It was a slow afternoon in the café. The kind of slow where even the coffee refused to drip quickly, as if the beans themselves were napping.
The prince lounged upside down on the velvet couch, one leg flopped over the top, a spoon balanced dangerously on his nose. Across the room, Sabel furiously wiped down the same table for the fifth time.
"You know…" the prince mused, voice slightly nasal from the spoon, "I sometimes wonder… what it would be like if I could… clone myself."
Sabel didn't even look up. "You'd probably just argue with yourself over coat colors."
The prince gasped. "Rude. But possibly true."
The Brewing Begins
Behind the counter sat an old teacup. Not just any teacup. A chipped, forgotten artifact the prince had picked up years ago on a royal expedition to the Enchanted Market of Middlenook. Legend said it was once used by a mage who could divide thoughts into beings.
The prince, curious and caffeinated, poured his usual magical chili-coffee brew into the cup.
"I wonder…" he muttered. "If I stir three times clockwise, once counterclockwise, and drop in a single cocoa bean…"
ZAP!
A loud magical pop echoed through the café. A puff of smoke. A small explosion of glitter. A sneeze from Percival in the corner.
And then…
There were two.
Two princes.
Well, kind of.
One stood tall in a regal coat, eyes sparkling with chaotic charm. The usual prince.
The other looked… grumpier. Hair tied back. Sleeves rolled up. A towel on one shoulder. Coffee-stained apron already in place.
"Who…?" the prince started.
"I'm you," the other one said flatly. "The part of you that's tired of your flair. And someone has to clean your mess."
"Ah," the original said, eyes wide. "You're Sabel."
"Apparently."
Prince vs. Sabel
Within minutes, the dynamic became very obvious.
The prince: flamboyant, unpredictable, full of jokes and wild plans.
Sabel: practical, sharp-tongued, obsessed with order and… table placement?
They spent the next hour bickering over everything from mug arrangement to the correct spelling of "latte art."
"I believe a swirl of caramel shaped like a crown is perfectly acceptable," the prince declared, swirling his finger in the air dramatically.
"It looks like a squashed snail," Sabel retorted. "Stick to glitter explosions. Leave the coffee to me."
The Identity Crisis
Rosemary returned from grocery shopping and blinked at the double scene.
"What… happened?"
"I've become two halves of a noble whole!" the prince declared.
"He made me real," Sabel muttered. "Accidentally. Via coffee."
She dropped her bags. "You brewed yourself a grumpy twin?"
"Not a twin!" the prince corrected. "A personality fragment! Like peeling a tangerine, but emotionally."
"Whatever you are," she sighed, "you both better clean the storeroom."
They both groaned. In unison.
A Shift in Chaos
Surprisingly, things… balanced out.
Sabel took over the actual coffee management. He created three new blends. Fixed the plumbing. Invented a bean-grinding method that didn't wake the neighborhood.
The prince? He put on shows. Hosted trivia nights. Drew magical mustaches on customers with illusion spells (most of them laughed). One customer proposed. To the mustache.
But tension simmered.
"I'm the original," the prince huffed one evening, arms crossed.
"I'm the functionality," Sabel shot back, "without me, you'd be ruling from a bean bag."
The (Sorta) Goodbye
One misty morning, the old teacup rattled. Glowed faintly. The magic was wearing off.
"I guess it's time," Sabel said. "You'll go back to being you."
The prince sighed. "I'll miss yelling at myself."
"Same."
They sat together, sipping a last shared coffee.
"You know," Sabel said, "if you ever need me again…"
"I'll stir, spin, and sprinkle the cocoa bean."
With a gentle whoosh of magic, Sabel vanished into shimmering light—his apron folding neatly on the chair.
The prince blinked.
Then immediately tripped over a mop and fell face-first into the pastry display.
Back to One (Mostly)
Later, the prince stood in the quiet café.
Coffee steamed gently. Percival napped. Rosemary was humming in the kitchen.
The prince adjusted the framed "Staff of the Month" photo Sabel had secretly hung up—of both of them.
He smirked. "Guess I'm back to talking to myself again."
From the back of the café, a mop wiggled slightly on its own.
Just a little.
Maybe, just maybe… Sabel hadn't left entirely.