Julian stepped closer, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "You’ve been arguing with thin air for ten minutes, Elara. And your face is the color of a strawberry. For someone who 'hates' me, you’re acting remarkably flustered."
Julian laughed, a bright, warm sound. "As you wish, Princess."
The mental cacophony became so loud that Elara clutched her head and accidentally blurted out, "SHUT UP, MARTHA!" The balcony went silent. Julian blinked. "Who is Martha?" 1 : The Tsundere, the Prince, and the Voices of...
“Kiss him or I’ll haunt your dreams with images of soggy porridge!” Martha threatened.
As he walked away, Elara leaned against the stone railing. The voices were finally quiet, save for Martha, who whispered with a satisfied smugness, “See? Was that so hard, you prickly little brat?” If you’d like to keep the story going, let me know: Julian stepped closer, a small, knowing smile tugging
The breaking point came during the Royal Ball. Julian, looking unfairly handsome in midnight blue, cornered her onto the balcony. "Elara," he sighed, "why do you treat me like a common cold? If you hate the match, just say so."
Inside her head, the ancestors went nuclear. “TELL HIM HE LOOKS LIKE A GOD,” Martha roared. “APOLOGIZE!” Catherine screamed. For someone who 'hates' me, you’re acting remarkably
Elara looked at Julian, then at the empty air where her ghosts resided, and finally gave in. She leaned forward, pecked him on the cheek, and immediately pushed him away. "There. Now leave me alone so I can think in peace."