Semua Bab Royal Trouble: A Naughty Prince Meets His Match : Bab 71 - Bab 80

Strangers in Her Eyes Charlotte approached the hospital bed slowly, her steps hesitant. Her heart pounded against her ribs as though each beat might shatter her resolve. She forced a soft smile, whispering gently, “Ariel…” For a fleeting moment, Ariel curved her lips into something resembling a smile. But it was hollow, lifeless — the kind of smile that never touched her eyes. Her gaze flicked over Charlotte with a frown, as though inspecting a stranger who had intruded into her space. “What is wrong with these wild people?” Ariel muttered under her breath, her tone laced with disdain. “Why are they claiming someone’s child? This is absolutely ridiculous.” The words hit Charlotte like a dagger. She froze, her smile faltering, her throat tight with unshed tears. She tried to ignore the sting, lowering herself onto the chair beside the bed. “I don’t want anything from you,” Charlotte said softly. “I just… I just want to sit next to you.” Ariel’s eyes widened,

Ariel and Adrian The day dragged on in slow circles. Shadows shifted across the white hospital walls, nurses came and went, and the beeping monitor by Ariel’s bed ticked away like a clock no one wanted to hear. By evening, two palace maids returned with large trays of food. Steam rose from silver dishes, filling the corridor with the warm smell of rice, soup, and roasted meat. They placed the trays carefully on the long side table in the ward. But no one touched the food. Everyone was too heavy with worry, too drained by fear and waiting. Even King Edward and King Zubrel, who had spent most of the day at the hospital, had returned to their palaces to gather strength. They had left reluctantly, promising to come back by dawn. That left Ariel’s circle behind: Isabella and Margaret, pale with exhaustion; Lilian, Becky, Vicky, and Charlotte sitting side by side like lifeless dolls; Adrian restless but silent, leaning against the wall; and Carl, a shadow of hims

Night Measures At last, the ward fell quiet. The trays were empty, spoons clinked back into bowls, and the stale anxiety that had hung over everyone all day loosened by the smallest degree. Dr. Kelvin stepped into the room with the authority of a man who had held other people’s futures in his hands and wanted the family to do one simple, practical thing. “It’s time for the patient to rest,” he said gently. “Give her space. No more visitors for tonight. She needs calm.” Guards closed ranks at the doorway, their faces blank but their eyes watchful. Margaret stood and, with a voice that still shook, warned them, “Unless Dr. Kelvin himself comes, no one enters. Understood?” They nodded in unison — yesterday’s chaos had taught everyone how fragile the line between life and death could be. One by one, they left. Edward and Zubrel had already returned to their palaces to gather themselves; Isabella and Margaret walked slowly down the corridor, arms linked, their bodies

The room was still. The faint hum of the hospital machines filled the silence, and the thin white curtains by the window fluttered gently as the night breeze slipped through a half-open gap. Carl had thought she was asleep—lost in dreams, shielded from the pain of the world—but when he tried to leave, a sudden tug on his hand stopped him. “Hey… sit.” His heart jolted. Slowly, he turned. Ariel’s eyes were half-open, faintly glowing in the dim light, and though her voice was weak, it carried a firmness that startled him. Carl wiped his tears quickly, trying to compose himself, but the lump in his throat betrayed him. “You’re awake… you heard?” She nodded faintly. “I heard everything you said so far. Every word.” Her fingers tightened around his wrist, fragile but stubborn. “Now, tell me honestly, Carl—what is my fate?” Carl’s lips trembled. He wanted to lie, to protect her from the truth, but the weight of her gaze demanded honesty. Slowly, brokenly, he expl

The hospital felt like a hive of activity that evening. Nurses bustled through the corridors carrying trays of medicine and charts, the steady rhythm of footsteps echoing in the long, white halls. Ariel’s ward, however, was filled with something warmer—joy, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of food. Queen Isabella had insisted on preparing her best delicacies herself. From the royal kitchen came trays of golden pastries, bowls of spiced rice, roasted chicken seasoned with herbs, and steaming soups whose aromas carried far down the hallway. Queen Margarette was not left behind. She had personally overseen the making of fruit pies, fresh bread, and delicate custards, along with herbal teas she believed would help Ariel recover faster. By the time both queens arrived at the hospital, each accompanied by maids balancing baskets and silver trays, the ward seemed to transform. The nurses gawked at the spread; it was as if a royal banquet had been transported into the hospi