I Reincarnated as a Princess… But Ended Up Selling Fruit

The first sign something was wrong?

Rime woke her up at 2 a.m. by clawing her face.

"Wake up," he hissed. "We've got a breach."

Lara sat up, half-asleep and full of regret. "Is it emotional? Because I've been breached emotionally all week."

"No," Rime growled. "Someone's in your stall."

That got her attention.

She yanked on a cloak, slipped a knife into her boot, and bolted down the treehouse steps—barefoot, pissed, and pulsing with magic.

The orchard was still. Too still.

Even the leaves were holding their breath.

She reached the front of her stall and—

The door was open.

No sign of forced entry. No broken glass. Just... open. Like the lock had been politely unlatched by someone who knew exactly how.

"Shit," Lara whispered, slipping inside.

Fruit crates were scattered. The mana-infused ledger was gone. But worst of all?

The Pico was missing.

Not the tree—it was still safely rooted in the hidden glade. But the fruit she'd clipped yesterday? The one she'd stashed in a sealed, triple-warded box under a charm of boringness?

Gone.

Like it had never existed.

Rime skidded in behind her. "Please tell me you misplaced the most illegal fruit in the Empire."

She pointed at the empty box.

"Cool," he said. "That's not terrifying."

Lara's brain was already racing. "No wards tripped. No alarms went off. They were either using null-magic gloves... or they were invited."

Rime narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell would you invite?"

She opened her mouth.

Closed it.

And then—

Footsteps.

From outside.

Heavy. Deliberate. Not even pretending to sneak.

She and Rime exchanged a look. Lara grabbed the nearest fruit knife like it was a broadsword.

The door creaked.

And in stepped him.

Same coat. Same boots. Same eyes like dusk and dangerous decisions.

Cassian.

"Really?" Lara snapped. "You break into my stall again?"

He glanced around. "You think I did this?"

"Well, you're here, aren't you?"

"And the wards didn't stop me. Again."

She hated that he had a point.

Rime bristled. "He smells like guilt."

"I smell like night air and disappointment," Cassian muttered. "Calm down."

Lara stalked toward him. "If you took it—"

"I didn't."

"Then why are you here?"

He met her gaze.

"I had a dream," he said quietly. "The fruit glowed. You were crying. And someone was bleeding."

Lara's blood ran cold.

"Not everything's about dreams," she snapped, voice too loud.

Cassian didn't flinch. "You're right. Sometimes it's about secrets."

She gripped the knife tighter.

"You need to go," she said.

"I'm not your enemy."

"You're not my anything."

That one landed.

For a moment, the tension wasn't magical—it was personal. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Behind them, the orchard rustled.

And somewhere, far too close for comfort—

Something else rustled back.

Rime's ears flattened. "Something's still here."

Lara turned on instinct—knife raised, pulse roaring.

The orchard was humming.

Not softly. Not gently.

Like it was bracing for impact.

Cassian's hand hovered near his coat, where Lara was 99% sure he kept a concealed weapon or at least something dramatic and princely.

A flash of movement.

Then—

A crash.

The back shelf of her stall exploded in a burst of light and splinters.

Lara swore and dove behind a barrel of nectarines.

Cassian lunged forward, shielding her before she could yell at him not to.

Too late.

Another pulse of magic hit—different this time. Darker. More feral. Not hers. Not the orchard's.

It smelled like ash and spoiled sugar.

"Oh, fantastic," Rime hissed. "We're being attacked by knockoff druids."

A hooded figure stepped through the smoke. Cloaked. Masked. And very obviously not shopping for fruit.

They didn't speak.

Just raised a hand.

And the stolen Pico hovered into view.

Lara's heart dropped.

That was hers. Her magic. Her bloodline. Her literal repressed trauma in fruit form.

She stood.

"Give that back," she said.

The figure tilted their head. "It doesn't belong to you."

"It grew out of my tree!"

"It belongs to history."

Cassian stepped forward now, voice cold. "Who sent you?"

The figure didn't answer.

Instead, they threw the fruit.

Straight at Lara.

She caught it—barely—magic crackling through her palms.

The moment her skin touched it, the orchard screamed.

The trees bent toward her. The wind howled. Silver light exploded outward in a ring.

The figure staggered—just for a second.

Cassian moved like lightning.

One punch. Two. The cloak fell back. A mask cracked.

And Lara froze.

Because under the mask—

Was a face she knew.

Not well. Not intimately.

But enough.

A former Aetherion guard.

One of hers.

Back when she still wore the name Lysara.

Back when she had a kingdom.

He looked at her with wide, haunted eyes.

"You should have stayed hidden," he whispered.

And then vanished in a swirl of smoke and regret.

Silence fell.

Except for Lara's breathing.

And the low hum of the Pico, still glowing in her hands.

Cassian stepped close. "He knew you."

"No," she lied.

"Lara—"

"Don't."

She wasn't ready.

Not for the past. Not for that face. Not for the way the orchard was still pulsing like it wanted to drag her back to a life she'd buried in a cliffside grave.

Cassian didn't push.

Instead, he said, "We need to talk. Soon."

Then he left.

And this time?

The wards didn't even try to stop him.

"So," Rime said from the window ledge. "Want to tell the class why a dead guard just tried to bean you with your own trauma fruit?"

Lara didn't look up. She was still sitting on the floor, staring at the Pico.

It pulsed softly in her hand. Like a heartbeat. Like a memory that hadn't yet stopped hurting.

"I thought they were all gone," she muttered.

"Elira's setting up extra wards," Rime continued, stretching like this wasn't high-stakes espionage hour. "Myrr's ready to kill someone. Seph made tea. You know. Crisis protocol."

Lara closed the box on the Pico and exhaled.

"Rime?"

"Yeah?"

"If anyone else from my old life shows up, I'm throwing them off a cliff."

"That's the spirit."

She stood up, only slightly shaking. "He knew my name."

"Which one?"

"The dead one."

Rime's tail twitched. "Right. That name."

She rubbed her face. "It means someone in Aetherion is still tracking me."

"Or tracking the fruit."

"Same difference."

Rime tilted his head. "You think Cassian put a tracker on it?"

She paused.

Because... she hadn't thought of that.

But the way it hummed in her hand... the way he kept showing up...

"Shit."

There was a knock.

Not on the door.

On the tree trunk.

Lara flinched.

Rime narrowed his eyes. "No one knocks on the trunk. That's... intimate."

She opened the door anyway.

And found herself face-to-face with someone she hadn't seen in fifteen years.

Someone with red hair, two different colored eyes, and the royal crest of Aetherion stitched across her cloak.

"Hello, Lysara," said the girl who used to be her cousin. "You left your kingdom in a bit of a mess."

Lara slammed the door.

Then opened it again because apparently that wasn't mature.

"I'm not Lysara anymore," she said coolly.

Her cousin smirked. "The orchard disagrees."

Rime made a tiny choking sound.

Lara ignored him. "What do you want?"

"Audience. Answers. Maybe a peach."

"Try a vendor stall like everyone else."

The girl stepped inside, uninvited. "You don't get to hide anymore, cousin."

And the orchard?

It didn't stop her either.

Which meant one thing.

This wasn't just about the Pico anymore.

This was about her past.

And it had officially come knocking.

[End of Chapter 10]