Episode 9

In the royal sitting room, Queen Margarette was perched on a velvet sofa beside King Edward. The afternoon sun poured through the tall palace windows, turning everything golden. Margarette was busy gushing, her voice a mix of excitement and mischief.

> “Edward, I think it’s time we involve Ariel in the company,” she said, swirling her teacup. “If she’s going to be part of this family, she should know what Carl is inheriting. It will help them bond… or at least stop trying to kill each other every five minutes.”

King Edward raised an eyebrow but smiled knowingly.

> “You’re scheming again,” he teased. “But maybe you’re right. And honestly? Carl’s been different these past few days. Less snapping at the maids, more… smiling.”

Margarette laughed softly.

> “Smiling! I thought that boy forgot how to do that.”

Before Edward could answer, the front door opened. Footsteps and muffled laughter echoed through the hallway.

Carl and Ariel appeared, walking side by side. For once, neither was glaring nor plotting the other’s demise. Ariel said something—a small joke, the kind of teasing comment only she could get away with. Carl actually threw his head back and laughed.

Then, in perfect unplanned synchronization, they lifted their hands and smacked them together in a high-five, the sound echoing through the room.

Margarette and Edward froze, mouths slightly open. The two parents just… watched. Their supposedly bitter children were sharing a moment, eyes sparkling, grins wide.

But the magic only lasted five seconds.

Carl blinked, as if remembering he was supposed to despise her. Ariel’s grin faded into a smirk. And just like that—

> “Why did you slap my hand so hard? Are you trying to break my fingers, Princess Hulk?” Carl barked.

Ariel gasped dramatically, hand on her chest.

> “Me? You’re the one who hit my hand like you’re killing a fly! Typical Carl—no manners, no control.”

Carl stepped closer, pointing accusingly.

> “Oh, says the girl who stomped on my foot last night. Twice!”

Ariel rolled her eyes.

> “That was an accident! Maybe if you weren’t standing so close—”

Their bickering escalated quickly, voices overlapping like thunderclouds.

A maid, who had been standing shyly at the doorway, stepped forward, nervous but polite.

> “Ma’am… welcome back.”

The argument stopped mid-sentence. Carl turned sharply, his glare so sharp the maid almost stumbled.

> “Who called you? Did we summon you?” he said angrily.

Ariel crossed her arms, her own tone icy.

> “Exactly. Did we ask for anyone? You can’t just interrupt people’s private conversations. Get out!”

The poor maid’s face paled. She bowed quickly, mumbling apologies as she scurried away.

Carl and Ariel exchanged one last fiery glance before spinning on their heels in opposite directions.

As they passed their parents, both mumbled the bare minimum of greetings—“Your Majesties”—without even making eye contact. Edward and Margarette didn’t say a word, just exchanged knowing looks as the two stormed off like sulky teenagers.

---

Upstairs, Ariel shut her bedroom door with a dramatic click. She tossed her handbag on the bed and flopped down face-first onto the pillows, groaning into the fabric.

Then her phone rang.

She grabbed it lazily, expecting her mother or maybe Becky. Instead, Vicky’s voice exploded through the speaker.

> “ARIEL! Where are you? We came to your place, but your mom said you’re busy preparing for your wedding—” Vicky’s voice cracked into disbelief—“Your WEDDING?! Girl, who are you even marrying without telling us?”

Ariel groaned louder, sitting up and clutching the phone.

> “Oh, Vicky… you won’t believe this madness. Do you remember Prince Carl? The arrogant, rude, walking disaster I told you about?”

> “Yeah?”

> “Well… apparently, I’m betrothed to him. Since childhood. Our parents arranged everything behind my back like it’s the Stone Age!”

The line went silent for a full three seconds before Vicky gasped so loudly Ariel had to pull the phone from her ear.

> “You’re kidding. Please tell me this is a joke. A runaway-bride movie in real life?”

Ariel sighed dramatically, falling back on the bed.

> “Nope. This is my life now. Royal engagement drama, arranged marriage, and the world’s most irritating man.”

> “But Carl—the guy who insulted a waitress once for spilling tea?” Vicky pressed. “That Carl?”

> “The very same,” Ariel muttered, glaring at the ceiling.

Vicky’s shock quickly turned to amusement.

> “Oh my gosh, this is insane. Ariel, this is literally a W*****d plot. Do you know how many girls would kill to be you right now?”

Ariel sat up, hugging a pillow to her chest.

> “They can have him. I’m seriously considering being a runaway bride.”

In the background, Vicky started laughing so hard that Ariel could hear Becky and Charlotte asking what was going on.

> “Tell Becky and Charlotte to pack their bags,” Ariel said, half-joking. “We’re leaving the kingdom. Maybe Bali. Or Mars.”

The door creaked slightly, making Ariel jump. For a second, she thought Carl had come to gloat, but it was only a maid dropping off a tray of snacks. Ariel gave her a weak smile—then flopped back down, already dreading tomorrow.

Downstairs, Edward and Margarette were still sitting quietly, their teacups forgotten.

Margarette whispered, “Did you see the way they laughed together? I swear, they’re perfect for each other—they just don’t know it yet.”

Edward smirked.

> “Oh, they know. They’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

He paused, glancing toward the staircase.

> “But we should prepare for more fireworks. Our son and Ariel are like fire and oil.”

Margarette chuckled.

> “Yes, but even fire and oil make quite the spectacle when they meet.”

The sound of faint laughter drifted down from Ariel’s room—her friends had clearly joined the call. Edward and Margarette exchanged another knowing look, their plan moving along perfectly, even if their children didn’t realize it yet.