Morning arrived far less forgiving than the night before. Sunlight streamed boldly through the palace windows as if determined to expose secrets. Adrien walked down the long corridor toward the royal chamber, posture straight but thoughts tangled. Beside him, Rowan matched his stride with calm precision.
"In two days, the second trial begins," Rowan reminded quietly. "If you plan to disrupt tradition, now would be the appropriate moment."
Adrien exhaled. "You speak of this as if I am rearranging dinner seating."
"You are rearranging generations of royal protocol," Rowan corrected mildly.
Adrien shot him a look. "Encouraging."
Rowan shrugged. "You wanted courage. Courage requires inconvenience."
They reached the tall doors. Guards stepped aside. Inside, the King and Queen sat reviewing documents. The Queen's expression was sharp with strategy. The King looked relaxed, though his eyes missed nothing.
"You are punctual," the Queen noted. "Good. The second trial will commence in two days. We have refined the structure. This round will test diplomacy and household governance."
Adrien listened, then glanced at Rowan briefly. The Queen paused mid-explanation.
"Why do you look as though you are about to confess a crime?" she asked coolly.
The King leaned back. "What happened?"
Rowan gave Adrien the smallest nod.
Adrien inhaled once, steadying himself.
"Mother. Father. I wish to discontinue the trial."
Silence dropped heavily. The Queen's brows lifted slowly. "Discontinue."
"Yes."
Her composure cracked just slightly. "You propose to dismiss five noble families who have invested reputation and trust in this process?"
Adrien held her gaze. "I will address them personally and respectfully."
"And yesterday's dance?" the Queen continued sharply. "You chose Lady Anastasia for the opening round. Already whispers travel faster than music."
"It was a strategic dance," Adrien replied evenly. "She assisted with arrangements. I can't do anything suggesting favouritism towards the candidates. "
The Queen's eyes narrowed. "Do not insult me."
The King looked between them with interest rather than anger. "Explain," he said calmly.
Adrien's jaw tightened. He glanced once more at Rowan, who gave a subtle nod of reassurance. "I am in love," Adrien said clearly. "With Anastasia."
The words echoed louder than any announcement from the previous night.
The Queen stared at him as if he had just declared war on decorum.
"With a girl whose family reputation is unstable?" she demanded. "Whose mother is under social scrutiny? Whose background offers no political advantage?"
"Yes," Adrien answered without hesitation. The King blinked, then slowly leaned back, hiding something suspiciously close to satisfaction.
"So," he murmured thoughtfully, "my son has finally decided something without convening a council."
"Dear," the Queen snapped softly. But the King's mustache twitched with restrained amusement. The Queen rose from her seat, regal and formidable.
"And what of the five remaining candidates?" she pressed. "How will you preserve royal dignity? How will you prevent scandal? Love does not excuse recklessness."
"I will handle the candidates with respect," Adrien replied steadily. "I will ensure no humiliation touches them. As for reputation, honesty is stronger than rumor."
The Queen studied him carefully. "This is not a romance tale," she said firmly. "This is a monarchy."
"And I do not intend to rule loveless," he answered.
The King cleared his throat to hide a chuckle. The Queen exhaled slowly, calculating. "Very well," she said at last. "If you insist upon this… deviation… I will not dismiss it outright."
Adrien straightened.
"But," she continued, "within these two days before the second trial, I will test Lady Anastasia myself."
Adrien did not flinch.
"If she proves capable of carrying the weight of this crown, I will consider your feelings. If she fails, you will end this attachment and proceed with the trial."
The room held its breath. Adrien's voice remained calm. "She will pass."
Confidence radiated from him in a way it never had before. The King observed quietly, pride flickering behind composed eyes. The Queen studied her son one final time.
"Then prepare her," she said. "Because I will not be gentle."
Adrien bowed slightly. "For her sake," he replied, "neither will I." As he turned to leave with Rowan, the King leaned toward the Queen.
"At least he has chosen boldly," he murmured.
The Queen's lips pressed thin. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "He finally has."
The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, but Adrien walked away as if gravity itself had lightened. "I expected thunder," he admitted, exhaling. "That was merely a storm."
Rowan allowed himself a rare grin. "You declared love in front of the Queen. That qualifies as bravery. Or insanity."
"Both," Adrien said cheerfully. "I must tell Anastasia."
He turned sharply toward the corridor leading to the east wing. Rowan caught his sleeve.
"No."
Adrien frowned. "No?"
"If you tell her about the test, she will prepare for what she thinks your mother wants," Rowan explained calmly. "Let her face it as herself. If she is to stand beside you, she must win by her own strength, not rehearsed answers."
Adrien hesitated. The excitement in him wanted to protect, to warn, to strategize.
But Rowan's words held weight. "You trust her?" Rowan asked quietly.
Adrien's expression softened. "Completely."
"Then let her prove it naturally."
Inside the royal chamber, the Queen had not resumed her paperwork. She paced slowly. "A crown demands resilience, intellect, diplomacy, and restraint," she murmured. "How does one measure such things in two days?"
The King leaned back thoughtfully.
"Do not test her as a bride," he suggested. "Test her as a ruler."
The Queen glanced at him.
"Create a situation," he continued, eyes gleaming. "One that requires judgment, compassion, and strategy. Let her solve a real problem. Not a staged etiquette performance."
A slow smile formed on the Queen's lips.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Let us see how she handles responsibility."
Late that afternoon, the palace courtyard bustled with practical energy rather than glittering celebration. A modest carriage bearing the crest of a well known gown boutique rolled through the gates. Every year, as tradition demanded, the servants' uniforms were replaced with fresh designs, crisp stitching, and durable fabric suited for tireless work.
A middle aged merchant stepped down first, followed by a girl around Anastasia's age and two female workers carrying measuring tapes, ledgers, and folded sample cloth.
Cinderella was assigned to oversee the process. She welcomed them warmly and organized the maids into neat lines with surprising authority. Measurements were taken efficiently. Sleeves adjusted. Hemlines discussed. The courtyard filled with numbers, chalk marks, and the rustle of fabric.
The young girl worked quickly, noting proportions and making quiet suggestions about fabric cuts that would reduce waste. Cinderella noticed her sharp eye immediately.
When the final maid was measured and dismissed, the courtyard emptied, leaving only fading sunlight and the boutique team gathering their tools.
That was when the raised voices began.
"You overcomplicate everything," the merchant snapped, flipping through the ledger.
"I am simplifying," the girl insisted, trying to keep her tone steady. "If we standardize base sizes, we can reduce alteration time. It will save cost in the long run."
The merchant scoffed. "You read two trade manuals and suddenly you lecture me? Girls do not understand business logistics."
Cinderella paused mid step.
The girl stiffened. "I only meant—"
"You meant to overstep," he interrupted sharply. "Enough. Return to where you came from. I will handle negotiations myself. Only if you weren't my friend's daughter, I would have never allowed a girl in my business."
He waved dismissively and strode toward the carriage, the two workers hurrying after him in uneasy silence.
The girl stood alone in the courtyard.
Her shoulders sagged slowly, doubt creeping across her face like evening shadow.
Cinderella approached quietly. "I heard," she said gently.
The girl blinked, embarrassed. "I spoke out of place."
"Did you?" Cinderella asked.
The girl hesitated. "Perhaps I do not understand as much as I think."
Cinderella remembered a conversation not long ago, Anastasia's voice firm and unwavering. Girls can do anything they choose. So can you. She stepped closer.
"My father once owned a clothing business," Cinderella said calmly. "It struggles now. But I plan to revive it."
The girl looked confused. Cinderella met her eyes directly. "Join me."

Silence.
"Revive it with me," Cinderella continued. "We can build something better. With structure. With ideas. With courage." The girl stared at her, startled by the certainty in her tone.
"I… do not understand," she whispered.
Cinderella smiled. "You will."
And the evening breeze carried the beginning of something neither of them fully grasped yet.
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