THE LOST PRINCESS

POV Dr. Ishani Mitra

The crystalline clouds drifted past the gilded windows of the Royal Jet of Cadmont as I pressed my palm against the cool glass, my reflection a stranger’s face staring back at me. Two weeks—merely fourteen days—and yet my entire world had been turned inside out, transformed beyond recognition.

Just a fortnight ago, I had been nothing more than Dr. Ishani Mitra, the determined intern threading through the bustling corridors of Delhi’s most prestigious medical college, my worn stethoscope draped around my neck like a badge of hope. My greatest concern had been impressing the senior doctors and surviving another gruelling shift in the emergency ward.

Now? Now I was alleged Her Royal Highness, Princess Hailey of the Royal House of Palmier—a title that felt as foreign on my tongue as the name of the enchanted kingdom I’d never even heard whispered in geography classes.

It all began with that fateful party, the one my friends had dragged me to despite my protests about the early morning Seminar. “Live a little, Ani!” Their eyes were sparkling with mischief as they dared me to approach the mysterious stranger who’d been watching me from across the crowded room. One dare, one moment of courage I never knew I possessed, and suddenly the carefully constructed walls of my ordinary life came crashing down, revealing a destiny I never could have imagined.

What began as a reckless farewell to our carefree days—last nights of delicious mistakes before the weight of adulthood settled upon my shoulders—became the catalyst that would rewrite my entire destiny. I had envisioned nothing more than stolen laughter, perhaps a few regrettable dance moves, and memories to carry me through the demanding years ahead as a practising physician.

But fate, it seemed, had been weaving a far more intricate tapestry.

The mysterious stranger across the dimly lit room, with his commanding presence and eyes that seemed to hold decades of secrets, wasn’t just another guest seeking temporary escape from reality. Unbeknownst to me, as I gathered every ounce of courage to cross that crowded dance floor, I was walking toward His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Adrian of Cadmont—a man whose very existence would become the golden thread that would shuffle my carefully planned future and reweave it into something magnificent and terrifying.

Little did I know that his magnetic gaze would ignite a chain of events, binding my future to his and setting in motion the sweeping changes that would redefine everything I thought I knew about myself—and the life I was meant to live.

My hurried research into the political landscape of this newfound realm had revealed a tapestry of history far more intricate than I had ever imagined. Palmier—my ancestral kingdom—stood not alone, but as one jewel in a crown of three nations. Together with the regal Cadmont and the mysterious Regalia, these sovereign territories had forged an alliance in the aftermath of the Great War, their unity born from necessity in 1921.

What had emerged from those turbulent times was a confederation of constitutional monarchies that had not merely survived the century’s upheavals but had flourished beyond all expectations. Each nation maintained its royal lineage and parliamentary traditions, yet they moved as one in matters of diplomacy and trade.

The irony wasn’t lost on me—while I had spent my life immersed in medical textbooks, completely ignorant of my heritage, these three kingdoms had been quietly prospering, their parliamentary monarchies evolving into beacons of progressive governance.

The Crown reigned not as an absolute monarch, but as a carefully balanced symbol of continuity and wisdom. The royal bloodline held the ceremonial mantle of leadership, their authority both revered and constitutionally restrained—a delicate dance between heritage and democracy that had evolved over decades of thoughtful progress.

Through an intricate system of appointed representatives, the monarchy maintained a meaningful yet measured voice in the nation’s legislative heart, wielding precisely twenty-five per cent of the parliamentary vote. These crown-nominated members served as the bridge between the palace’s timeless perspective and the people’s ever-changing needs, ensuring that royal wisdom could still flow through the chambers of government without overwhelming the democratic will.

It was a system as elegant as it was complex—the Crown’s influence carefully calibrated to guide rather than govern, to counsel rather than command. As I contemplated my newfound position within this sophisticated political tapestry, I realised that being a princess in this modern age meant wielding power through grace and diplomacy rather than decree, a responsibility that felt both daunting and strangely liberating.

Across from me sat Prince Adrian—resplendent in a tailored navy suit, his storm-blue eyes betraying a mix of curiosity and caution—studied me with a quiet intensity. The air between us thrummed with unspoken expectations, the weight of destiny pressing softly against my ribs.

By all rights, I should have been whisked directly to Palmier, the kingdom that now claimed me as its own. The discovery of my lost lineage had sent shockwaves through the royal courts, and protocol demanded my immediate return to my ancestral home. Yet, I had dared to bargain with the future king of Cadmont, seeking a moment’s respite before the storm of my new life engulfed me.

“If I must face my past,” I had told Prince Adrian, my voice steadier than my trembling hands, “let it be beneath the gilded ceilings of the Confederation Palace, where I may at least glimpse my future before it is decided for me.” To my surprise—and quiet relief—he had acquiesced, arranging for our procession to pause at the heart of the three kingdoms.

As the palace’s silhouette grew ever larger, I wondered if this brief detour was a final gift of autonomy before the crown settled upon my brow, or simply the calm before a tempest that would forever alter the contours of my heart and the fate of the confederated realms.

Having completed my internship and with a precious window of time before the looming demands of Residency. It felt as though fate had granted me this fragile moment to confront the storm that had turned my orderly world upside down, and this was my chance to face the shadows of uncertainty and begin weaving the threads of my fractured destiny into something whole once more.

My deepest wish had always been to belong to a family, despite the endless love Dado and Dadu—the couple who found me forsaken in a temple corner one tranquil morning and raised me with a tenderness that matched any true parent’s—had poured into my life. They were empty nesters, and as Dado often said, I was a breath of fresh air—a second chance at life for them. Their children had always embraced me warmly, yet whenever the entire family gathered, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider.

Two years ago, when Dadu passed away and Dado had to move in with her son, the quiet emptiness within me swelled. I was still grappling with the weight of his absence when Dado, too, left this earthly world, taking another piece of my heart with her. Their absence was a weight I could not lift, so I immersed myself in work and study until day and night blurred together—anything to evade the silent moments that reminded me I was alone. I knew it wasn’t healing; it was a quiet war against my own breaking heart.

Everything shifted fourteen days ago, the moment my path crossed that of the man now seated before me. I was adrift in my thoughts when the pilot’s voice broke through, announcing our imminent arrival. My fingers worked at the seatbelt clasp when Prince Adrian’s words stilled me. ‘We’re almost there—the place you were always meant to be,’ he said with quiet conviction. ’From here on, may life gift you more reasons to be happy, for it has already taken enough from you.’

In the short time I had spent with Prince Adrian, I had gleaned a few truths about him—he was a man of few words, driven by an unyielding desire for perfection, and not inclined to easily forgive. The last was drawn from my own experience—on the morning, believing I had spent the night with him, I slipped away quietly while he was absent from the room. It had seemed the perfect moment to leave before the air between us turned awkward. Only later did I learn that I had not slept with him at all, and he had been out with his assistant, gathering information about me ever since he’d noticed my bracelet and the mark on my back the previous night.

I once thought the bracelet was Dado’s gift for my selection into medical school. But it was no ordinary charm—it carried the Royal Emblem of Palmier, given to every royal child on their first birthday, which Dado had gotten adjusted according to my wrists’ circumference.

When he found me at the hospital, attending as Chief Guest for the inauguration of the Psychological Wing, he had funded, his face betrayed nothing. Yet in his eyes, a fire raged—intense, searching, and full of questions whose answers were unknown to me, too.

Flashback - 13 days ago

I was already running late, and today was the inauguration of the new Psychological Wing in our building—a project born from years of striving to highlight how deeply mental health impacts physical well-being. Yet, even now, so many cling to the belief that a physical symptom warrants a doctor’s visit, while matters of the mind are treated like some strange, indecipherable language.

I hurried back to the apartment I shared with my best friend, Dr Ishita Sinha, better known as Molu. It wasn’t much, but having your own little corner of the world with your favourite person is as rare as spotting a unicorn in the wild. When I opened the door, she was there, leaning against the kitchen counter, cradling her beloved Minion mug. One look at my dishevelled state and her eyes lit up with mischief. I knew then—nothing good was about to come out of her mouth. And, as always, ladies and gentlemen, my best friend did not disappoint.

With a smirk, she remarked, “Looks like someone didn’t get much sleep last night!”

Removing my heels with all the grace of a marathon runner, I gave her a sharp look and filled my glass and said, “If you’re really my best friend, you’d never let me stumble into drunkenness anywhere but inside our apartment.”

She hesitated, her expression shifting. “That bad, huh? Honestly, he looked decent, but I guess even the best make mistakes sometimes. If it was a night for questionable choices, at least you’ll come out stronger.”

After catching my breath, I answered, “I honestly don’t know what happened. The last clear memory I have is pressing my lips against his, our bodies pressed intimately against his suite’s door.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer, inhaling deeply. I wrinkled my nose, incredulous.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

Unfazed, she leaned in again, her brow furrowing softly. “Why,” she murmured, her voice laced with curiosity, “does your dress carry the subtle fragrance of a high-end boutique’s finest laundering?”

Upon hearing her observation, I instinctively lifted my dress to my nose and inhaled. She was right—the fabric did carry that unmistakable scent of professional cleaning. But as I glanced up, my eyes landed on the clock face, and panic seized me. I had barely twenty minutes left to prepare myself before I needed to leave.

I dashed into my room and emerged precisely eighteen minutes later. Pausing, I gave myself a congratulatory pat—getting ready that fast after last night’s intoxication was impressive. That was one lesson Dado taught me: be your own biggest cheerleader and find joy in small victories, or you’ll wait forever for the “perfect moment” to come.

As I rummaged through the fridge, Ishita appeared holding a veggie sandwich. Without thinking, I pulled her into a hug and whispered, “I knew becoming your friend was the best choice I ever made.” She laughed softly, and together we stepped out, feeling light and happy.

We were frantically putting the finishing touches on our preparations when our boss suddenly appeared, announcing that the Chief Guest had arrived. “Everyone needs to head to the auditorium immediately,” he instructed, his voice carrying an edge of urgency. “The donor will be delivering his speech shortly, followed by the official inauguration of the Wing.”

The air buzzed with anticipation and mystery—none of us knew the donor’s identity. All we’d been told was that he was European royalty of some kind, which only heightened our curiosity as we made our way toward the auditorium.

I was idly scrolling through Instagram when Ishita’s sharp gasp pierced the air, her fingers clamping down on my left hand with crushing intensity. Confused by her sudden reaction, I lifted my gaze to question her, only to find her eyes wide with shock, practically bulging from their sockets.

Her expression of disbelief made me whip around to follow her stare, and instantly, my own breath caught in my throat.

There he stood—the mysterious man from last night, the one whose suite I’d awakened in that very morning.

Sharply meeting her gaze, my face flushed with mortification. “I need to disappear into thin air—literally right this second!” I declared in a stage whisper that bordered on hysteria. Without missing a beat, she nodded so enthusiastically I worried she might give herself whiplash, clearly recognising this as a code-red emergency.

With a mix of stealth and sheer luck, we made our escape before anyone could question our abrupt exit. I pressed a hand to my chest, drawing deep, calming breaths to quiet the thunder of my heart.

It was then that Ishita finally broke her stunned silence, leaning in close with her voice trembling—and not with fear, but barely contained laughter: “Girl, you really played out that wild bet to the letter!”

Completely unmoved by her teasing, I spun on my heel and strode toward the General Ward, seeking refuge in the predictable world of medical rounds. My rigid posture and deliberate silence should have been crystal clear indicators that I needed space to process everything, but Ishita remained blissfully—or perhaps willfully—ignorant of my subtle hints, following close behind despite my obvious desire for solitude.

Our internship was drawing to a close in less than a week, meaning attendance was essentially voluntary at this point. But the mere thought of remaining in the vicinity of a certain distinguished Chief Guest made my skin crawl with embarrassment. I decided my time would be infinitely better spent focusing on productive tasks rather than risking another mortifying encounter.

We had nearly reached break time when we emerged into the reception area, only to find ourselves face-to-face with our worst nightmare. A group of senior staff members were conducting what appeared to be a comprehensive hospital tour for none other than the Chief Guest himself. My heart sank as I realised escape was impossible—before we could even attempt to slip away unnoticed, Dr Iqbal Siddiqui’s voice rang out across the space, calling my name with unmistakable authority.

Silently cursing every deity I could think of, I forced my lips into what I hoped resembled a confident smile and turned toward my mentor, keeping my gaze deliberately fixed on him while studiously avoiding any glance in a particular direction. Through my peripheral vision, I caught sight of Ishita with her own forced casualness, matching my performance of studied nonchalance.

Dr. Siddiqui approached us with a proud smile and announced, “These are the remarkable individuals who keep this place—and us seniors—running smoothly. Our interns are truly our pride, and these two ladies are the finest one could hope for.” He then introduced us with genuine admiration, “Dr Ishita Sinha and Dr Ishani Mitra.”

The weight of a familiar stare became impossible to ignore. Despite every fibre of my being screaming in protest, I slowly raised my eyes to meet his penetrating gaze. What I found there sent a shiver down my spine—he was studying me with an expression of utter disbelief, as though he couldn’t fathom how I’d had the sheer nerve to slip away from his suite like a thief in the dawn light.

Watching our awkward exchange, Dr Siddiqui hesitated, sensing the tension. “Forgive me, Your Highness, but—is there an issue?” he asked cautiously.

Prince Adrian’s answering “Absolutely not!” was almost too emphatic, his smile betraying a hint of strain.

With a courteous handshake exchanged, we quietly withdrew as Dr Siddiqui carried on with the tour, leaving the tension hanging palpably in the air.