Prince Jareth Goldenleaf stepped into the chamber like a blade sliding into its sheath—smooth, precise, and carrying an unspoken edge.
The smoke greeted him first.
It rolled outward in thick, stubborn waves, clinging to the air as though the room itself had learned how to breathe differently. It curled around his shoulders and brushed against his face, intrusive and unapologetic, forcing him to immediately lift a neatly folded handkerchief to his nose and mouth.
Behind him, his lone knight guard fared far worse.
The man coughed almost instantly, his composure cracking beneath the weight of the haze. His eyes watered as he tried to wave away the smoke with one hand, the other hovering uncertainly near the hilt of his sword.
"Mother of chaos…" he muttered hoarsely, voice strained between coughs.
Jareth, by contrast, endured.
Barely.
His sharp green eyes narrowed slightly as he surveyed the room, taking in the lingering fog, the faintly glowing embers in the ashtray, and his sister lounging far too comfortably in the center of it all.
"I see," he began, his tone measured and controlled despite the irritation simmering beneath it, "that you are up to your… usual shenanigans."
His gaze flicked briefly toward the curtained windows.
"You might consider opening one. Father will not be pleased if he discovers you've been smoking in the palace again."
The words carried more weight than simple annoyance.
In the Kingdom of Colorada'Sierra, weed was not merely frowned upon—it was illegal. The king himself had outlawed its use years ago, citing concerns over "moral decay" and "unregulated substances." The result had been predictable.
Where laws tightened, shadows deepened.
The black market had flourished in the gaps left behind.
And somewhere within that unseen network, Oscar thrived.
Stephanie, meanwhile, rolled her eyes as she leaned back into the couch, the motion casual but deliberate.
"Yes, yes, the great and terrible consequences," she said dryly. "We've been over this."
She waved a hand lazily toward the knight.
"Go ahead. Open a window before he suffocates."
The knight didn't need to be told twice.
He moved quickly across the room, pushing open the tall windows with more force than necessary. Fresh air rushed in immediately, cool and clean, cutting through the smoke like a blade through silk. The haze stirred, reluctant at first, then began to thin as the breeze carried it outward into the open sky.
The knight leaned toward the window, inhaling deeply, relief evident in the way his shoulders loosened.
"There," Stephanie said, glancing back at her brother. "Are you happy now?"
She crossed one leg over the other, her long golden hair cascading down her side in shimmering waves.
"So," she added, her tone edged with impatience, "are you going to tell me why you're here, or did you just come to ruin my mood?"
The sibling dynamic between them hovered somewhere between familiarity and friction.
It wasn't hatred.
But it wasn't warmth either.
Jareth was too much like their father—structured, composed, unyielding. The only real difference was that where the king stood firm like an immovable wall, Jareth carried himself like a man constantly bracing against one.
If their father was a stick in the mud, Jareth, as Stephanie often thought, had one lodged far higher where the sun doesn't shine.
Jareth exhaled quietly behind the handkerchief.
"I did not come here to chastise you," he said, though his tone suggested he very much wanted to. "So if you would simply listen—"
He stopped.
The sound cut through the room like a low, guttural warning.
A growl.
Not from any beast.
But from something undeniably alive.
Jareth's eyes sharpened instantly.
The knight straightened, his earlier discomfort forgotten as instinct took over. His hand moved decisively to the hilt of his sword, fingers tightening around the grip.
"What was that?" Jareth asked, his voice quieter now, more focused.
The knight's gaze swept the room.
"Sounded like a growling beast, Your Highness."
Inside the closet, Oscar froze.
His stomach betrayed him again, letting out another faint but unmistakable rumble. He clutched it instinctively, pressing his palm against it as though he could silence it through sheer will.
Please… just hold it together, he thought desperately.
Skipping breakfast had been a mistake.
Smoking on top of that had been worse.
Now his body was staging a rebellion.
Out in the room, Stephanie's pulse spiked.
Her mind raced, scrambling for something—anything—to redirect attention before suspicion took root.
"Oh!" she blurted, a little too quickly. "That was me."
Both Jareth and the knight turned to her.
She forced a sheepish laugh, though a faint flush crept across her cheeks.
"I skipped breakfast, remember?" she added, trying to sound casual. "Guess I've got the munchies."
The word lingered in the air, dangerously close to truth.
Jareth stared at her for a moment, then scoffed lightly.
"Honestly, Stephanie," he said, shaking his head, "you should strive to carry yourself with the grace and dignity befitting a princess."
The reprimand landed softer than it could have—but it still landed.
Stephanie looked away, her blush deepening.
It wasn't that she cared much for royal etiquette.
She didn't.
But there were some expectations so deeply ingrained that even she couldn't entirely ignore them.
Displaying something as crude as a stomach growl—especially in front of others—felt unbecoming, regardless of status.
Before the tension could settle further, the knight spoke again.
"If I may, Your Highness," he said, offering a small bow.
Jareth gave a short nod.
"Proceed."
The knight turned slightly toward Stephanie.
"Princess, if you would like, I can have the servants bring lunch for you."
Stephanie blinked.
Then smiled.
"That would actually be amazing," although she was covering for, Oscar— she on the other hand was a bit hungry too.
Inside the closet— another growl louder this time. Oscar squeezed his eyes shut, "please stop talking about food."
He leaned his head back against a hanging rack of dresses, the soft fabrics brushing against his horns as he tried to endure the mounting hunger clawing at his stomach.
Out in the open, Stephanie let out a quick, nervous laugh.
"Lunch, yes," she said, her tone just a little too eager. "That sounds great."
Jareth's expression tightened slightly, though he said nothing.
It's no wonder Father hasn't married her off yet, he thought. She'd embarrass the entire kingdom.
Aloud, he shifted the conversation.
"Father wishes to see you," he said, his tone returning to formal neutrality. "In his office. He mentioned it was… important."
Stephanie's shoulders dropped slightly.
Of course.
Summoned.
There was never anything casual about that.
"Do you know what he wants?" she asked, a hint of hesitation creeping into her voice.
If she was about to walk into something unpleasant, she preferred to at least brace herself.
Jareth shrugged faintly.
"He did not say."
He paused, then added—
"Though I recall Mother mentioning something about a gala in passing."
Stephanie groaned inwardly.
A gala.
That explained everything and nothing all at once.
Jareth turned toward the door.
"I will be going now," he said. "I have duties to attend to."
He glanced back at her briefly.
"Do try to present yourself… appropriately, dear sister."
The knight offered a respectful bow before following.
The door closed behind them with a soft, final click.
Silence returned.
Stephanie remained still for a moment.
Then—
She exhaled.
A long, heavy breath that carried both relief and lingering annoyance.
The room felt different now.
Less tense and less watched.
From across the room came the faint creak of a door.
The closet opened slowly.
Oscar's head peeked out, one amber eye scanning cautiously.
"…Is the coast clear?" he asked.
Stephanie turned sharply, scowling.
"Yes, you fool," she snapped, though there was no real heat behind it. "You are so lucky you weren't caught with all that racket."
Oscar stepped out fully, brushing off stray threads of fabric clinging to his clothes. One of Stephanie's socks had somehow ended up hooked on one of his horns.
He plucked it off, holding it up briefly.
"…Weird place to store these," he muttered before tossing it aside.
"Sorry," he added, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm starving."
He dropped into one of the lounge chairs with a tired sigh.
"So… when's that food getting here?"
Stephanie shook her head, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
She moved to the small drawer beneath the coffee table and pulled it open, retrieving a velvet pouch. From it, she counted out a few coins—three silver and two bronze.
She tossed them lightly onto the table in front of him.
"A bit extra for your trouble," she said.
Oscar glanced down at the coins, then back up at her, grinning.
"Well, I'm not going to complain about that."
The moment lingered briefly.
Comfortable and familiar.
But reality pressed in again.
Stephanie glanced toward the door.
"I've got to go see Father," she said, her tone flattening slightly. "And judging by that 'important matter'… this won't be quick."
Oscar nodded.
"Yeah. Sounds like a whole ordeal."
They both understood what that meant.
Their session was over.
For now.
Unfortunately, the palace had grown busier as the day progressed. Servants moved through the halls, guards rotated positions, and noble visitors wandered more freely.
Sneaking out now would be reckless.
Stephanie folded her arms thoughtfully.
"You'll have to stay here until later," she said. "It's too risky to leave now. I'm not getting my favorite dealer executed because you got impatient."
Oscar leaned back in his chair.
"Fair enough."
He smirked.
"Hmph. I'm your only dealer, remember? There's no one else skilled enough to sneak into the capital's royal palace to sell weed to its princess."
Stephanie laughed softly as she walked toward the door.
"Pretty sure you mean crazy," she said, glancing back at him.
Oscar shrugged, "Eh...tomato, tomahto."
She shook her head, still smiling faintly.
Then she opened the door.
Duty awaited.
And whatever came next… would not be nearly as relaxing as the smoke-filled morning she was leaving behind.