The Queen summoned her son at an hour that should have been illegal. Adrien arrived half-awake, Rowan trailing behind with the expression of a man who'd been dragged through three meetings before breakfast.
"Adrien," the Queen began, folding her hands with the seriousness of a military council, "have you found any suitable bride?"
Rowan straightened as though asked personally.
Adrien blinked. "I-what? Just now? It's morning."
"So you haven't," the Queen concluded, making a note on a parchment that already worried Rowan.
"And," she continued, "is that why you brought that girl... mmm... Ella to the palace? To marry her?"
Adrien nearly choked. "W-what? No! She's just being given a chance to adjust and- and- no."
Rowan lifted a hand. "For the record, I also did not bring Ella here to marry."
"No one thought that," the Queen said, dismissing him entirely. "So you don't love her?"
Adrien pinched the bridge of his nose. "I- no, Mother. She's kind and clever and I'm glad she's safe but- no. Not like that."
The Queen nodded slowly, the kind of nod that meant she understood absolutely nothing.
"Very well," she said, rising with a regal air that terrified both men. "If you won't handle it, I will. Rowan, fetch the list."
"What list?" Rowan asked.
"The list of eligible noble daughters, of course. Ages, horoscopes, family alliances, musical abilities, temperament-"
"You made a list?" Adrien asked.
"Of course I made a list," she said, as though other queens knit sweaters instead. "Rowan, go!"
Rowan jogged out, muttering, "I knew I should have transferred to the cavalry."
Adrien tried to protest, but it was too late. The Queen was already planning a tea reception, a music recital, and what sounded suspiciously like a formal evaluation of embroidery skills.
"And we'll start discreetly," she said.
Nothing about it would be discreet.
Rowan returned with the infamous list as though it were a condemned scroll. The Queen spread it on the table, parchment unfurling like it intended to escape. Names were categorized into alarming sections:
Promising
Potential if coaxed
Unpromising but well-connected
and finally:
Let's not if we can help it.
"Mother-what is this?" Adrien asked, horrified and fascinated at the same time.
"A structured approach to problem-solving," she replied, circling a name in red ink. Rowan winced as though that person had been sentenced to battle.
The Queen assigned him the worst tasks: personality profiling, family reputation checks, and-unfairly-sight confirmations.
"Sight?" Rowan repeated.
"Well," the Queen said delicately, "we must know if they have... presence."
Rowan decided not to ask further.
By afternoon, the Queen had turned her private sitting room into an operational headquarters. Couriers dashed in and out, secretaries whispered titles and surnames like war generals assigning troops.
Naturally, the palace could not conduct anything quietly. By supper, the rumor mill was at full spin:
The Queen seeks a bride for the Prince.
No, twelve brides-he must choose!
No, forty brides-some imported!
The Prince is sickly and needs heirs quickly.
No, the Prince is heartbreakingly romantic and refused all suitors.
No, the Prince ran away and the Queen is choosing for him.
By nightfall, a servant swore she heard the Prince would marry twins to solve succession issues.
"How would that even work?" Rowan demanded at dinner.
"It doesn't," Adrien muttered, stabbing vegetables with stress.
"I miss when rumors were boring," Rowan sighed.
Word traveled downhill at alarming speed: by the time gossip reached the servants' building, it had mutated into folklore.
Anastasia and Drizella are relived from their punishment but Cinderella has taken the whole kingdom's chores on her shoulder. Therefore, they follow Cinderella occasionally to ensure no one else is being accused of treating her as servent.
Also to sneak some royal pastries and tea.
Drizella nearly choked on her tea. "The Prince is what?"
"Searching for a bride," the maid in charge said, delighted at the drama. "Queen herself is running the hunt!"
Cinderella blinked. "Hunt sounds... intense."
"Oh please," Anastasia muttered. "At least your name isn't on the list of suspects for treason anymore. We're back to potential brides. Progress."
Drizella clutched her chest. "Imagine us at court again! Though, knowing our luck, we'd be categorized as 'Unpromising but occasionally amusing.'"
Cinderella giggled while Anastasia rolled her eyes into the middle distance.
Stepmother sniffed, adjusting her apron. "Well, at least they are looking upward. A monarchy should be practical."
No one addressed the fact that she was already strategizing.
The queen called Rowan to her private sitting room. The room smelled of lavender and warm tea. Papers were stacked in tall piles on the table. Rowan stared at them like they were a wild beast ready to bite.
"We must be smart," the queen said. "The kingdom expects us to choose a bride for my son with care."
Rowan nodded, though his eyes drifted to the cakes on a tray. "Yes, Your Majesty. Very... smart."
The queen tapped her finger on the table. "First, invitations. Only noble houses with daughters of proper age."
"How proper?" Rowan asked.
"Seventeen to twenty-three," she answered.
Rowan wrote it down, licking crumbs from the corner of his mouth. "And what about behavior?"
"Polite, educated, no scandals." The queen sighed. "And must not faint when greeting the prince. That happened before. Very awkward."
Rowan tried not to laugh. "Noted."
The queen stood and paced. "Second, trials."
"Trials?" Rowan tilted his head. "Like battles?"
"No! Skills," the queen said. "They must dance, speak, and show grace. They must know how to hold a cup of tea without spilling."
Rowan imagined a line of girls trying not to drop tea cups. He scribbled faster.
"And third," the queen continued, "dresses. They must wear gowns that show taste, not madness. No giant feathers. I cannot tolerate more feathers."
"Yes, Majesty. No birds."
The queen paused, thinking deeper. "Appearance matters, but character matters more. The future queen must care for the people and for the palace. She must not fear rules. There are many rules."
Rowan sighed. "I will prepare a list of all the rules, but it may take a week or two or... forever."
The queen smiled for the first time. "Good. Now, last step. We will observe how the candidates act with each other. A queen must handle rivals with dignity."
Rowan shivered. "That will be... intense."
"Yes," the queen said, looking out the window. "But the prince deserves someone strong, kind, and smart. Not just pretty."
Rowan closed his notebook. "Invitations, trials, gowns, rules, and rival behavior. I shall begin right away."
He hurried out, nearly bumping into a servant. Papers flew everywhere. The queen watched him and shook her head fondly.
"This will be chaos," she whispered. "But we will manage."
Rowan returned with a stack of scrolls under his arm. They dripped in all directions like cooked noodles. The queen stared at them with worry.
"Are those the family lists?" she asked.
"Yes," Rowan said proudly. "I wrote the names of all noble houses. Then I cut off the ones with daughters who are too young, too old, or rumored to have cursed mirrors."
The queen blinked. "Cursed mirrors?"
Rowan shrugged. "Palace gossip. Not confirmed."
The queen chose not to ask more.
She spread the scrolls across the table. "We must not overwhelm the palace. We need only twenty candidates."
Rowan raised a brow. "Only twenty? But what if the prince dislikes all twenty?"
"Then we expand to thirty... but never forty. Forty is chaos."
Rowan nodded. He imagined forty girls fighting for tea seats. Terrifying.
Next came the invitations. The queen paced as she spoke. "The letters will be sealed with the royal crest. Each house must send a carriage escort. The girls must arrive with proper manners and fresh breath."
Rowan paused his writing. "Should we check breath at the gate?"
The queen waved her hand. "Discreetly."
He scribbled: breath inspection-secret.
"I will also inform Adrien," the queen added. "He will organize the ballroom, food, and guards. Guards are needed. Noble daughters can be... spirited."
Rowan swallowed. "Should we warn the prince?"
The queen sighed. "No. He will fly from the palace if he hears this plan too soon."
They looked at each other, both imagining the prince sprinting into the forest.
The queen pressed her palm to the table. "This must be perfect. A future queen is not chosen often. And I will not let the wrong girl sit on that throne."
Rowan bowed. "Then we shall begin."
He gathered the scrolls, though several escaped and rolled under furniture. The queen pretended not to notice and returned to her tea.
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SIDE NOTE: since Cinderella isn't going to be the bride, queen have to take it upto her hand. Please look forward to the chaos coming with the bride hunt. 😅😅
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