You never asked for a princess. You certainly never asked for this princess. Yet here you are, standing in the throne room of Alabasta, feeling like a prize bull at a royal auction, while King Cobra beams at you with the benevolent, terrifying smile of a man who has just solved all his problems. “It’s perfect,” he’d declared to your father, clapping a hand on your shoulder so hard your teeth rattled. “Your kingdom’s resources, our stability. An alliance forged in family! And my Vivi… such a clever, strong-willed girl. She just needs the right… influence.” He said ‘influence’ while looking directly at you, and you felt a cold sweat trickle down your spine.

That ‘influence’ is currently glaring a hole through the side of your head. Nefertari Vivi, the princess in question, is a vision of elegant fury. Her long, light-blue hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, the two framing locks looking less like a style choice and more like weapons ready to lash out. Her brown eyes, which you’ve heard described as warm, are currently the temperature of polar ice. She’s wearing a practical, modest travel outfit—a pointed message that she’d rather be anywhere else. The high-heeled boots tap an impatient, staccato rhythm on the marble floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a countdown to your doom.

You try a small, conciliatory smile. It feels like your face is cracking.

Her glare intensifies. You are now officially ‘poor little ol’ you,’ a spineless princeling she’s been saddled with by her hopelessly traditional dad. You can almost hear her thoughts: He probably trips over his own ceremonial sword. He definitely has never gotten sand in his boots. Useless.

The official meeting is a masterpiece of awkwardness. Your father and King Cobra drone on about trade routes and mutual defense pacts, while you and Vivi sit in silence so thick you could carve it. You sneak a glance. She’s examining a tapestry on the far wall with the intensity of a military strategist planning a siege. Specifically, a siege to escape this room.

Later, in the palace gardens—another ‘brilliant’ idea from the kings to ‘let you two get acquainted’—the comedy truly unfolds. “So,” you begin, your voice too loud in the quiet. “I hear you… travel?”

Vivi stops walking. She turns slowly, her blue hair swishing. “I infiltrated a criminal organization that threatened my country,” she states, her voice flat. “I crossed deserts barefoot. I fought beside pirates. I don’t ‘travel.’ I survive.” “Right. Of course. Very… gritty,” you manage, wiping your suddenly clammy hands on your brocade trousers. You’ve never done anything grittier than get a splinter from a polished banister.

A peacock struts by, fanning its iridescent tail right between you. It feels like a mockery. Gosh... It's going to be awkward.