The 4th Princess Just Wants to Rot!

How to have a Meltdown - 1


"I'M SORRY I'M SORRY." Sophia tries to explain herself in this extremely well decorated dressing room, her form half collapsed on the floor trying somehow to formulate words together as she almost tears her hair out in this awful cocktail of shame, embarrassment, and a small sprinkling of anger. "ZAI… I'M SORRY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE."

And the Crown Prince of the Tianci, who himself is a paragon of calm and understanding and love and grace, simply paces this room like a caged animal overdosing on six carafes of coffee. Hands running over his face, into his hair; dragging his facial features as he tries to even formulate a good analysis of these transpired events.

"GODDESS PLEASE ZAI." Sophia barely composes language out of her mouth, slipping even further down this self-dug hole as she buries her face in her palms.

And strangely enough, there's only one sentence sent up by her brain to confront this currently unfolding disaster:

We give up.

What?

Literally we're just giving up. That Committee universally agrees. We're putting in our one week's notice, abdicating the throne, melting down the crown, taking out the old blade of error—however you wanna word this, we're out. Like, this situation is completely unrecoverable. No matter what we do we're literally cooked, feathered, and dyed.

And it takes a few seconds to gather the evidence:

We're not even exaggerating. Look at that husband right there, look at how he panics, how he is LOSING IT, and tell us that we did a good job in that place.

Sophia can see how his chest shakes with each ragged breath, how his eyes remain wide as if looking for an assassin in the shadows of this place—how this young man of absolute stability, the great expanse of a rolling sea, was completely being swallowed by the river delta of panic.

Not once in three months has she seen him pace this way, not from the first minute of meeting in that small recess of the Imperial Palace to that disastrous confession of hers in that summer residence.

"ZAI." She pinches out, trying not to cry for real this time.

Oh we really screwed up big time. Some thought process concludes, watching as he still paces this place. And we have a solution.

What? Sophia desperately begs to herself. Please save me!

And that thought process gives her the plan, straight and simple:

So the Imperial Embassy is in Landfall somewhere, right? We'll just go there and leave. Like literally, we just walk out right now head over and just say we're done with this whole political marriage thing. We'll be back home this week. Mother, the Goddess damned empress of the Imperium has the authority to grant a divorce after all. And what is Zai gonna say? No?

Of course not.

Because he said it was easier for us to be removed from his side anyway.

So tell him that you want to leave. To go home. Let's annul this crazy thing over perhaps a mildly embarrassing breach in tradition. Go back to our room with that gigantic (embarrassing) stack of smut and no longer engage with any of this garbage anymore.

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And Sophia stops as she actually does plan this entire thing out: from the steps down the Palatial Temple, to that compound of barbed wire and concrete somewhere around here, and even as far as the doors to Ambassador Gianna in her tiny, broom closet office.

Yeah, but we'll be seen as a national embarrassment. One final thought argues with the crux of the matter. A failure. Imagine having to live our life, to talk to each and everyone one of our family members knowing that we couldn't even hold a man like him down…

Zai Tianci stops suddenly, takes air into his lungs, and exhales to the world.

SO CALM DOWN AND LOCK IN GIRL.

He stands in this hidden dressing room, his mind returning to him as he simply shuts his eyes for another awful, ten seconds of silence.

Sophia detects that final exhale, the subtle twitch behind his eyelids.

He's about to say something, interrupt him and tell him the truth.

The Fourth Princess of the Ensolian Imperium, as calm as a still pond, simply states the first thing on her mind. "I DUN WANNA DIVORCE YOU ZAIIIII."

It's the same as a train car smashing into him at full speed, and he quickly opens his eyes back to reality alongside a sharp breath of stale air. "S-sophi…"

She is a mess in that tailored dress, tears actually falling from her eyes in this confession that was perhaps a bit too much for him at this current moment. "I DUN WANNA DIVORCE YOOOU IM SORRYYYY I MESSED THIS UPPPP."

He has nothing on her, no words of comfort except this strange attempt at trying to ease her with lies and a step towards her. "I-It's a-alright, we…"

"NOOOOOOOO…" This actual gremlin now screams at him. "PLEAAASE I'M SORRYYYY."

The Crown Prince of the entire Tianci Dominion glances over to his only source of backup, two Guardsman in his contingent standing barely at attention. Norbu and Ruoxian, mismatched in their heights and armor, make awkward eye contact in the midst of this unfolding disaster.

And behind Sophia, Guardsman Mori Fushimi gives her old comrades a sly smirk of victory. I told you so~

Zai speaks to the two, his voice cold above the inconsolable puddle that is his politically married wife. "Where's Wei?"

Ruoxian answers him, this ascendent confidant shuffling uncomfortably in his new position right next to his royal master. "She'll be here, Sire."

And as they speak it, the five note knock comes through the far door.

"Enter." Zai orders.

The small, nimble body in that black, gold trimmed armor almost breaks down the entrance; completely out of breath and with that strange, waxed pink paper box in her hands. A short bow to her master, half-apologitic half-greeting in that calm, cold, yet slightly fearful stance. "There were some delays in the Imperial Embassy, sire. They hadn't believed that you… would require such a favor from them."

"That's alright." The Crown Prince calmly greets, keeping some set of tardy implications beneath the subtext instead. "Thank you for your service, Wei."

Something comes through to Sophia Elise the Eighth's burnt down mind palace.

It's the color of that box in that Guardsman's hands, that soft, gentle pink returning memories of some grand, holy design—forcing forth pure love from her heart.

That slightly crumpled wax paper box—creased in the same places, tied with the same string, flecked with the same dots of powdered sugar.

Her body freezes as those tears still leak out in slow, confused drops; her eyes dilating as she tries to register that thing in the midst of this place.

That box doesn't belong here, not in this moment of political failure, utter embarrassment, and the first royal meltdown of the year.

But it's still here.

Mori clears her throat, staring at Guardsman Wei with a raised eye-brow. "You pre-tasted it right…?"

"Ma'am?"

The box is missing from the possession of Guardsman Wei.

That very objective is gone by the hands of the most dangerous pickpocket in the Palatial Temple, a shadow that wipes across the room in a blur of black silk and blonde hair.

A shadow that now squats open legged in the corner of this sitting room, that very same box in her hands.

Spherical, holed pastries kissed by oil and glazed in that soft velvet of sugar topped with sprinkles of dark chocolate.

And for the first time in a long time, that consciousness committee simply just hides behind their tables, and lets the monster out of the cage.

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