Princess Switch; A steamy love story

Princess Evelina's POV (conts)

We moved to lesson two: tea etiquette.

I demonstrated, of course — graceful, deliberate, not a drop spilled.

Liana, on the other hand, managed to pour the tea without missing… except she added three sugar cubes, stirred aggressively, then sipped loudly while crossing her legs like she was at a tavern.

"This is exactly how my stepmother drinks it," she offered, as if that was a compliment.

"Your stepmother drinks tea like she's interrogating it."

"I'm about to interrogate you if you keep judging me," she huffed.

By the time we got to the bowing lesson, I was nearly breathless with laughter.

"You don't bow like you're curtsying in battle!" I gasped, wiping tears from my eyes. "You nearly headbutted Mira!"

"Well, Mira was in the way!"

"She was across the room, Liana!"

The dress fitting nearly killed us both. Mira helped lace her into a sapphire corseted gown. Liana stared at her reflection like she was watching herself slowly die in velvet.

"I can't breathe," she choked. "I think my lungs are in my throat."

"Good," I smiled sweetly. "Now say 'thank you' with a noble smile."

She looked like she was trying not to swear in several languages.

That's when she snapped.

"Enough!" Liana suddenly threw her hands in the air like the corset had snapped her last nerve. "Now it's your turn."

I blinked at her, caught off guard. "My turn?"

"Yes," she said, planting her hands on her hips like a noblewoman possessed by a tavern brawler. "If I'm going to suffer through this royal suffocation, then you are going to learn how to survive the jungle I call home."

She gave me a look like she was about to lecture a baby goat on how not to die.

"Lesson one," she began, pacing like a general preparing for war. "My stepmother is a tripwire with heels. Don't offend her. Don't challenge her. Don't ask why her eyebrows never move. Just smile, nod, and act like she's smarter than she actually is."

I couldn't help the smirk tugging at my lips. "Sounds like most nobles I know."

She narrowed her eyes and continued with military precision.

"Don't touch her mirror. Don't insult her cooking. And if she calls you lazy, just blink slowly like you're considering the meaning of life, then move on."

"And your stepsisters?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

"Loud. Fake. Obsessed with suitors. They'll think you're me, which gives you the right to be weird and unpredictable. Use that power. Weaponize it."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'll try not to step on their toes."

Liana smirked with a glint of wickedness. "Just make sure if you do… you're wearing boots."

That broke us both.

We burst into laughter — real laughter, the kind that left you lightheaded and unsure of which world you belonged to. The kind that didn't care about titles or soap-stained fingers or rubied gowns.

And for one golden second — tangled in satin, sarcasm, and conspiracies — it didn't feel like we were two girls from opposite worlds.

It felt like we were partners.

Teammates.

Sisters in mischief.

***

Author's POV

Liana should've known better than to return home after dusk. The sky was a deep bruise of violet, the moon high and judgmental — like even it knew she was walking into danger. Her boots crunched against the gravel path, slow and hesitant, and for once, she actually wished for a thunderstorm. Anything to distract from what she knew was waiting behind that creaky front door.

Silence.

Too much of it.

The kind of silence that wasn't peaceful — it was plotting.

She opened the door carefully, as if it might bite. And there they were. Like shadows arranged by candlelight, waiting at the table as though they'd just finished chanting in a coven circle.

Her stepmother sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled like she was about to deliver judgment at a royal court. Her powdered face was stiff, her lips pressed into a smile that screamed: "Welcome home, liar."

On either side of her, Liana's stepsisters wore their finest scowls. One was twirling her hair like it was a noose, the other picking her nails with a butter knife.

"You're late," her stepmother said, calm — too calm.

"I was… helping an old lady find her goat," Liana replied casually, tossing her scarf onto a chair and pretending she couldn't feel three pairs of eyes stabbing her in the spine.

"Oh?" her stepmother said, tilting her head. "Was the goat wearing royal perfume?"

One stepsister snorted. The other smirked.

Liana froze mid-step.

"Because you smell expensive," her stepmother added. "Not like laundry soap or sweat and steam… but like flowers. Like secrets."

Liana swallowed.

"Or maybe," her stepmother continued, rising slowly from her chair, "you've been somewhere you shouldn't be. With someone you shouldn't be with."

She began circling the table, her heels clicking with sinister rhythm. Liana hated that sound. It always meant someone was about to cry — usually her.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Liana said with a shrug, trying to sound bored and not terrified.

"Don't play dumb," one stepsister snapped.

"That's not playing," the other muttered under her breath.

Liana gave them both a fake smile.

"You two sound like gossiping hens."

"We'll see who's clucking," her stepmother snapped, now just inches away. "Mark my words, Liana Vale — whatever you're hiding, it will come to light."

Then, just like that, she turned on her heel, the conversation dropped like a guillotine.

Liana stood there for a moment, heart thudding, palms sweating, pretending she wasn't rattled.

But deep down, she knew — the clock was ticking.

The ball was tomorrow.

The switch was coming.

And if her stepmother suspected anything at all… this little game could turn into war.

Still, as she climbed the stairs to her tiny room, she smirked.

Let them suspect.

Because by the time they found out the truth…

She wouldn't be here anymore.

She'd be in a castle.

Wearing a crown.

And dancing with a prince who didn't know her name.

Yet.

***

The candlelight in Princess Evelina's chambers flickered like it shared her secret — that tonight was not just a night of silk and celebrations.

It was an escape.

Freedom.

The end of being watched… and the beginning of being herself.

She lay stretched across the edge of her chaise, arms folded behind her head, still wearing the gold-trimmed robe her maid had brought. Her thoughts floated somewhere between rebellion and relief — imagining a world without corsets, without curtsies, without Prince Thorne breathing down her neck like he owned her spine.

She smiled faintly. For the first time in months, she didn't feel trapped.

Then came the knock.

Three soft raps. Polite, gentle… regal.

Her smile dropped.

"Come in," she said flatly.

The door opened with a smooth sweep, and in walked Queen Miralda Raventhorn — poised, composed, and draped in ivory chiffon and maternal authority. Her crown was absent, but she wore her dignity like a weapon.

Evelina sat up slowly, already preparing herself.

The Queen glanced briefly at her, then moved to the nearest velvet chair, smoothing her gown with careful grace before sitting. Her silence was strategic. It always was.

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