If anyone was qualified to fake a royal scandal, it was Lina of the Laundry Wing, also known as The Chaos Queen among palace staff.
So when Princess Elara whispered in the moonlight garden, "We need a plan," Lina had grinned like a fox in a jewelry shop.
"We'll fake a scandal so juicy," she whispered, "the Queen will be too busy covering it up to force a wedding. Bonus points if it ends with Cassian fleeing to a monastery."
"I'm listening," Elara said.
"First," Lina said, fingers steepled like a master criminal, "we'll plant evidence of a torrid affair. You and Arian, passionate and forbidden. Something the nobles can sink their pearl-draped teeth into. Then, we let the gossip fly."
"Won't that ruin my reputation?"
"Sweetheart," Lina smirked, "if we do it right, they'll think you're a tragic heroine. Betrayed by the crown, enslaved by duty, rescued by love. The people will be obsessed."
Elara blinked. "That's… evil genius."
"I accept that compliment."
Step One: The Ambush
Arian was not expecting Elara to pull him into a linen closet and start unbuttoning his shirt.
"Elara—what—are we robbing the laundry? Are you trying to strangle me with silk?"
"We're faking a scandal, remember?"
She tossed a discarded cravat around his neck, tousled his hair, and kissed him breathless just as Lina barged in, screaming at the top of her lungs.
"OH SAINTS ABOVE, THE PRINCESS IS IN A CLOSET WITH A HALF-NAKED MAN!"
Arian's eyes bulged. "That was fast!"
Lina winked. "I've got ears in the ceiling and bribes in every chamber pot. The staff will spread this faster than a fire in a haystack."
Elara fixed her gown, looking deliciously disheveled. "Do I look scandalous enough?"
"You look like you invented sin," Lina said proudly.
Step Two: The Ball
Three nights later, the Queen hosted the Banquet of Binding—a glorified pre-wedding royal ball where Prince Cassian was expected to dance with his future bride under glittering chandeliers while nobles fawned and gossiped.
Elara entered like a bombshell in red.
Not royal blue. Not virgin white.
Red.
Silk hugged her curves, her golden hair was pinned with jewels, and her lips were painted to match blood and rebellion.
Every head turned.
Cassian froze mid-toast.
Lina whispered, "Perfect. They think you're either seducing the kingdom or planning to burn it."
Elara smiled. "Why not both?"
Across the ballroom, Arian stood in borrowed finery, smuggled in by Lina under the identity of "Lord Ironwood of the Southern Timberlands."
Which was hilarious because he'd spent the morning trimming goat hooves.
Their eyes met.
It was electric.
She walked past Cassian, who offered his hand.
She didn't take it.
Instead, she walked straight to Arian and said, "Care to dance, my lord?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
He bowed, smirking. "I thought you'd never ask."
The Dance
They danced like no one was watching.
Correction: Everyone was watching, and Elara wanted them to.
She twirled into his arms, hips brushing, fingers lingering on his jaw. Every look said, I'm his. Every breath said, I dare you to stop me.
Cassian stared, goblet clenched, eyes stormy.
The Queen looked like she was seconds from ordering an execution.
Lina fanned herself dramatically. "That's it. That's our scandal. We can go home now."
But it wasn't over.
Because after the dance, Arian whispered, "Meet me in the east wing terrace. Midnight."
And Elara nodded.
The Terrace
The moon was high. The stars were nosy.
Elara found him there, leaning against marble, hair wind-swept, eyes hungry.
"You shouldn't have kissed me like that in front of everyone," she said softly.
"You shouldn't have worn red."
"You looked like you wanted to devour me."
"Only because I do."
He pulled her close, hands at her waist. Her lips parted. They kissed like the night might swallow them whole.
Elara's fingers slid into his hair. "We shouldn't—"
"I know."
"But I want to."
"I know."
They kissed again, slower this time. His lips brushed her collarbone, her hands slipped under his coat. It was heat and heartache and the dangerous joy of being alive.
"I'll marry you right now," Arian whispered. "No palace. No crown. Just you and me and the goats."
Elara laughed into his neck. "What kind of wedding has goats?"
"The best kind."
"I'd wear linen."
"I'd kiss you under a tree instead of a throne."
She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "If we survive this… I'll say yes."
He smiled, forehead pressed to hers.
And for a moment, they were free.
Elsewhere… Trouble Brews
Cassian was watching from the shadows.
He saw it all.
The laughter. The kiss. The fire.
His knuckles turned white around the pommel of his sword.
He wasn't just losing his bride.
He was losing control.
He turned to the guard beside him. "Send word to Westerholt. Tell my father… Plan B is in motion."
The guard hesitated. "Plan B, Your Highness?"
Cassian's smile was cold.
"If I can't win her heart, I'll take the throne by force."