How to Accidentally Fall on an Elf (The Chaos Between Us #1)

Chapter 1 Esther

Esther

How to survive royalty: pretend everything is fine while absolutely nothing is fine.

Princess Esther Valedara had read enough romance novels to know that no heroine ever found love between magic lessons and etiquette drills. Unfortunately for her, that was her entire schedule: magic, etiquette, and embroidery.

But first, she had to survive breakfast, a monumental task she was forced to endure every day. Just like her lessons, it never got any better. She took a deep breath, grounding herself, then pushed through the door. It was time for her personal hell to kick off another day.

Morning light spilled through the arched windows in soft pastels, warming the carved stone pillars and the long table set for thirty, though only three seats were ever filled anymore.

Esther slipped inside, smoothing her simple blue morning dress, trying to make her footsteps as quiet as possible.

But the moment she entered, her father, King Arcturus, shot up a little too fast in his chair, like he’d been caught slouching.

Lupin lurched to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Good morning,” King Arcturus said, his voice far too formal for a man greeting his daughter. He cleared his throat. “You, ah. Slept well?”

Esther curtsied and replied in her most practiced formal tone. “Yes, Father.”

Lupin nodded sharply, almost military. “Good.” Then he sat, immediately stood again, panicked, and sat once more, like a malfunctioning marionette.

Esther slowly took her seat, doing her best not to look uncomfortable.

“I noticed some military marching out earlier,” Esther commented, trying to pass it off as a random, passing thought.

“Just some trouble at the borders,” King Arcturus said. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Esther nodded, biting her lip. They returned to a heavy, awkward silence that settled in her chest. No matter how long they had lived together, she had never learned how to talk to her family.

A servant poured tea. The King watched the cup with the intensity of someone observing a delicate medical procedure. Lupin stared at the fruit bowl as though it personally threatened him.

Finally, King Arcturus tried again. “Your embroidery lesson is today.”

“Yes.” Esther folded her hands in her lap. “It is.”

“Enjoyable?” His tone sounded like an interrogation.

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

King Arcturus cleared his throat.

Lupin wiped nonexistent crumbs from his plate.

Esther fiddled with her fork.

“Well,” Lupin said abruptly, pushing a book across the table toward her, “I found this. I thought, maybe, you might…” He froze halfway through, eyes widening. “Not that you’re childish. Or that you need distraction. Or—”

Esther looked down at the worn leather cover. He had clearly picked it with care. Something warm fluttered in her chest.

She pushed it away before it could settle.

She had long since stopped clinging to the small moments of warmth she received from her family. They never lasted.

“It’s nice,” she murmured, stroking the soft cover. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Father,” Esther cleared her throat. “The maids have been talking about a new bakery that opened on Round Rook Road. Do you think—”

“No,” her father said with finality.

“But what if Lady Irene chaperoned me?” Esther pleaded. “Or you could assign a guard to me!”

“It is not wise for you to leave the castle,” Lupin said, his voice stern.

“I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Being careful is not the issue.”

“But—”

Esther’s father slammed his cup down, stifling her words. The rest of the meal passed in silence.

Finally, Esther set down her fork. “I should get ready for lessons.”

Both men immediately pushed their chairs back and stood. Lupin nearly knocked over his water but managed to catch it at the last second. Her father smoothed his coat, even though it hadn’t shifted at all.

“Have a good day,” he said, his voice formal once more.

Lupin nodded quickly. “Give Sir Basil my regards.”

Esther offered a small smile that felt too thin. “I will. Thank you.”

Valedara Castle had been built in three distinct eras, each visible in the walls if one knew where to look.

The east wing bore the soft curves and floral motifs of Queen Elaerya’s reign, warm, inviting architecture that suggested the ruler had been fond of music, art, and throwing far too many festivals.

The west wing, by contrast, was sharp-edged and reinforced, built by King Thamar the Ironhearted during a century of border conflict.

Thick walls. Narrow windows. Everything about it whispered: survive first, celebrate later.

Esther preferred Elaerya’s wing.

Her father’s council, however, had been meeting more frequently in the fortified rooms of the west wing, and the shift had not gone unnoticed. Guards stood taller. Servants whispered.

Even the air carried a tension it hadn’t held during her childhood, when she remembered, perhaps imagined, the palace smelling more of lavender cakes and fresh parchment than metal polish.

The irony was that Valedara was known across the continent as “The Gentle Kingdom.”

Yet inside its marble walls, the gentleness had been slowly suffocating for years.

When she was out of earshot, she let out a loud, frustrated sigh.

As she walked, her gaze drifted to the long corridor of royal portraits lining the wall.

Decades of rulers stared back at her, beginning with King Lexon, founder of Valedara.

The line of kings and queens continued in steady succession until it reached the final frame: her parents, painted in rich oils, frozen in a moment she barely remembered.

Beside them hung a space, waiting patiently, almost expectantly, for the next monarch.

Every kingdom chose heirs differently, but in Valedara, she could have been queen. The law allowed it. Tradition welcomed it. But she had no desire to fight Lupin for the role.

He was steady, dutiful, everything a ruler should be.

And she…

She had nothing to offer.

She tore her eyes away and continued down the pristine corridor, feeling more like an intruder than a princess.

She wished she were a princess locked in a tower. Then maybe she’d be whisked away by a knight with wind-tossed hair and eyes full of adventure. But this wasn’t a tower guarded by a dragon. It was a fortress guarded by men whose armor clinked like chains.

Her father called it “protection.”

Esther called it “house arrest with snacks.”

Even the snacks were more decorative than edible, bittersweet, cold pastries dusted with sugar she could barely taste, because Baroness Irene Levon’s voice still echoed in her head: “Watch your figure, Princess.”

She would never forget the lecture she received when she asked why she had to watch her figure when they were going to crush her ribcage with a corset regardless.

She was currently trudging toward the best of her least favorite lessons.

Her gown whispered around her ankles, layers of silk and satin in shades of royal blue that caught the light like water.

Gold embroidery itched along her sleeves.

Her jewelry clinked with every step, tiny reminders that even her beauty had weight.

And the shoes, those cursed heels, pinched with every movement, each step a lesson in balance and suffering.

Whoever created the blasted shoes hated women and believed the world needed more tripping hazards.

Her maid and best friend, Lucy, prattled beside her, cheerful and relentless, like someone who refused to fade into the background no matter how often the palace tried to make her.

Lucy talked like she always did—fast, bright, unfiltered—because silence in the palace had teeth. If she stopped filling the air, she disappeared. So she stayed loud.

Her ponytail swung like a pendulum, keeping time with her quick, light steps, the complete opposite of Esther’s dragging gait. Esther wished she could borrow a sprinkle of her energy.

“Pretend you’re a statue,” Lucy said, nudging Esther’s shoulders straighter. “But with more attitude.”

Esther groaned. “Statues don’t have to smile through magic lessons or wear corsets that make breathing optional.”

She glared at Lucy’s small waist, which held nothing more than an apron tied around it: no corset crushing her organs, just comfortable clothes with pockets. The scent of cinnamon still lingered faintly on Lucy’s sleeves. Warm, sweet, and cruelly tempting.

The guards stood rigid as Esther passed, their armor polished to a mirror shine.

They didn’t smile at her anymore. No one in the palace really did.

Ever since rumors of border skirmishes began creeping into council meetings, the entire castle had tightened like a clenched jaw.

Servants walked more quietly. Ministers whispered behind stacks of maps.

Even the air felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were bracing for bad news.

Valedara demanded perfection from its royals, composure, control, and elegance.

A flawless facade for a kingdom beginning to fracture at the edges.

Sometimes Esther wondered if the palace was so pristine because everyone inside was afraid to leave a trace, fearful that any imperfection might crack the illusion of stability.

Her eyes drifted back to the nearest portrait, the one she always lingered on without meaning to.

Her mother.

Queen Estella’s likeness glowed softly beneath the chandeliers, painted in warm golds and rose hues.

People still spoke of her as if she had been carved from sunlight, radiant, beloved, the kind of queen who could warm even the coldest marble hall.

Esther tried to remember her voice, her face, anything real…

but all she ever grasped were feelings. Warmth. Safety. A sense of being held.