The royal carriage rolled through moonlit countryside, its wheels whispering secrets over cobbled roads. Inside, Prince Lucien Alaric sat in reflective silence, one gloved hand resting beneath his chin, the other lazily holding a velvet pouch of lemon drops he hadn't touched. His gaze was distant—fixed not on the stars, but on a girl with sugar on her cheek and rebellion in her voice.
Across from him, Darian Volt observed the prince with the patience of a man who had seen him survive near-assassinations, formal galas, and a sword duel with a duke. But apparently, nothing had left His Highness quite so introspective as spending an afternoon with a sarcastic barefoot noble and her divine fox.
"You've been quiet since tea," Darian said, adjusting the cloak draped across his lap.
Lucien blinked once, slowly. "She's… not what I expected."
Darian raised a brow. "Is that a complaint?"
Lucien gave the faintest of smiles. "No. It's a surprise. A strange, delightful one. Like biting into a tart and finding lightning instead of lemon."
Darian stared. "You've officially gone poetic."
Lucien didn't deny it. "She's nothing like the nobles I've grown up around. No masks. No pleasantries. Just… unfiltered commentary and baked goods."
"And a kitsune who steals finger sandwiches," Darian added dryly.
Lucien's expression softened. "She's honest. Strange. Refreshing. I want to understand her better."
"Understand her, or propose to her?"
The carriage rocked slightly as silence stretched again. The prince didn't answer immediately. Then, at last, Lucien's voice returned, calm but weighted: "Let's not pretend the choice is entirely mine. But if it were… I'd rather know the girl first."
Darian, ever composed, simply nodded. "Then start with that."
Back at the Vellion estate, Arila was halfway through a very undignified meltdown.
Her room looked like the aftermath of a dessert-themed battlefield. Chocolate wrappers littered the floor like defeated soldiers. A half-assembled spellbook lay open on her bed, covered in sticky caramel fingerprints. And in the eye of the sugar storm stood Arila Vellion herself, wearing bunny-print pajamas and a warlord's expression, waving a spoon of cookie dough like a sword.
"I was normal!" she hissed to no one in particular, pacing furiously. "I was doing so well. No fires! No explosions! No emotionally compromising sparkly moments with royalty! And then—boom—marriage subplot unlocked. What is this, an otome game with a chaos DLC?!"
Ninko, currently curled atop a pile of discarded decorative pillows, licked marshmallow fluff off his paw without concern.
"Don't look at me like that," she snapped. "You saw how his eyes did that sparkly anime thing. That is illegal. That's main-route behavior. I'm not the main character! I'm the background NPC who hoards snacks and doesn't die in the first arc!"
There was a polite knock on the door. Lira peeked in, took one look at Arila in full panic-cookie mode, and slowly backed out.
"I'm fine!" Arila shouted after her. "This is just magical emotional stability in its final form!"
She flopped backward onto her bed, dramatically letting the spoon fall to the floor.
Ninko yawned.
Morning dawned far too cheerfully for Arila's taste. Golden light poured into the estate, and with it came the winds of chaos.
The Royal Summons had arrived on official parchment that looked far too smug. It declared, in shiny calligraphy and excessive flair, that Lady Arila Vellion is formally invited to attend orientation week at Divine Royale Academy.
The Vellion household descended into stylish madness.
Evelaine was already weeping into embroidered napkins while directing staff to pack Arila's best dresses—none of which Arila had any intention of wearing.
Caelan was calmly reviewing magical contracts, enrollment scrolls, and a checklist that included "emergency enchanted lockpicks" for reasons he didn't disclose.
Lira was having a mental breakdown in four directions at once, especially after the luggage trunk rejected Arila's third pair of sneakers as "aesthetic violations."
And Ninko? He was sleeping on a crate labeled Important Magical Confectionery Supplies, tail swishing smugly.
In the middle of it all, Arila stood with a chocolate-covered spoon and the face of someone staring down a cursed prophecy.
"I'm not ready," she announced to the room. "I haven't finalized my cake empire. I haven't memorized the school's escape routes. I still can't ice-skate on magically frozen lakes without faceplanting into a pine tree."
"You'll be brilliant, darling," Evelaine cooed, adjusting a lace-trimmed scarf around Arila's neck. "Just… maybe don't explode anything on your first day."
"Or if you do," Caelan added cheerfully, "make sure it's educational."
Arila squinted. "You're both way too calm about sending your unhinged sugar gremlin daughter into a magical noble academy with romance flags around every corner."
Evelaine sniffled, dabbing her eyes with dramatic flair. "Our little spark is growing up."
"I'm going to die surrounded by glitter and attractive people," Arila muttered.
Lira returned, holding a list that was probably cursed. "We still need to finalize your accessories, toiletries, wand oil, anti-chafing salve, and your emergency dessert stash—"
"I'm not going to the front lines," Arila groaned.
Lira looked at her like she absolutely was.
Meanwhile, back at the palace, Prince Lucien sat alone in his private study, fingers absently trailing the edges of an unopened scroll. The morning light filtered through frosted windows, catching in the pale silver of his hair.
He was not known for distraction, but his thoughts kept circling back to the girl with storm magic in her fingers and powdered sugar on her nose.
Darian entered without knocking.
"Update: Vellion girl accepted her orientation invitation. She's going."
Lucien didn't look up. "I know."
There was a pause. Then, softly, Lucien added, "It'll be interesting."
Darian leaned on the doorway. "That's one word for it."
Lucien's gaze turned contemplative again, like he was looking past the study walls and into a future he didn't quite understand.
"She's like lightning in a storm," he murmured. "Powerful. Unpredictable. Impossible to look away from."
Darian blinked. "Are we talking about Arila or a potential assassination plot?"
Lucien finally cracked a smile.
Back at the estate, Arila was staring at her fourth packing list like it was a death sentence. Books. Robes. Magical ink. Spell-resistant hair clips. More books. And one trunk marked Snack Rations – Extremely Essential in all caps and glitter pen.
Ninko sat on top of it, licking his paw, looking smug and superior.
"You know," Arila said, voice low and grave, "we could just fake my death. Burn a mannequin. Say I was tragically eaten by my own dessert experiment."
Ninko flicked his ear in what she interpreted as profound disappointment.
"You're right," she sighed. "Too obvious."
Lira bustled in with a checklist taller than she was. Evelaine followed, dramatically adjusting Arila's cloak like she was sending her off to slay a dragon and not just attend a magic school.
Caelan offered a thumbs-up and a pastry pouch "for morale."
As the trunks were closed and enchanted to hover, Arila stood at the door, arms crossed.
"Divine Royale Academy, huh?" she muttered. "Bring it on. But if they ban dessert buffets… I will riot."
Ninko sneezed in agreement.
To be continued…