I Reincarnated as a Princess… But Ended Up Selling Fruit

Lara's treehouse was not, strictly speaking, a house.

It was a living fortress disguised as botanical whimsy. A tangled spiral of enchanted roots and spirit-woven vines, nestled in the woods just beyond the town's edge—warded, hidden, and aggressively floral.

And right now, it was echoing with the sound of Lara's boots stomping up the spiral stairwell.

"—I didn't mean to sell him a magic apple, Seph!" she shouted as she kicked the door open.

Inside, a pale-haired elf with too many earrings and too little patience was rearranging jars of preserved fruit on a floating shelf.

"You say that like it's the first time," Seph muttered.

Elira, sprawled on the couch like a goddess of gossip and bad decisions, sipped her tea with a hum. "Was he hot?"

"Irrelevant," Lara snapped.

"So... yes," Elira smirked.

Myrr—sharp-eyed, always-reading-a-book-even-when-stabbing-people Myrr—didn't look up from her spot in the corner. "You're glowing."

"I am stressed," Lara hissed. "Which makes my spirit mark act up. Which is your fault."

"Technically," Rime purred from a windowsill, "it's the fault of your libido and terrible taste in men."

"Not helping."

Seph crossed his arms, earrings jingling like angry wind chimes. "Was he military?"

"Imperial. Maybe. Leather coat. Gloves. Tall. Suspicious bone structure."

Myrr flipped a page. "You really need to stop identifying people by how bangable they are."

"He might be the guy I slept with three years ago," Lara muttered.

Silence.

Elira's tea sloshed.

Seph blinked.

Myrr… finally looked up. "The one you thought died?"

"I didn't say he died. I said he disappeared. After a night of excellent wine, questionable choices, and zero names exchanged."

"Classic you," Rime yawned.

Lara paced to the center of the room and dropped the apple crate on the table with a thud. The apples inside were glowing faintly—each one thrumming with leftover spirit energy.

One, in particular, pulsed a little brighter than the rest. Not glowing, exactly… but awake.

The Pico fruit.

The fruit that shouldn't exist.

The fruit that once healed a poisoned emperor and nearly started a war.

"Oh," Elira said softly, leaning closer. "That's not a regular apple."

"Nope."

"You regrew it?"

"Not on purpose," Lara muttered. "It… sprouted again. After last week's dream. The one with the blood moon and the peach-scented waterfall."

Seph looked horrified. "You dreamed a fruit into existence again?!"

"It happens sometimes!"

"That's not a gift, Lara," Myrr said. "That's a declaration of war."

Lara stared at the Pico fruit like it might sprout legs and run.

It sat at the center of the table, round and smug and faintly glowing. Not bright enough to scream magical abomination, but definitely enough to get her executed if anyone official sniffed it out.

"Maybe we can just… eat it," she offered.

Seph stared. "You want to eat the fruit that cured a poisoned emperor, triggered three assassination attempts, and was declared a divine artifact by the Holy See?"

"I mean," Lara said, already halfway to the kitchen, "if I slice it into a pie, technically it's not contraband anymore—it's pastry."

"Don't touch it," Myrr barked.

Rime, still sprawled on the windowsill like a moody centerpiece, flicked his tail. "We should bury it in the moon garden. Or feed it to a goat."

Elira raised her hand. "Or hear me out: we could sell it to a demon."

Everyone turned.

"What?" she shrugged. "They've got money. And absolutely no health insurance."

Lara sighed and sat down, resting her forehead against the cool wood of the table. "Okay. Let's assume I accidentally regrew the most dangerous fruit on the continent. And let's also assume that the Crown Prince of the Empire maybe just bought an apple from me. And maybe recognized me. What do we do?"

"Lie," said Myrr.

"Run," said Seph.

"Seduce him," said Elira.

Rime snorted. "You already did that, remember?"

"I was drunk!" Lara snapped. "I barely remember anything! I thought he was just a hot stranger, not—"

"Your highness," Rime interrupted, voice suddenly lower. "The orchard is glowing again."

Silence fell like a dropped sword.

Lara stood slowly and walked to the window.

Outside, past the wards, past the barrier vines and the spirit-thick air, the orchard's heart tree—the very first one she grew when she fled the palace—was pulsing with soft silver light.

And beside it?

A second glow.

Brighter. Warmer.

The Pico fruit's seedling had sprouted.

Rime's voice was a whisper beside her.

"You didn't just regrow the fruit, Lara."

"You called it back."

"I didn't mean to call anything," Lara muttered.

"Intent doesn't matter to spirit fruit," Rime said, still watching the orchard. "Desire does."

"That's worse," she whispered.

Because the truth?

She had been thinking about it.

The fruit. The orchard. The night she lost everything—her title, her name, her mother.

And maybe, just maybe… the man with the gloves and the dangerous mouth.

Elira leaned against the window beside her. "If you're unconsciously manifesting sacred produce, maybe it's time we talk about your emotions."

Lara groaned. "Gods forbid."

"I'll prep the panic bag," Seph said from the kitchen.

"Elira," Myrr added, "make a list of everyone in town who's tasted fruit in the last month. If imperial scouts come knocking, we need to know who could rat."

Elira saluted with her teacup. "On it."

"And you?" Myrr turned to Lara. "You need to lie better."

Lara blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're a terrible liar when you're flustered."

"I am not!"

"You flirt like a tavern bard and panic like a squirrel in armor. That man is coming back. If he connects the dots—"

"I'll throw apples at him."

Rime sighed. "And then what? Kiss him again?"

There was a long pause.

Lara stared out at the orchard. The Pico sprout was glowing brighter now—almost humming.

"I'll think of something," she said quietly.

"Famous last words," Seph muttered.

[End of Chapter 2]