Chapter 1: The Queen of Mischief
“Power is knowing you could make someone dance, and choosing not to. Hanna never chose not to.”
The city buzzed outside the window of a modest two bedroom apartment, on the fifth floor of an ordinary building.
Inside lived Hanna and Jason, friends, roommates, and coworkers at a mid sized marketing firm downtown. They had completed management courses together, since they moved here two years ago, climbed the office ladder and had somehow built a modest yet fulfilling life in a city that never slowed down.
Their coworkers, Mark, Lea, Samantha, and Harold, made up their new circle of friends.
After work, drinks, weekend trivia nights, and shared workplace miseries became their new traditions. None of them had the faintest idea of the truth lurking beneath the smiles and water-cooler jokes.
Because Hanna, wasn’t just Hanna.
She was Princess Hanna Roviani of Rovindale, a tiny but wealthy kingdom torn apart by war and political betrayal. Fleeing threats to her life, she had escaped in the dead of night, leaving behind her old life, and her brother King Robert.
To protect her, Robert sent Jason Roots, a loyal captain of twenty-n who had once served in the king’s security team. Now in disguise, he passed for nothing more than a laid-back, charming office guy.
Jason played his part flawlessly. With dark hair, a constant light stubble, and ocean blue eyes that had seen far more than he let on, he blended into the world around him. Calm, fit, and collected, unless it involved Hanna.
Because she wasn’t just a twenty-six year old beautiful lady with her light brown wavy hair, green eyes that sparked of mischief, and a smile that says, “I know something you don’t”. She also held a power over him no one could understand. Not even him.
It wasn’t just loyalty or duty. There was a connection, a bond, inexplicable, unbreakable, and utterly one-sided.
Somehow, Hanna could speak inside his mind. Not just speak, command. Her voice echoed like a queen’s decree, and when she issued an order, Jason’s body moved whether he wanted it to or not.
He couldn’t fight it. He’d tried. Muscles locked. No more willpower. She said jump, and his legs jumped, even if he hated heights which he doesn’t.
It was a Friday night, loud, chaotic, and full of laughter. The group had gathered at a small restaurant downtown. The table was alive with stories from the office.
Jason was in the middle of a particularly stupid joke about work, everyone laughed, including Hanna, at first. But then her smile dried, her green eyes shimmered with boredom.
Jason’s voice was mid sentence when it happened.
Shut up and stand up.
Her voice didn’t come from across the table. It rang inside his skull like a private broadcast from the Queen of Mischief herself.
Jason’s face froze. His body betrayed him. He stood, mid-sentence, mid-joke. Everyone turned toward him.
Mark, Jason’s closest friend, blinked, “uh... you okay, man?”
Jason’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched.
Put your right hand up.
Up went the arm, as if greeting an invisible parade.
Lea squinted at him. “Is he doing improv. now?”
Unbutton your shirt.
Jason’s eyes widened. He turned his head slowly toward Hanna, who sat there swirling her wine, smirking like the cat who’d eaten the royal canary. He pleaded with his eyes. Please no, not here.
But his fingers moved. First button. Second. Third.
Mark choked on his bread. “Whoa! are you hot, or just trying to seduce the waiter?”
Jason’s face burned red. He wanted to speak, to stop, to shout: “SHE’S CONTROLLING MY BRAIN!” But he couldn’t, the secret must be kept.
Relax and sit down.
His body slumped into the chair like a puppet with cut strings. He rubbed his face, utterly humiliated.
Mark leaned over. “Seriously, man, are you okay?”
Jason buttoned his shirt quickly. “Yeah, just needed to stretch.”
Hanna sipped her wine, smirking. “He gets stiff sometimes.”
Jason shot her a glare that could melt iron.
And then, take a sip of my juice.
Orange juice. The one thing Jason despised more than small talk on mondays. The glass sat untouched on the table while she savored her wine instead.
He slowly reached for her glass, and took a sip.
Mark frowned, “wait, don’t you hate orange juice?”
Jason smiled tightly. “Thought I’d try something new.”
Stand up. Shake your leg. Sit down.
Jason did.
Mark leaned in again. “Bro, you need to see a doctor, or an exorcist.”
“Just itchy,” Jason muttered through gritted teeth.
The silent torture continued all evening:
Stand, sit, blink rapidly, pat your head, scratch your shoulder.
Every command is subtle enough that it looked random. But not to Jason. His body ached, his pride burned.
She was testing him, teasing him, torturing him. And she was loving every second of it.
Back at the apartment, the door slammed behind them. Jason threw his jacket onto the couch and turned to her, fuming.
“What the hell was that, Hanna?!”
She didn’t even flinch. She went to the open kitchen like a queen entering her court, grabbing a bottle of water with an elegant nonchalance.
“What?” she said innocently.
Jason rose his voice, “I’m your bodyguard! Not your dancing monkey!”
Hanna smirked. “Well tonight you were both.”
He clenched his fists. “You’re unbelievable, you humiliated me in front of everyone.”
“I was bored,” she replied, taking a sip. “You were being loud.”
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t just play with me like that.”
She walked past him, smiling sweetly, “I can. And I did.”
And just like that, she had won. Again.
But Jason’s jaw set with quiet resolve as he watched her disappear into her room.
Tomorrow, he would find a way to get even. Even if he had to learn telepathy himself.
The next morning, Hanna, still in her pajama shorts and oversized t.shirt, entered the kitchen barefoot.
She moved on autopilot, yawning as she turned on the kettle. Her usual morning ritual began: two spoons of instant coffee, a dash of milk, and just a bit of sugar. She buttered her toast lazily, one side only, as the smell of brewing coffee filled the space. She had people do that for her all her life, and now she just managed.
Jason entered the kitchen, fresh from his morning workout. He was shirtless, a towel hanging around his neck, sweat still glistening on his skin from his usual 6 a.m. training. Despite everything, his soldier’s routine remained, always on duty. Especially for her.
“Good morning,” he said casually, voice smooth and low.
Hanna didn’t turn around.
“Morning,” she replied, distracted, reaching into the drawer for a spoon.
Jason saw his moment. With the cunning of a man trained for espionage, he glided past her mug and very quickly, tipped a generous amount of salt into her coffee. A swirl. A stir. Silent as a whisper.
He then spotted her toast resting beside the mug. With one quick flick of his wrist, he dipped the entire buttered slice into the hot salted coffee, then carefully returned it to the plate. It sagged pathetically.
He retreated to the opposite side of the kitchen like nothing had happened, already sipping his own perfectly made coffee. His face was composed, but his ocean blue eyes danced with mischief.
Hanna returned, picked up her mug, and took a generous sip.
Pffffttttt!
She spit it out dramatically across the counter, eyes widening in horror. “WHAT the hell?!"
Jason bit his lip, holding back laughter.
Then she took a bite of her toast.
GAG.
She nearly choked, “Jason!!”
He couldn’t contain it anymore. A grin split across his face, he leaned back in his chair with satisfaction, “something wrong with your royal breakfast?”
“Salt?! In my coffee?! And is this TOAST SOUP?!”
Jason laughed loudly. “You should see your face. Totally worth it.”
“You are a child,” she snapped, wiping her mouth. “An actual child!”
He glanced at the clock.“Oh, look at that. Time to go, can’t be late.”
She looked furiously at him as he walked out of the kitchen.
The workday was normal. Hanna stayed unusually quiet at her desk, focused, lips pressed into a line, which Jason knew meant war was coming. He could feel it.
Lunchtime arrived. The breakroom was bright and buzzing with chatter. Employees shuffled through the buffet line, grabbing sandwiches, salads, and fruit cups.
Jason starving, walked to the buffet with shining eyes. His tray was empty, his stomach howling. He reached for a roll.
Put it back.
Her voice. Inside his head, clear, and commanding.
His hand stopped mid-air. He groaned quietly. Then put the roll back.
Every single thing he tried to grab, meat, bread, even a sad slice of watermelon, was followed by: Put it back.
And so, tray still pitifully empty, Jason walked defeated to the table. Hanna was already seated, eating happily like nothing was wrong. She even cleaned her lips with a napkin like an elegant villain.
Jason sat across from her watching her. “What was that, Hanna? I’m starving.”
She smiled sweetly. “You ruined my breakfast, this is called karma.”
He leaned forward, whispering, “you’re abusing this, it’s not fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Jason.”
Just then Lea, Mark and Harold appeared and joined the table.
Mark glanced at Jason’s tray. “Uhh... Empty tray?”
Jason sighed, trying to appear calm. “Guess I’m not hungry.”
Harold slid a juice box across the table. “Well, at least have some juice.”
Jason stared at it, then looked at Hanna, who raised her eyebrows in warning.
He pushed the juice back. “No thank you, I... don’t want any.”
Hanna took a sip of her own and winked. Jason was dying inside.
Later that evening, the apartment filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. Their friends had all joined for a movie night.
Jason didn’t speak much. The moment they entered the apartment, he went straight to the fridge and started eating whatever he could get his hands on.
The others gathered on the couch. Hanna settled in, cozy and content. Jason reluctantly joined, sitting at the far edge.
Then it started again. The battle continued. Each command tiny, seemingly random, yet each one tore at Jason’s dignity while strengthening Hanna’s dominance.
By evening, silence fell, Jason’s muscles ached, and his thoughts lingered:
"Two years living like this, and I still can’t relax around her."
