Elara’s life was a constant battle of trying to ignore the horny and judgmental ghosts of her lineage while maintaining her "cool and distant" persona.
Julian laughed, a bright, warm sound. "As you wish, Princess."
The secret? Elara wasn’t just stubborn—she was haunted. Since her sixteenth birthday, she had heard . 1 : The Tsundere, the Prince, and the Voices of...
Elara turned crimson. "My... my seamstress. She’s very loud. In my head. I mean—I’m tired!"
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?" Elara’s life was a constant battle of trying
“Kiss him or I’ll haunt your dreams with images of soggy porridge!” Martha threatened.
Princess Elara was the kingdom’s most polished "Tsundere." To the public, she was a prickly rose; to the crown prince, Julian, she was a headache in a silk gown. She spent most of their tea parties insulting his choice of cravat while her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Elara wasn’t just stubborn—she was haunted
These weren't ghostly whispers of wisdom; they were a rowdy peanut gallery of former queens who lived inside her head. When Julian offered her a hand to help her onto her horse, Elara would snap, "I have legs, Julian, use yours to walk away."