if she did not always understand the most practical ways to express it.

"Lucien!" Lulu's voice pulled him gently from his thoughts. She stood before him, a small bouquet of wildflowers cradled in her hands, and offered a bright, teasing smile. "You were staring again," she said playfully. "Has your heart finally been captured by royal beauty?"

Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as he handed a merchant his final coin and secured the last of their supplies. "You wish," he replied, his tone warm with amusement. "Come on, Your Highness. Let's get these supplies home before you charm the entire city into giving you their lunches."

She laughed, looping her arm through his with effortless familiarity as they began weaving their way through the bustling crowd. "No promises," she said cheerfully. And for a fleeting moment, the chaos that so often surrounded them felt… peaceful.

The road back to Keimonomimi Village wound lazily through the forest, its cobblestones glinting beneath the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. Tall trees arched overhead, their leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, while birds trilled in the distance. The rhythmic creak of the wagon carrying their supplies provided a steady accompaniment to the otherwise tranquil silence that settled between them.

Lulu walked beside Lucien, gathering the hem of her skirts slightly so they would not brush against the dust of the road. The wind toyed with the loose strands of her golden hair, and for once, her expression was free of mischief or theatrical grandeur. Instead, she appeared calm—serene, even—as though she were simply another traveler enjoying the quiet beauty of the countryside.

Lucien found himself watching her from the corner of his eye. Sunlight warmed her features, softening the sharp edges of her usual exuberance. Without the familiar glint of iron at her ankle or the symbolic weight of the chain trailing behind her, she looked… free.

"Lulu," Lucien said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. The forest path stretched ahead in dappled sunlight, and his voice carried a gentle curiosity rather than accusation. "Why do you wear those chains?"

She blinked, clearly surprised by the question, and turned to face him with a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Why?"

"Well… no one's forcing you," he continued. "You know that, right? You can go anywhere you want. So why keep putting them on?"

For a long moment, Lulu said nothing. The wind rustled softly through the leaves above them, scattering golden light across the path as her gaze dropped to the cobblestones beneath her feet. "Because…" she began softly, her voice barely louder than the whispering breeze, "if I take them off, someone will tell me to go home."

Lucien slowed his pace, giving her the space to continue.

Her voice trembled, balanced delicately between honesty and embarrassment. "Everyone looks at me like a princess—someone who's supposed to be perfect and elegant and do what's expected. But before Atland became a kingdom, I wasn't anyone special. I used to sneak into the village inn just to smell the local delicacy of roasted lizard and cactus roots. I'd help the cooks so I could taste what they made. I loved it—seeing people happy because of something as simple as food."

A wistful smile touched her lips as she clasped her hands in front of her. "But once Father became king and Mother became queen, everything changed. No one wanted the silly girl who loved to eat and laugh. They wanted a princess who would smile politely and talk about trade routes and royal duties. I don't want to sit in a palace all day, Lucien. I want to live—to eat good food, to laugh with people. I want to share that happiness, not hide it behind rules and etiquette."

Lucien came to a stop, the weight of her confession settling heavily in the quiet forest. The sincerity in her words pulled at his heart, stirring both pity and admiration.

"So the chains…" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

She nodded, her expression tinged with self-consciousness. "They're my way of saying, 'Don't make me go back.' If I look like a prisoner, no one can send me home." She gave a small, sheepish laugh. "It's silly, isn't it?"

Lucien looked at her—truly looked—and saw not the spoiled royal he had once assumed her to be, but a woman quietly fighting for her freedom in the only way she knew how.

"No," he said softly. "Not silly."

Lulu blinked, caught off guard by the gentle sincerity in his tone.

"You just… want to live your own way," Lucien continued. "And you've already learned something most nobles never do—you care more about people than power. That's not a weakness. It's a strength."

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and for once, the ever-quick-witted princess found herself without a clever retort. "Lucien… that might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

He offered a faint, self-conscious smile. "Don't get used to it," he replied lightly. "I'll probably regret it the moment we get home."

Lulu laughed, the sound bright and genuine as it echoed through the trees. "Too late! You've already said it, and I'll treasure it forever!"

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the forest path in warm shades of gold and amber as Lucien and Lulu walked side by side. They moved in comfortable silence, their earlier conversation lingering gently between them. The elder and the princess, the realist and the dreamer, were bound not by duty or debt, but by a shared moment of quiet understanding that neither felt the need to disturb.

By the time they reached Keimonomimi Village, evening had settled softly over the rooftops. Lanterns flickered to life along the streets, casting a warm, welcoming glow across the cobblestones. The sounds of laughter and conversation gradually faded as villagers returned to their homes, until only the gentle chirping of crickets and the distant rustle of the wind remained. The village, once bustling with the day's activities, now drifted peacefully toward sleep.

For Lucien, however, one final challenge remained. With the supplies safely delivered and the village settling into calm, he now faced the daunting task of finding a suitable home for a princess. Determined to resolve the matter before exhaustion claimed him entirely, he led Lulu to the largest vacant house in the village, a spacious and well-maintained residence that stood proudly near the square.

"Here you go, Princess," Lucien said, gesturing toward the building with a tired but hopeful smile. "Your new home."

Lulu crossed her arms and examined the house with a critical eye. "I am not living there," she declared firmly. "It's too big. I'll feel lonely."

Lucien sighed and, without argument, guided her to a smaller yet charming cottage adorned with flower boxes and carefully painted shutters. "All right," he said, trying to remain patient. "This one should suit you better."

Lulu tilted her head and shook her head in protest. "Too flashy," she replied with a delicate frown. "Not suitable for a young lady such as myself."

Lucien's jaw hung open in disbelief, but he forced himself to remain composed. Over the next hour, he led her from one vacant home to another, each met with increasingly elaborate objections. One was "too close to the bakery" and might tempt her into overeating. Another was "too quiet," and yet another lacked "proper princessly ambiance." With every rejection, Lucien grew more convinced that Lulu was being deliberately difficult.

After hours of fruitless house hunting, Lucien finally stopped in the middle of the street, heaving with exhaustion. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled deeply before conceding defeat. "Fine," he said, his voice tinged with resignation. "Pick a house you want to live in yourself."

Lulu wasted no time. She turned with decisive confidence and pointed directly toward her chosen residence.

Lucien followed her gesture, and the color drained from his face. "That's… my house."

Lulu nodded with complete certainty. "Of course. If you're going to be looking after me, what better way is there than to live under the same roof?"

Lucien dragged a hand down his face, already knowing the truth behind her reasoning. "You just don't want to be alone."

"Guilty as charged," Lulu admitted with a warm, disarming smile.

Realizing that further resistance would be futile, Lucien reluctantly led her inside and presented the guest bedroom with what remained of his dignity. "You can sleep here," he said, gesturing toward the neatly prepared space.

"I don't want to," Lulu replied immediately, her tone carrying the unmistakable stubbornness of a spoiled child.

Lucien blinked in disbelief. "Well then where are you planning on sleeping? Because the crate throne is out of the question."

Without answering, Lulu strolled casually past him and entered Lucien's bedroom. She sat comfortably on the edge of his bed, running her hand appreciatively over the soft sheets. "This bed," she declared with satisfaction, "is the most comfortable in the village."

Lucien stared at her, utterly baffled. "How do you know that?" he demanded. "And where am I supposed to sleep?"

Lulu pointed back toward the guest room with regal certainty. "If it's good enough for a princess, then it's good enough for you."

Lucien slapped his forehead, the last remnants of his resolve crumbling. Though he wanted to protest, the exhaustion of the day and the gentle sincerity behind Lulu's request left him without the heart to argue. With a defeated sigh, he gathered his belongings and retreated to the guest bedroom.

As he settled into the unfamiliar bed, Lucien stared up at the ceiling, reflecting on the strange turn his life had taken. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear Lulu humming contentedly as she made herself comfortable. Despite everything—the chaos, the misunderstandings, and the endless disruptions—a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Later that night, Lucien lay awake in the guest bedroom, acutely aware of every creak and groan the unfamiliar bed produced beneath him. It was stiffer, smaller, and far colder than the one he had slept in for years. His own bedroom—warm, familiar, and carrying the comforting scent of cedar and tea leaves—was now occupied by a snoring princess who had unceremoniously declared it her royal chamber.

He exhaled slowly, the sound hovering somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh. "Kicked out of my own bed," he muttered under his breath, staring up at the ceiling. "That has to be some kind of record."

Through the thin wall separating the rooms, he could hear Lulu's faint breathing—soft, steady, and deeply peaceful. Every so often, she murmured something unintelligible in her sleep, occasionally punctuated by recognizable words like cake, stew, or, to his mild embarrassment, Lucien's tea. The absurdity of it all tugged at the corners of his mouth, and despite himself, he found himself smiling.

Turning onto his side, Lucien gazed toward the window where moonlight streamed in silver ribbons across the wooden floor. The gentle glow cast long shadows across the room, bathing everything in a serene stillness. For the first time since Lulu had been quite literally dropped into his life, she seemed completely at peace—no theatrics, no chaos, no royal proclamations. Just a young woman finally allowed a moment of rest.

And, to his quiet surprise, he felt peaceful as well.

"I guess," he whispered softly to the ceiling, his voice barely audible in the stillness, "if she can find peace here… maybe I can learn a little patience."

He folded his hands behind his head, a small, tired smile curving his lips as the events of the day slowly began to drift away. "Just… don't eat the blankets, Princess," he added with gentle humor.

From the next room came a soft, sleepy giggle, as if Lulu had somehow heard him even within her dreams. The sound was light and comforting, echoing faintly through the quiet cottage.

Lucien chuckled under his breath and closed his eyes, allowing the weight of the day to finally slip away. Outside, Keimonomimi Village rested in tranquil silence, its lanterns dimming beneath the watchful glow of the moon. The princess was happy, the village was safe, and for tonight, at least, that was more than enough.