Evelina's POV
I don't believe in magic.
I believe in silk-lined lies, in wine watered down by servants, and in noblemen who kiss your hand while undressing you with their eyes. But magic? No. That's for fools and fairytales.
And yet…
Here I am. Standing face-to-face with me.
Only dirtier.
And holding a rusty bucket.
The girl blinked at me like she'd just seen a ghost. Then she dropped into a curtsy so deep her knees might've dislocated. "I swear I'm not stealing your face, Your Highness."
I snorted.
It was not ladylike, but I didn't care.
"Oh, you're real," I whispered, stepping closer. "I thought my maiden was drunk again. She kept saying she saw me in the marketplace scrubbing someone's drawers."
The girl straightened slowly, eyes wide. "Okay. So… am I in trouble? Because this really isn't my fault. My face was here first, I promise. You can ask my late father, or my stepmother who probably feeds on broken dreams."
I tilted my head. "You speak well for someone who smells like boiled socks."
"You're surprisingly calm for someone who just met her evil twin," she retorted.
"I'm not evil."
"You wear velvet in summer. That's suspicious."
I laughed — a real laugh — the kind that startled even me.
"You're better than I imagined," I said, almost breathless. "And yes. I imagined. Planned. Plotted, really."
She narrowed her eyes. "Plotted what?"
I grabbed her wrist and dragged her behind the nearby fruit cart before anyone could spot us. The merchant was too busy arguing with a goat to notice.
Once we were hidden, I turned to her, still holding her arm like she might vanish.
"I've been planning this for years," I said, grinning now. "My tutors thought I was practicing embroidery. I was sketching escape routes. My governess thought I was studying etiquette. I was studying you. Well — not you, but the idea of you. My double. My ticket out."
She stared at me like I had horns. "You sound like the villain in a bedtime story."
"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "I'm the trapped heroine. A caged dove. A royal prisoner with nice jewelry."
"Right."
"I've read every book with a switch. Common girl becomes royal. Royal girl gets freedom. But they're all fiction. Except now…"
I looked at her, and my heart thumped.
"You're real. You. You're the missing piece."
She crossed her arms. "And what? You want me to jump into a corset and pretend to enjoy being stared at by the prince who looks like he bathes in judgment and disappointment?"
"Yes," I said brightly.
She blinked. "Girl. Are you okay?"
"Perfectly fine. Just exhausted. Imagine it — a week. Two, tops. You stay in the palace. Look pretty. Wave at things. Eat food you didn't cook. Meanwhile, I disappear for a short... self-discovery stroll. Maybe punch a man. Maybe kiss a stable boy."
"WHAT?"
"Hypothetically."
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"This is insane," she said finally. "You're insane."
"I am," I agreed cheerfully. "But I'm also desperate. And brilliant. And in possession of a gown that would look stunning on you."
"Are you hearing yourself?"
"I sound fabulous."
She turned to leave. I grabbed her sleeve.
"Just think about it," I whispered, eyes shining. "Freedom for me. Food and luxury for you. No more socks. No more buckets. And hey — worst case? You die horribly. But hey, that's also royal tradition."
She yanked her arm back. "I need... I need to go scream into a bucket or something."
"I'll wait."
She stomped off, muttering about mental health and soap fumes.
I smiled after her.
Because she'd be back.
They always come back when destiny calls — especially when it's wearing pearls and plotting revolution.
***
Liana's POV
His lips were on mine.
Soft. Warm. Familiar.
And yet all I could think about was the fact that somewhere out there, a princess was probably combing her royal hair and humming while planning how to borrow my identity like a pair of shoes.
"Liana?" Jace's voice tickled my ear.
I blinked up at him, jolted back to reality by the smell of sweat, hay, and… was that mango?
"Oh. Hi," I muttered.
He frowned. "You just kissed me like I was your cousin."
I sat up straighter, brushing grass off my skirt. "I don't have a cousin."
"Exactly."
I groaned. "Sorry. My mind is… I don't know. Spinning. Like a chicken on fire."
Jace grinned. "That's a new one."
We were lying under the big fig tree at the edge of the village, our usual hiding place from Lady Tressa and her daily "Did you polish the air?" checklist. Jace, the local blacksmith's apprentice, had charm, dimples, and enough confidence to flirt with a brick wall.
I liked him. A lot. But today…
Today my brain was doing Olympic gymnastics.
"What's wrong?" he asked gently, brushing a curl from my face. "Did Lady Tressa hit you again with that broom she calls a spine?"
"No."
"Did your sisters steal your soap?"
"They always steal my soap."
"Then what is it?"
I flopped back on the grass and stared at the sky. "Okay. So. Let's say — hypothetically — you met someone who looked exactly like you."
He squinted. "Like a long-lost twin?"
"Exactly. Only she's a princess. And she has a plan. A crazy plan. Like, the kind of plan that makes your ancestors shiver."
Jace laughed. "Sounds like a dream."
"It's not a dream, Jace. I met her. I touched her. She had the same face, but polished. Like me, if I were dipped in gold and trained not to burp."
He looked at me carefully. "You serious?"
"She wants to switch lives with me."
Dead silence.
A cow mooed in the distance.
Then—
"Babe. Did you sniff the laundry soap again?"
I slapped his arm. "I'm serious!"
"You're telling me… the princess of Raventhorn — the one marrying that stone-faced prince — found you, dragged you into an alley, and asked you to be her?"
"Yes!"
"Liana…"
"I know how it sounds!"
He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you thinking of doing it?"
That's when the silence really hit me.
I didn't answer right away. Because the truth was… I didn't know.
I looked at him — sweet, funny Jace — the boy who brought me fried buns when I was hungry and always said I had eyes like firelight.
And yet… all I could see was a palace. And a throne. And a smirking prince who wouldn't survive five minutes in my laundry house.
"No," I said quickly. "Of course not. It's madness. Royal madness."
He smiled. "Good. Because I like you. Not some pretend princess."
I smiled too. But it didn't quite reach my eyes.
Because what if I wasn't pretending?
What if… for once… I wanted to be something else?
Something more?
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