The 4th Princess Just Wants to Rot!

The best part about this place was the fact that nobody was ever waking this Fourth Princess up.

No parents to order this girl out of bed, no siblings to physically shake her from her dreams, or even any gentle reminders from a personal maid who would, very carefully, try to awaken the sleeping dragon in her nest.

Despite this place literally being the most dangerous Court on the continent, at least we can have our own beauty sleep~

Well, if waking up at half-past noon could even be considered a "beauty sleep."

This disaster of a Fourth Princess, in what was still a somewhat pristine nest on the floor, slowly opens her eyes to the light flooding into this chamber from the slitted windows and onto her face.

Unkept hair exploding out across her head, these loose fitting pajamas wrinkled as if washed through a cheese grater; coming back to life slowly but surely.

Wisdom pours from the oracle's lips, a single uttered line bringing its perfect beauty to the planet. "Ugh… I don't wanna get up…"

And there's nobody out here to really object to her except for herself.

Get up, or else we're just gonna nap in bed for the next four hours…

And if we do that, we'll become the ultimate failure of a supposed royal.

It's the practiced half-way measures: from rolling from the comfort of that floor bed and onto the cold obsidian ground face first, picking herself up on all fours in an arduous attempt at removing the body from what was a solid surface, and finally up onto her feet in stumbling step with her eyes barely opened.

Sophia Elise the Eighth, for the first day in Landfall, is alive.

At least we're not time lagged. She takes the small victories as it comes, thinking to herself.

At least we still managed to have a somewhat restful sleep despite being in an entirely new environment. She continues to justify, perusing through these extremely poorly stocked articles of clothing: all Tiancin dresses, pants and shirts in either black or gold-trimmed black.

At least Zai still looks at us like we're a person and not a political liability. Sophia braids her hair, taking those strands of blonde into a haphazard mess that she drapes across her left shoulder.

At least we're still breathing. She continues on this tirade, putting on a strange chimeric mix of a black, gold trimmed Tiancin shirt and a solidly black pair of long pants.

This human, this Princess from the Belt, heir to the entire Ensolian Imperium, stares at herself in this mirror and lists the flaws on herself.

From that one braid that was slightly off measure from the rest, or even how her body was still slouching this twenty minutes after getting up from the floor.

And those dark circles under her eyes weren't doing her any favors, of course.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She sighs, simply straightening her posture as a half-measure.

Yeah, life was pretty bad. But it could be worse. Sophia thinks to herself as she cracks open these huge doors to her room.

It's quite empty in this antechamber to her quarters, this interim-space right before her room placed almost strategically like some Silver Age castle moat of absurdly delicate wood decor and empty space.

Guardsman Mori Fushimi is the first to greet her, seated in that overstuffed sitting sofa within his chamber. Hardly in any place to be standing at attention; more like a black cat lounging in the sunlight streaming in from the slit windows of this place with a book in hand. "Good morning, Ma'am."

And Sophia reflexively replies, cold and calculated as she attempts to pull herself awake. "Good morning Guardsman."

There's awkward silence, both of these two staring each other down before Sophia realizes her mistake. "I-is there something the matter?"

"Hmm." Mori grunts slightly, picking herself off the chair and onto a barely sharp, at attention stance. "Ma'am, as per a standard *morning* briefing for someone of your position I should inform you that your staff has delivered your requested doughnuts. I've ensured that they're free of any… additives."

DONUTS. Her internal monologue screeches in her head, noticing that pink box on one of the far tables. MOTHER, FATHER OR ANY COURT PHYSICIAN CANNOT STOP US FROM OUR GIRL BREAKFAST. THIS IS OUR PARADISE!!!

Sophia Elise the Eighth puts on a cold scowl, suppressing the dark urge that surges forth from her mind and responds with obscene grace. "Thank you, Guardsman."

Ok, walk over slowly and eat carefully. She reminds herself, taking half steps towards her 'breakfast,' keeping a side profile to that Guardian.

And Mori continues, shifting with casual discomfort. "You've also received an audience request… several requests, in fact. I have a full list, they're around a dozen."

"Really?" Sophia can barely give any brain power to that statement, barely even understanding those words as she opens this box to a full dozen holy pastries.

Three rows of four; from standard sugar glaze to even two topped with an exotic shredded coconut.

But there's something more: a single strip of paper slipped between two of the four sugar glazed pastries, signed with the wondrous cursive of the Ensolian belt's written language. A note as obvious as a two ton incendiary bomb in terms of state spycraft subtilty, lacking the usual coded message or even microfilm that seemed to permeate the Imperium's bleeding edge of espionage.

Sophia Elise,

It seems that you are settling in quite comfortably, given this request that has crossed our desk. I suppose duty is never complete, even with this 'promotion' that I've been granted.

Send the embassy a missive if you require anything.

We'll keep an eye on you, just as we always have.

Ever vigilant,

Elodie Chasseur

"Elodie?" Sophia blinks, stuffing the first donut into her mouth. "The Silver Hand Agent from Port Azuru?"

"Yeah, it seems like she got her 'promotion' afterall." Mori informs, keeping that cold edge to her voice. "Is this considered a promotion in the Silver Hand?"

Foreign Intelligence Field Agent being moved into an Embassy desk job? Most definitely a demotion in responsibility. Sophia thinks to herself.

"Depends." The Fourth Princess lies as easily as she breathes. "If her compensation is adjusted accordingly with an increase in responsibility then it can be considered a promotion.".

"I see." And Mori continues, shifting with casual discomfort back to the topic at hand. "Ma'am, there is still the thing with the audience requests. From what I gather they're quite… insistent. And these individuals ain't particularly the patient kind of… political assets."

"Hmmm." Sophia takes another bite out of one of shaved coconut donuts. "What did they say?"

"I…" Mori takes a shallow breath. "Sophia, ya might want a member of your staff as head for these pieces of paperwork. I'm only a Guardsman, after all."

"Then who would you recommend?"

And there isn't even a single hesitation in her voice, that empty truth coming from that guardian of her life. "None, Ma'am."