Princess Emilia Margaret Jane Schreave.


Takes place between chapter 5 and 6, and during the Ball.

Millie went through her own huge walk-in closet, where her dresses were not organized by color, but by Designer, and by length. And the shoes were organized by heel height. Sometimes she liked to change that order and just go with color. But since she mostly had the classic black pump – in many sizes and shapes – it was easier to do it by the heel.

And she usually chose her shoes first, then found an outfit to go with it. And she didn't need help choosing. When Eliza came back from Waverly, it was like she had never set foot in a walk-in closet in her life! She knew every single woman in Illéa would kill to be in Eliza's shoes, but the brat didn't even want this role. If only she could just step down, marry some commoner, live in New France and leave her to do the job.

Because everyone knew she was way more invested in this Princess-job than Eliza was. But unless she did something really stupid that forced her to step down, or die, there was no way Millie could take her place.

"Emilia?" her mother called out from the room.

Millie came out of the walk-in closet with a new outfit in her arms. "Yes, mother?" she said sweetly.

"Ah, there you are. Listen," the Queen said, elegantly sitting down on a plush settee, inviting her daughter to sit, too. "It's hard for your sister to come back here and start her Selection. Your father and I thought she would be more inclined to do it, more excited." She paused. Like you would have, she didn't say, but both women thought. "So I'm asking you a favor. Please be kind to her, and help her, okay?"

Millie smiled sweetly at her mother. "Of course. I wouldn't let her do this alone. I'm going to take great care of her. I promise." She took her mother's hand and squeezed it fondly. Over the past years, while Eliza was gone, the two had bonded closely.

"Thank you, dearie," the Queen said. She stood and left.

Millie's shoulders dropped and her smile evaporated. Great. Now she had to babysit her big sister. But fine. If she had to do it, she would go big. Spa day, beautician, chocolate fountain, Champagne, everything.

She made calls and got everything ready. Why she actually wasted her time doing this, she didn't know. But oh, how she would have wanted a Selection of her own. Even though she already had Alaric. Just not with Princes and political things. She hated politics. But other than that, she would be a great Queen.


The morning of the Ball, she went to Eliza's room to get her to her spa day. At least her sister would be out of the way for the day, and she could finish with the Ball preparations. There was so much to do, but Millie thrived on planning events and making everything perfect. Her heels resonated on the marble floors, a melody she loved above all else. It told the story of a woman with a purpose, ready to take on the world.

She snorted inwardly. She could never take on the world. But she loved to sneak out at night, when everyone was sleeping, and tiptoe in her fluffy slippers to the Throne room with a pair of heels in her hands, climb the stairs to the stage, sit on her father's throne, and slip on her stilettos. Myriads of stories would fight to come to life in her mind. Stories where she was Queen of Illéa. Empress of the world. And everyone loved her and bowed to her. Yes. She would be the Queen of Queens.

Until she remembered who she was, the second daughter, and head back to bed. She would dream the rest of the night of jewels, crowns, and power. And wake up in an excellent mood in the morning. When Eliza was still in Waverly, it was easy to keep that good mood. But now the sight of her sister drowned her good mood. The seed of Bitterness had been planted in her sweet heart.

Two footmen opened the Ballroom doors for her, and she found Henri Johnson going over some things with the butler and Head Housemaid. She joined their group.

"Everything ready?" she asked, plastering her best smile on her face.

"Yes, Your Highness," Henri said. He knew better than to call her by her name. "The Selected will be briefed this afternoon on the process of the Ball, but other than that, we're all ready."

"Excellent," she said. "We haven't had a party here in ages, and I can't wait!" Although she knew the last party was her birthday, a couple months ago. She walked around the Ballroom and made sure everything was just as she had pictured it, sometimes moving an item or another an inch to the right or to the left. It had to be perfect. Ruby would be there with a Camera crew, and everyone was going to see it. And eventually, people would ask who had organized it, and it would all come back to her. Yes. It had to be absolutely more than perfect.


Later that evening, Millie kept an eye on her sister. If only just to make sure that she was screwing everything up. Yes, drink. Be tipsy, and drunk. Make mistakes, so people know you're not qualified for this. And of course, she had forced her sister to wear high heels, even though she knew Eliza despised them. It was her way of telling her You're not fit for this job, sweetie.

She delighted in watching her suffer from foot pain from dancing with each and every Selected. At some point, Eliza sat down on a chair, clearly trying not to massage her feet. But like a perfect sister, Millie came up to her with a plate of food. As much as she wanted her to screw up, there was a part of her that couldn't completely let her fall on her face, either. She was supposed to be the Perfect Princess. So she would act like one.

Later on, from what Ruby told her of the interview, Eliza had been quite tipsy. She couldn't wait to see it and laugh. But first, patience…

Hahahaha! so here you have it, the One-Shots companions! yay!

Thanks for reading this, too.

And this Series of One-Shots is dedicated to the Discord Alliance. xD