Episode 5

The royal limousine purred along the moonlit road, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Inside, the tension between Carl and Ariel was thick enough to slice with a jeweled dagger.

Carl reached forward and flicked on the radio. A cheerful pop song filled the car, its upbeat rhythm utterly at odds with the storm brewing between the two.

“Turn it off,” Ariel said flatly, crossing her arms. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Carl arched an eyebrow and pretended not to hear.

“I said—turn it off.” She leaned over and reached for the dial.

But before her fingers could touch it, Carl swatted her hand lightly—just enough to stop her. “You must not touch it,” he said smugly, and—just to be irritating—turned the volume up even louder.

Ariel narrowed her eyes. Without warning, she smacked him on the back, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him jolt forward.

“Don’t you dare bully me, you menace!”

Carl gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Menace? What did you just call me, you… ugly thing?”

Her mouth fell open in mock horror. “I called you a moron. Are you satisfied?”

He shot her a look of mock disbelief. “You dare call a good-looking man like me a menace? Clearly, your vision isn’t okay.”

Ariel smirked. “You really think highly of yourself, fool.”

Carl gripped the steering wheel tighter, but his lips twitched in amusement. “You’re going to regret this, Ariel,” he warned, and then pressed the accelerator just enough to make the car lurch forward playfully. The engine roared as he zoomed down the driveway toward the sprawling Zubrel estate.

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At the Palace Gates

When the limousine rolled through the massive iron gates, the maids waiting outside stiffened. The sight of Prince Carl stepping out of a car in a bad mood was enough to send shivers through the staff—he had a reputation for cruelty and unpredictable temper. None of them dared look him directly in the eye.

Carl slammed the car door with a little more force than necessary and strode into the palace without a word. His cape flared dramatically behind him as he disappeared into the main hall.

A maid quietly retrieved Ariel’s overnight bag from the trunk and bowed respectfully to her. “Your room is prepared, Your Highness,” she said softly, her eyes darting nervously toward the entrance Carl had just stormed through.

Ariel managed a tired smile. “Thank you.”

She followed the maid inside, her exhaustion beginning to show. The long evening of family theatrics and verbal sparring had drained her. Upstairs, she found the guest chamber—a lavish room draped in deep red velvet and golden embroidery. She set her small purse on the table, exhaled, and flopped onto the bed.

Moments later, the door creaked open. Queen Margaret peeked in, her face soft with concern.

“Oh, poor child,” Margaret whispered to herself, spotting Ariel lying motionless on the bed. “She must be exhausted.”

She closed the door gently without realizing Ariel wasn’t asleep at all. Ariel had kept her eyes shut, faking sleep to avoid any suggestion that she share a room—or worse, a bed—with Carl.

The door clicked shut, and Ariel opened one eye, grinning slightly. “Nice try, Mom’s best friend,” she murmured under her breath. “Not happening.”

The morning sun filtered gently through the towering glass windows of the palace dining hall, spilling golden light across the long mahogany table. The scent of freshly baked bread, roasted sausages, and brewed coffee filled the air. Crystal goblets caught the light like diamonds, while silver cutlery glimmered on polished plates. The grand chandelier above twinkled, as if the heavens themselves had descended to witness the royal family’s daily spectacle.

At the far end of the table, Prince Carl slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily across the backrest, his other hand swirling the contents of his wine glass. He wasn’t drinking—only moving the red liquid in slow circles, as though it were something to control when he couldn’t control his life. His hair was slightly tousled, his dark suit jacket open, a picture of casual arrogance.

Across from him sat Ariel, posture perfect, her chin tilted proudly toward the ceiling. She wasn’t touching the food either—merely tracing the rim of her coffee cup with one manicured finger, her crimson lips pursed as though she were holding back a storm of words.

The silence between them wasn’t peaceful. It was the kind that crackled in the air, daring someone to break it.

Finally, Carl spoke. His voice was smooth, mocking, almost bored.

“So… how does it feel, Princess, waking up and realizing you’re trapped in this palace forever? Like a bird in a gilded cage?”

Ariel’s eyes snapped toward him, her sunglasses from yesterday now replaced with sharp eyeliner that made her glare even more piercing.

“Better than being trapped in a cage with you,” she said sweetly, her tone dripping venom. “Though, I suppose, every circus needs a clown.”

Carl smirked, unfazed. “Clown? That’s a new one. I expected ‘beast’ or ‘devil’ today. You must be getting soft.”

“Soft?” Ariel leaned forward, her hands flattening on the table. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I were getting soft, I would have smiled at you by now.”

“Please don’t,” Carl shot back immediately. “I’m not ready for nightmares before noon.”

The servants standing along the walls exchanged nervous glances. One footman coughed discreetly, and a maid nearly dropped a basket of bread rolls as she stifled a laugh.

Magarette, the queen, entered then, her gown sweeping gracefully behind her. She took in the sight of her son and his bride locked in yet another duel of words. A sigh left her lips, but there was also a sparkle in her eyes—like someone secretly enjoying the chaos. She walked over and sat beside Edward, who had been quietly sipping tea and pretending not to hear.

“Still fighting?” Magarette whispered to her husband.

Edward didn’t look up from his paper. “What gave it away—the silence that isn’t silence, or the fact that Carl looks like he’s one insult away from throwing his fork?”

Magarette chuckled softly. “At least they’re talking. That’s progress.”

At the far end of the table, Carl leaned back with a lazy grin.

“You know, Ariel, you’re lucky my parents like you. Otherwise, I’d have thrown you out of this palace by now.”

“Thrown me out?” Ariel scoffed, tossing her hair back dramatically. “You couldn’t even throw out a mouse if it ran across your office desk.”

Carl leaned forward, his grin sharpening. “You seem awfully interested in my office lately. Planning to visit, Princess? Or do you prefer to keep making a spectacle of yourself in public?”

Ariel’s jaw tightened. “If I did go, I’d run your office better than you. At least your employees wouldn’t be trembling in fear every time you walk past.”

Gasps fluttered along the servant line. The tension had become so thick you could slice it with a butter knife.

Carl’s eyes glinted dangerously. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep talking like that, and I might actually put you in charge for a day. Then we’ll see if that sharp tongue of yours can balance ledgers and manage contracts.”

“Try me,” Ariel fired back without hesitation. Her heart was hammering, but she refused to let him see her nerves. “I’d succeed. And when I do, you’ll have no excuse left to hide behind.”

For a brief moment, Carl’s smirk faltered. Not much—just enough for someone paying close attention to notice. Ariel noticed. It gave her the smallest thrill of victory.

From his seat, Edward finally lowered the paper and cleared his throat. “Children, must the dining hall become a battlefield every morning? At least let us eat in peace before you start throwing bread at each other.”

Ariel and Carl both froze, realizing their voices had risen. The servants were staring. Magarette was biting back a laugh.

Carl broke the silence first, muttering, “I wasn’t planning to throw bread. The butter knife, maybe.”

Ariel rolled her eyes. “Only because you’re jealous I’d throw straighter.”

The servants erupted into muffled giggles, covering their mouths quickly. The queen could no longer contain herself and laughed openly.

“Enough,” Edward said firmly, though even he had to hide a smile behind his teacup. “You two are impossible.”

Carl pushed back from the table abruptly, his chair scraping against the marble. “I have work to do,” he announced, straightening his jacket. “Some of us don’t have time to sit around and rehearse witty comebacks.”

“Work?” Ariel arched a brow. “That’s what you call glaring at employees until they cry?”

Carl ignored her, already striding toward the door. Ariel’s eyes followed him, her lips twitching between irritation and… something else she refused to name.

Magarette’s voice carried across the hall, teasing, “Darling, don’t forget to smile for your employees! It won’t kill you.”

Carl shot his mother a withering look over his shoulder but didn’t reply.

As the doors closed behind him, Ariel let out a long breath. For the first time that morning, silence settled over the table without sparks flying.

Magarette turned to Ariel with a sly grin. “You know, dear, the way you two argue… it’s almost romantic.”

Ariel choked on her coffee. “Romantic?!”

Edward chuckled quietly. “Well, we’ve seen less passion in actual love stories. At least you keep each other on your toes.”

Ariel flushed crimson, quickly rising to her feet. “Excuse me,” she muttered, grabbing her napkin and storming out of the hall.

The servants exchanged knowing glances once again. Gossip whispered softly among them the moment she was out of earshot:

“She’s the only one who dares talk back to him like that.”

“Did you see his face when she challenged him about the office?”

“I swear, the boss almost smiled.”

In the corridor, Ariel walked briskly, heels tapping sharply against the marble. Her chest rose and fell quickly. She hated him. Absolutely hated him. But her mind kept replaying his expression when she’d thrown his words back at him. The flicker of surprise. The crack in his armor.

It felt… exhilarating.

She shook her head violently. “No. He’s insufferable. A beast. Nothing more.”

But as she ascended the stairs to her chambers, her lips curved into the faintest smile—unconscious, uninvited.

And in the royal study, just as Carl passed by, his assistant caught him muttering under his breath.

“She really thinks she can run my office? …We’ll see about that.”

The assistant blinked. Did the boss just sound… impressed?

Carl disappeared into the hallway, his jaw set, his mind already plotting.

The stage was set. The real battle hadn’t even begun.