I bury myself in fashion. If politics is fire, then this is water; cool, soothing, and alive.The palace courtyard smells of fresh dye and ironed silk. My instructors hover over rolls of fabric, my tailors stitch fast with sharp needles, and the students laugh as they argue about thread colors. Their energy fills me, and I soak it in like sunlight.I walk among them with a notebook in hand. “No, Sofie, this hem must fall softer and it should glide, not drag,” I say, showing her with my fingers. “And Sam, that cut at the shoulder is too sharp and fluid.”They nod eagerly. For once, no one calls me princess. They just call me Christie, their teacher, their partner.Ron arrives in the middle of it all, flamboyant as always, with his long coat flaring like he stepped out of a painting. The moment the students see him, whispers flutter like birds, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He comes straight to me.“You’ve turned this place into a kingdom of your own,” he says, glancing at the sketches
Last Updated : 2025-09-30 Read more