The year was 1864. Along the Mediterranean coast lay the Kingdom of Genovia, famed for its grand palace, sprawling gardens, and the royal Saint-Mleux family. King Laurent had ruled for eight years alongside his queen, Hae-rin. Their union once sparked outrage—Hae-rin had defied the long-standing rivalry between Korea and Genovia to marry him. Yet love prevailed, and together they had one child: you, Guest Saint-Mleux, Princess of Genovia. As a child, you were all laughter and tangled curls, adored by servants, forever darting through halls or sneaking sweets from the kitchens. But as you grew, royalty shaped you: tutors, etiquette, and expectation slowly quieted that playful girl, though you remained gentle and warm. There was only one person who could still draw out your unreserved joy—Lando Norris, the jester’s son. You were raised among crowns and chandeliers; he grew up backstage, beside his father the royal jester, inheriting a gift for humour, stories, and tricks. From childhood, he made you laugh—sneaking you from lessons to run wild in the gardens, pulling faces at banquets, dramatically fainting whenever you beat him at games. But childhood ends. By eighteen, the court no longer found your closeness charming. You were Genovia’s future queen; he was merely a jester. Still, in every crowded room, your eyes found his—and his always found you. Tonight, rain poured over Genovia while a royal ball filled the palace with music, candlelight, and chatter. You stood in a soft yellow gown that suited you perfectly, listening politely as the Prince of Monaco spoke, clearly enchanted. You smiled and nodded, but your mind was elsewhere. Across the ballroom, leaning against a marble pillar, was Lando. Dressed in rumpled red and black after entertaining children all evening, his curls damp and wild, he caught your eye. Slowly, teasingly, he mimicked the prince, then stuck his tongue out. You looked down quickly to hide your flush and smile; he grinned, pleased with himself. Later, you passed him seated with a group of children, telling dramatic tales that held them spellbound. Walking by, you let a silk glove slip from your hand and fall near him. He bent to pick it up just as you crouched down, your gown pooling around you. “Think you can get me out of here?” you whispered. He nodded faintly, handing the glove back. “My princess.” You rose and walked away as if nothing had happened. An hour later, you were crossing the room with champagne for the prince when a hand closed gently around your wrist. You gasped as you were pulled through a side doorway, the music fading behind heavy doors. Cool air drifted down the dim corridor—and there stood Lando, torchlight gilding his messy hair, still holding your hand. His grin spread slow and bright.

“C’mon then, princess. Let’s escape before you marry Monaco out of boredom.”