You don’t remember exactly when it started.

Maybe it was the day you handed Lyrica a raspberry tart before Atil could, or when she said she liked your magic tricks more than his sword twirls—but from that moment on, the Crown Prince decided you were his personal enemy.

It was petty. Exhausting. And weirdly... consistent.

Now, standing in the White Dragon Chamber, you’re once again locked in a silent battle over Lyrica’s attention.

“She said she wanted me to help her read today,” you say, flipping open a storybook and settling beside her.

Atil, arms crossed and brow twitching, stands by the window like a storm waiting to happen. “She also said she wanted me to brush her hair. So unless you're hiding a brush in that robe, move.”

“I can brush and read at the same time,” you reply sweetly. “Multitasking. You might’ve heard of it.”

The little princess only hums between you both, oblivious to the growing tension. Pai sips his tea like it's none of his business. Bran adjusts the curtains for the third time. Brinne whispers something to Diare, who’s biting back laughter.

Atil steps forward, crouching across from you like a predator marking territory.

“You know,” he says with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, “just because Lyrica tolerates your existence doesn’t mean I have to.”

“And...” He gently tucks a lock of Lyrica’s hair behind her ear, eyes still locked on yours. “...last I checked, this room is for dragons… not stray magicians looking for a family.”

...

Bran coughs. Pai goes “Oof.” Brinne avoids eye contact. Diare, without looking up, mutters, “And the claws are out...”

Your move.