The next morning, the queen and Rowan met again. This time there were diagrams. Many diagrams.
Rowan pointed to one. "Here are the trials I suggest:"
Trial One: Etiquette. How to greet, how to bow, how to not trip on a hem.
Trial Two: Intelligent test. Thinking logically, solving problems, and giving realistic answers if possible.
Trial Three: compatibility test. Showing their thinking as a compatible partner of a king and strong enough for a queen.
The queen nodded loudly. "Good. Add conversation trial. A queen must speak well - to nobles, to peasants, and to old ambassadors who talk for six hours about fish."
Rowan scribbled quickly. "Conversation... and fish endurance."
"Also," the queen continued, "They must show kindness. We will place small tests. A fallen handkerchief. A frightened rabbit. A nervous servant. We shall see who helps."
Rowan grinned. "Devious."
The queen did not deny it.
He flipped to another diagram. "Finally, judgment day. The prince shall meet the remaining candidates and choose his favorites."
The queen pressed a finger to her lips. "But we must not tell him they are candidates at first."
Rowan nearly dropped his ink pen. "Majesty... that is trickery."
"It is wisdom," she corrected. "If he knows, he will panic and say no to everyone just to escape."
Rowan sighed. "True."
They both stared at the diagrams in heavy silence.
"This is a plan of war," Rowan whispered.
"No," the queen said, straightening her crown. "This is a plan of marriage."
* * *
The palace woke before sunrise. Servants rushed through halls carrying fresh flowers, polished silver, and enough tea cups to hydrate an army. Rowan ran in circles directing everyone and nearly collided with a vase twice. It was a miracle the vase survived.
Everyone is busy preparing for the upcoming chaos. From guest room to dinning hall to preparations for trials. Cinderella has taken the kitchen as her domain and she is the boss level: 1000.
Lady Beatrice is busy following the stewardess. Thus Anastasia and Drizella are in trusted with the guest room preparation.
Anastasia is jumping from guest room to kitchen to linen room then again guest room.
By mid-morning, the noble carriages rolled in one by one, decorated in ribbons, crests, and the occasional unnecessary unicorn engraving. The girls stepped out with perfect posture, glittering gowns, and expressions that said I may faint but I shall faint gracefully.
The queen stood at the top of the grand staircase. Calm. Regal. Slightly tired already.
When the last carriage arrived, servants guided everyone into the ballroom. The candidates gathered in neat rows, trying to look cheerful and not terrified.
Rowan whispered to the queen, "There are twenty-seven, Your Majesty."
"Good," the queen murmured. "Twenty-seven is manageable."
"Until they start talking," Rowan added.
"Do not curse us yet," the queen warned.
The grand hall buzzed softly as the princess candidates gathered-silks rustling, fans fluttering, whispers darting like sparrows.

The Queen stood at the front with Rowan and Adrien flanked on either side, both holding thick folders that looked far too serious for anything related to marriage.
"Ladies," the Queen began, voice smooth and commanding enough to silence even the most determined whisperer.
"Welcome. As you know, this is not simply a matter of appearances, charm, or a decorative curtsey. A future queen must show competence, discipline, and grace-preferably without fainting under pressure."
Several girls straightened nervously.
Rowan cleared his throat as if to say She's not joking.
The Queen continued, gesturing to a large schedule hung up behind her.
"Your evaluation will take place over three days, each day focused on a different skill basic to queen life."
She pointed with her scepter-not threateningly, just with flair.
Day 1 - Day-to-Day Etiquette
"You will be tested on comportment, correspondence, table manners, posture, and conversational etiquette," the Queen announced.
"The palace endures many formal visits, negotiations, and social interactions. We cannot have a queen who panics at small talk or elbows ambassadors for the last dessert pastry."
Rowan nodded gravely. "That actually happened once."
The ladies blinked in horror.
Day 2 - Intelligence test
"On the second day," the Queen said, "you will be invited to a debate ceremony. This tests knowledge, intelligence, logic and your will to listen to someone even if you do not like them."
A few candidates snickered. The Queen didn't-clearly speaking from personal experience.
"The ceremony must be executed with decorum," Adrien added, "and without killing. Or burning anyone. Unfortunately, this must be spoken aloud for reasons."
Day 3 - Compatibility
"On the third day," the Queen declared,
"you will perform a structured ballroom dance. Partners will be provided"-here she glanced at Rowan and Adrien,
both already regretting their professions-"to assess coordination, rhythm, and ability to follow the lead."
"And stamina," Rowan muttered. "Someone fainted last year."
Adrien elbowed him discreetly.
The Queen concluded, voice grand once more:
"After these three days, the palace will deliberate. Letters will then be sent to the households of those deemed suitable for the final selection."
And I'll add a few more tests of my own.
She snapped her fan shut with satisfaction. "We are seeking a queen-not chaos."
"But we do allow a manageable amount," Rowan whispered, as several candidates swallowed nervously.
A line of servants stepped forward.
"You will each have a private room in the palace guest wing," the queen said. "Your belongings will be brought up. There are rules posted on each door."
Rowan added, "Rule eight is important: no throwing hairbrushes at anyone."
"There will be no competition in public," the queen continued. "Private competition is allowed, but do use common sense. And do not break anything that belongs to the palace. It is expensive."
Rowan held up a jar. "This is the damage deposit jar. It is not symbolic."
Every girl stared at it with newfound seriousness.
Adjourned, the group bowed and was guided toward their rooms-each already stocked with schedules, instructions, and baffling lists of forbidden disasters.
Once the candidates were gone, Rowan wiped his forehead. "That went better than expected."
"It is only the morning," the queen reminded him. "Do not celebrate yet."
The competition had officially begun.
The palace corridors buzzed as the candidates were led to their rooms. Each room was perfectly furnished: plush beds, polished floors, tiny wardrobes, and-most important-a large parchment of rules pinned above the desks.
Rule One: No fainting in public.
Rule Two: No screaming.
Rule Three: No crying over spilled tea.
Rule Four: No arguing over table placements.
Rule Five: Be polite, always.
Rule Six:....
Almost immediately, chaos erupted.
One girl tripped on her curtains and landed on the bed with a dramatic flop. "The fabric! It is attacking me!" she wailed.
Another candidate tried to open the wardrobe only to have half the hangers collapse on her head.
Someone else began measuring the distance between her chair and the desk with a ruler, muttering about proportional posture ratios.
A third girl sneezed into a teacup and shrieked, sending hot tea onto the floor. A maid, sprinting down the hall, tried to intervene but slipped on a stray ribbon. The chair squeaked in protest, scattering papers.
From the side corridor, Anastasia leaned against the wall, smirking. "They look... hardworking," she said dryly.
Drizella peeked around the corner, arms crossed. "Hardworking or doomed. I'm not sure which."
Another candidate, noticing Rule Five, began practicing a forced smile, grimacing so intensely it looked painful. One girl fainted politely into a chair, then apologized to the chair for the inconvenience.
Anastasia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "We could stay here all day and learn nothing about them... except how fast they panic."
Drizella snorted. "Or how many servants can run simultaneously without tripping."
By the end of the morning, there were tea stains, tangled ribbons, a knocked-over wardrobe, and a chorus of complaints about proper curtseying distances. The palace was technically intact, but just barely.
"Chaos," Anastasia whispered, shaking her head. "And I haven't even moved yet."
Drizella grinned. "Oh, it's only just beginning."
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SIDE NOTE: I love chaos, one heck of a way to find bride 🤣
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.