Princess Switch; A steamy love story

Evelina's POV

I wasn't going to write another letter.

I'd already said please, which is basically treason in royal etiquette. And her reply? Insulting, ink-stained, and written in what smelled suspiciously like goat sweat.

So no. No more birds. No more scrolls.

I was going to find her.

And I was going to beg her royal commoner butt in person.

"Are you sure about this, Your Highness?" my maid Brielle whispered as she laced up the back of a scratchy, shapeless peasant dress that smelled like turnips and humility.

"No," I said flatly. "But if I spend one more evening pretending to enjoy Prince Frostbite's presence, I might actually pass out and fall into his arms, which would cause rumors. And I hate rumors."

"Except the ones you start."

"Obviously."

She handed me a hooded cloak and smirked. "You look… undistinguished."

"Good. That's the goal."

"You smell like hay."

"I'm committing."

---

Later That Evening — Wren Hollow

I found her behind a crooked fence, pinning underpants to a line like she was slaying dragons.

Liana. Hair tied back. Wrists soap-stained. Face glowing in the lamplight like someone carved it from the same mold as mine — only she looked freer. Wilder. Realer.

She turned just as I stepped into the light.

"Oh no," she muttered. "The royal raccoon returns."

"I came in peace," I said, lifting my hands. "Also, in borrowed shoes."

She squinted. "Did you sneak out of the palace dressed like that?"

"Yes."

"Did you crawl through a potato cart to get here?"

"No, but… should I have? Would that have made this more charming?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't tell me to leave.

I walked closer, stopping just short of her laundry line. "I didn't come to insult you. Or command you. Or threaten you with silver hairbrushes."

She arched a brow.

"I came to say… please."

Her lips parted.

And then, softly, I added, "I don't think you understand what it's like to be watched all the time. Judged. Poked. Painted. Expected to love someone who looks at you like you're just a name on a treaty. I need… space. Just for a little while. And you're the only person who can give it to me."

Liana looked at me for a long time.

She didn't speak. She just watched me. Probably trying to figure out if I was lying. Or insane.

Probably both.

Then she exhaled. "You're lucky I'm nosy and slightly self-destructive."

I blinked. "What?"

"I'll do it."

My mouth fell open.

She smirked. "But on one condition."

"Name it."

"You act like a decent human next time you ask me for something. And maybe, just maybe, learn to say thank you like someone who's heard of humility."

"Deal."

"And I get snacks. The good kind. With frosting."

"Obviously."

We stood there, two girls with the same face but completely opposite lives — both tricking fate with one wild, stupid, wonderful plan.

"The Grand Ball," I said. "Next week. My father's hosting it to honor the prince's arrival. It'll be packed. Perfect cover. We'll switch right before it begins."

"You mean I get to wear a gown and pretend to hate the prince?"

"Yes."

"I'm in."

Before she could escape, I threw my arms around her in a hug that was not optional.

She squawked like a startled bird. "What are you doing?!"

"Hugging."

"Stop that. You're royalty. You don't hug. You hover and wave."

"I've decided I like hugging. And I like you."

"Well, I hate this."

"No, you don't."

"...Fine. But next time, warn me before you try to strangle me with affection."

I smiled against her shoulder. "Thank you, Liana."

And for the first time in forever… I felt free.

***

It was supposed to be a normal morning.

Birds chirping. Stepmother shrieking. Linens swinging on the line like sad little flags of defeat. Liana was doing what she did best — surviving, sweating, and plotting ways to vanish without leaving a single sock behind.

But life, apparently, had other plans.

She was just about to toss a bucket of wash water down the side gutter — the dark murky kind, with a floating sock and the sins of yesterday's laundry — when—

Clip-clop. Trot. Clip-clop.

She froze.

Turning slowly, Liana peeked around the corner of the stone cottage and saw them: two men on horseback, riding like they belonged in an oil painting. One wore a deep navy cloak with the Raventhorn crest embroidered in gold. The other… well.

He looked like he hadn't smiled in thirteen years.

Tall. Stone-jawed. Dressed like he ironed his soul every morning.

The Prince.

And beside him rode Prince Leo, the charming royal brother, laughing at something and clearly trying to score "big-brother-bonding" points.

Liana's soul screamed.

Her hands screamed.

Her bucket did not scream.

It tilted.

And just like that—

SPLASH.

The royal steed reared.

The prince didn't flinch — of course he didn't — but his cloak? His tunic? Soaked. From shoulder to boot, the future King of Ironvale now smelled like peasant soap and goat water.

Liana stared. Bucket dangling in mid-air. Brain melting like butter on hot bread.

"OH MY STARS—" she squeaked, stumbling backwards and grabbing the cloth from her headscarf to quickly mummify her entire face, mouth to nose. Only her wide, horrified eyes remained.

Leo let out a choked, shocked laugh. "Well… that's new."

The prince looked down at himself slowly, like he was contemplating whether murder was worth the paperwork.

Liana dropped the bucket and curtsied so hard her knees nearly gave out.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," she mumbled behind the cloth. "I didn't see— I didn't— My eyes— The sun— THE AIR!"

The prince swung down from his horse in one fluid motion. Oh no. He was tall on the horse. He was taller on the ground. His boots squished slightly from the water. Liana flinched.

She tried wiping the stain with a nearby towel, panicking, dabbing at his chest like she was polishing a statue. "It's just… uh… it'll dry— it's only 82% dirt, I swear—!"

"Stop," the prince said coldly.

She did.

Guards appeared like magic — too close, too big, too swordy.

The prince didn't yell. He didn't scowl. He just looked at her. Hard. And long.

And something… weird happened.

A spark.

Not the cute, storybook kind. The terrifying, 'why is this attractive when it shouldn't be' kind.

Liana avoided his gaze, but her traitor eyes kept darting back. His were piercing, grey-blue — the kind of eyes that saw things. Judged things.

He tilted his head slightly. "What's your name?"

"Forgive me," she said in one breath.

"Pardon?"

"I said, forgive me. Your… Your Royal Dampness."

Leo wheezed behind him.

The prince didn't move. "You were careless."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"You are lucky I don't have you punished."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Because you are clearly… not right in the head."

"Oh."

She blinked.

And then — without thinking, she muttered under her breath: "Still got more warmth than you, walking icicle."

The guards froze.

The prince's brows twitched — a micro action. She couldn't even tell if he heard her.

Until he spoke again.

"Let her go."

Just like that, the guards backed off.

Liana blinked rapidly. "Wait, really?"

The prince stepped back and gave her one last, unreadable glance. "Be more careful."

And with that, he turned back toward his horse like nothing had happened.

As the royal horses trotted away, Liana stood rooted, the taste of adrenaline in her mouth and mud on her shoes.

She slowly pulled the cloth off her face.

"Unbelievable," she muttered. "I nearly drowned a prince in peasant water and lived."

And then, after a pause:

"…Still would do it again."