Mom and I still haven't figured out the best way to handle things with my youngest sister, Michelle.

  She's adorable—beyond adorable, really. It's not just her looks; it's the way she gazes up at me with those big eyes and says "Sis" in that sweet voice... Ahh, cough cough, okay, let's calm down. Deep breaths—in... out... and again.

  Michelle's features are the perfect blend of our father's royal genes and Mom's out-of-nowhere commoner beauty mutation. She's stunningly put together.

  I've gotten my share of compliments too, and while I don't let it go to my head, it's fair to say I'm blessed enough to feel confident about it. But put us side by side, and hardly anyone would think she comes up short. Throw Mom and even the queen into the mix, and guys everywhere would be drooling, calling it a feast for the eyes... but anyway.

  Her personality, though? Totally normal and down-to-earth. Born royal, smart enough to handle the education that comes with it, but without any weird edges. She's got that polished royal manners thing going on, super approachable. She ughs like a regur kid, gets mad like one too—she's just so... ordinary, in the best way.

  With the fate barreling down on us, Mom and I have at least sketched out a pn to get through it, based on what we've anticipated. The maids—elite as they come—have some experience with guys already, so they've wrapped their heads around it and are ready to handle clients who are just paying for the privilege. But Michelle? This whole nightmare has hit her like a ton of bricks, and she's sunk into a deep funk.

  At the final ceremony back home, Father and the queen's downcast vibes were partly an act, calcuted for effect. But Michelle looked like she was about to colpse the whole time—pushed to her limit. Her forced speech was just her barely managing to read the prepared lines, and it was heartbreaking to watch.

  On the way here, at the airport and all, she got caught up in the novelty of everything and bounced around with genuine excitement. We were all so relieved to see that spark. But once we hit the capital and the staff id out the gritty details of what's next, it was like smming her with stuff she'd been avoiding. She's shutting down hard.

  Her interest in sex as she hits puberty? Probably below average, if I had to guess. Maybe all that extra curiosity flowed straight to me instead—right, God? No way that's how it works, though.

  On an intellectual level, she gets the royal duties and obligations. She'd accepted that her future probably involved a political marriage. As long as the husband wasn't a total monster, she'd pour her love into building a family. Share the marital bed, have important heirs—cute kids—and be grateful if real romance blossomed along the way.

  But being sold off as a sacrificial mb to score tech upgrades for the people? Day after day, offering her body to total strangers? No way she can wrap her head around that. Putting it into words like this makes our situation sound downright evil.

  Tingoo's got our backs solid. The clients are hyped to be with us—hopefully after waiting ages in line, hearts racing as they show up. Unless something goes seriously wrong, no one's going to pull some stunt that screams "This guy's done for" and calls for help.

  Still, the gap between that and the "acceptable" nding spot of a political marriage? For a straight-shooting girl like Michelle, it's unbearable. ...Honestly, I'm the weirdo here—still a virgin, but already running fantasies and what-ifs like it's no big deal.

  Our sisterly bond has always been rock-solid. She'd come at me with that tail-wagging energy—practically visible in my mind—chattering away happily about her day: the fun stuff, or whatever had her fuming. For Mom and me, those moments were pure bliss, golden memories.

  Sometimes she'd go to the queen with it too. The queen was a goner in front of Michelle's adoring gaze, even after Mom drilled us on not overstepping. She'd only had boys—the legitimate heir and his backup, which was a queen's dream come true—but yeah, she wanted a girl. Michelle was way more open and affectionate with her than we were, with our built-in respect barrier. The queen spoiled her rotten.

  I must have clung to the queen like that when I was little, before I understood things. But spending so much time with the crown prince—who's basically my age—and acing my etiquette lessons meant I learned respect fast, at the cost of that innocent clinginess. Michelle, as the baby of the family, got pampered by everyone. She grew into this perfectly decent, good-hearted person—but maybe at the expense of building up the grit to face tough times.

  When I try to talk sense into her calmly—"Listen"—she shuts me out with "No, I don't want to hear it." Push harder with a raised voice—"You have to listen!"—and she bursts into tears, yelling "No! I hate you, Sis!" and runs off. Seeing her like that, so utterly distraught when she used to be the cutest thing ever, sometimes makes me think, "Screw the people who dumped us like this—who cares about them anymore?"

  Her vulnerability might be "wrong" for a royal. But freaking out over something this insane? That's just human—that's "right." Watching her in pain like this scrambles my brain. But weirdly, I'm gd I don't feel any resentment toward her for "not listening."

  Thankfully, Michelle's got time on her side. Even in the empire, underage prostitution is a hard no, unless there's some extreme case like poverty pushing a kid's strong will into it—and even then, it's a constant cat-and-mouse with the creeps who don't care about ws. She's not hit the empire's age of majority yet, so even as a sve-prostitute in title, she's basically an apprentice for now. Showing her our backs as Mom and I push through... that cssic approach might not work in this line of work. But for the moment, it's all we've got.

  With everything prepped, it's time for my virginity auction—and probably my first time right after.