Episode 2

The grand dining hall of the Zubrel Palace shimmered with golden light. Chandeliers dripped crystals like frozen raindrops, and the polished marble floor reflected the glow of hundreds of candles. The long table was set for a royal feast: silver platters steaming with roasted meats, crystal goblets lined like soldiers, and bowls of jewel-bright fruit that perfumed the air with sweetness.

At the far end of the room, the heavy double doors swung open.

“Isabella!”

“Margaret!”

The two queens rushed toward each other, their gowns whispering across the marble, and embraced with the enthusiasm of schoolgirls rather than royalty. Their crowns clinked softly as they hugged, laughing in delight.

“It’s been ages,” Isabella exclaimed, stepping back just enough to hold Margaret’s face between her hands. “You’ve grown so slim—don’t tell me Edward isn’t feeding you properly?”

Margaret gave a mock gasp and swatted her friend’s arm. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Behind them, King Zubrel and King Edward clasped hands, then pulled each other into a hug that involved a few hearty back pats and an almost competitive squeeze.

“My old friend,” Zubrel boomed. “Do you remember the last time we stood in this hall together?”

Edward chuckled. “Of course. The night you spilled wine on your coronation robes.”

“That was your fault!” Zubrel laughed, shaking his head.

The queens giggled like conspirators, and Isabella whispered, “Some things never change.”

It was clear now: the two families were more than allies—they were bound by years of shared history. When they were just teenagers, Margaret and Isabella had promised to marry their future children. Over time, that silly pact had become a serious family arrangement, and tonight’s dinner was meant to seal the deal.

At the table, Princess Ariel and Prince Carl took their seats opposite each other. Neither looked pleased.

Carl’s dark eyes narrowed. Great, he thought, stabbing a piece of bread. Of all the people in the kingdom, it had to be her.

Ariel leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely. This prince thinks he’s untouchable, she mused, watching him chew. He’s about to learn otherwise.

The queens settled beside their husbands, still chatting animatedly. Margaret reached over and patted Ariel’s shoulder. “Look at her, Isabella—our little phoenix has grown into a vision! Truly, we made the right choice.”

Isabella’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “If I were younger, I might have married Carl myself—he’s far too charming for his own good.”

Ariel’s lips twitched. The compliment stung more than she expected. Her hand, resting on the table, clenched, and the next moment—thump!—she slammed it lightly against the polished wood. The cutlery rattled. Everyone paused.

“Oops,” she said sweetly, flashing a smile that fooled no one.

Carl smirked across the table. Under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear, he muttered, “Not over yet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “It never even started.”

The kings didn’t seem to notice the sparks flying. They were reminiscing about a hunting trip gone wrong, laughing so hard Zubrel nearly spilled his wine.

Isabella clapped her hands. “Come, let’s eat! We’ve been waiting for this reunion all evening.”

Servants glided forward, filling goblets with wine and plates with food. The scent of spiced lamb and warm bread filled the air. Carl picked up his fork, stealing a glance at Ariel.

She caught him looking and raised her chin. If only he’d choke on that steak, she thought, cutting a piece of her own meat with unnecessary precision.

Carl, catching the glint in her eye, rolled his own. Look at her—eating like she’s auditioning for a commercial. Pretty face, sure, but no manners. This is supposed to be my wife?

For a long moment, neither looked away. The clink of glasses and murmur of conversation faded around them. To the rest of the world, they were two royals sharing a meal. To each other, they were sworn enemies in a silent duel.

“Do you remember,” Margaret said between bites, “how we used to sneak out of etiquette lessons?”

Isabella laughed. “Oh, and that night by the lake—we promised our firstborns would marry. We thought it was the most romantic thing in the world.”

Zubrel grinned. “And now here we are, watching that promise unfold.”

Ariel nearly choked on her drink. Carl coughed into his napkin to hide a laugh.

Unfold? Ariel thought bitterly. More like unravel.

Carl smirked. At least she knows this is ridiculous.

The queens continued their chatter, occasionally casting approving glances at the two young royals. Neither noticed the daggers being exchanged across the table.

A servant placed a bowl of fruit between Carl and Ariel. Their hands brushed as they both reached for a strawberry at the same time.

“Seriously?” Ariel snapped.

Carl leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ladies first.”

“Then wait your turn.”

He leaned back, grinning like he’d won something. She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out.

The kings, oblivious, began debating hunting strategies. Isabella topped off Margaret’s glass, still glowing with nostalgia.

After several more courses, the mood in the hall softened into comfortable chatter—except at the far end of the table, where Ariel and Carl still waged their quiet war.

Ariel took a sip of wine, thinking, He’s smug. Arrogant. Infuriating.

Carl watched her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, thinking, She’s infuriating. Arrogant. And… annoyingly gorgeous.

He scowled at the thought, shaking it off.

Finally, Isabella set down her glass, her eyes twinkling. “Margaret,” she said sweetly, “have you decided on Tuesday for the wedding?”

The room froze.

Ariel’s fork clattered onto her plate. Carl stopped mid-chew. Their eyes met—two deer caught in the same set of headlights.

And then, in perfect unison, they shouted,

“NO!”

The word ricocheted off the marble walls, loud enough to send a few servants scurrying.

Margaret blinked. Edward’s eyebrows shot up. Isabella’s jaw dropped slightly, though her lips were already twitching toward a smile. Zubrel just leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.

The silence that followed was deafening—until Carl muttered, “Well, that went well.”

Ariel shot him a glare so sharp it could have sliced glass. “Don’t you dare act like you’re on my side.”

“Oh, trust me,” Carl said, leaning back smugly, “I’m never on your side.”

The parents exchanged knowing glances. This was not going to be easy. But somewhere behind their frustration, a flicker of amusement danced—they remembered being young and stubborn too.

And as the candles flickered and the feast continued, Ariel and Carl continued their silent staring contest, both refusing to admit—even to themselves—that the fire burning between them wasn’t just anger.