Click!

Paris wasn't done yet. She saw the need to capture as many pictures as she could. The royal dining room was a masterpiece, a breathtaking display of luxury with its high ceilings, golden chandeliers, and long, polished table overflowing with an array of gourmet dishes. Even though Paris was accustomed to such opulence, there was something uniquely majestic about the palace, something that made every moment feel like it needed to be immortalized.

She could already imagine the attention that she was going to get once she shared these pictures with the world—proof that she was dining with the king, queen, and future king of Breton, of course she had to get the Queen's permission to do so first.

Raising her phone a bit higher, she adjusted the angle to include more of the lavish spread before her. She pouted slightly, finding just the right expression to match the grandeur of her surroundings.

Click!

It was best to get as many shots as possible before the royal family made their entrance. Though the room was already filled with a sense of ceremony, Paris couldn't care less about the maids and attendants quietly bustling around the table. Her focus was on the perfect selfie.

"Don't you think it's enough pictures for one day, Paris?" The voice of Denise Vurton, her stepmother, broke through her concentration. Denise sat beside Paris' father, who was still buried in his papers, oblivious to everything around him. "The king will be here soon."

"So what?" Paris snapped, taking one last photo before lowering her hand and shooting a sharp look at Denise. Her tone was dripping with disdain as she fixed her gaze on the pale-skinned woman with blonde hair and bright blue eyes across from her. Denise always had something to say, and it never mattered to Paris.

"I'm just saying," Denise continued with a sigh, trying to maintain a calm demeanor, "we need to present composure in front of the royal family—"

"The royal family isn't here yet, are they?" Paris interrupted with a scoff, dismissing Denise's words with a wave of her hand.
"And since when was any of this your business? What do you know about composure in the presence of the king and royalty?"

"I was just—"

"Stop giving your unpopular and unsolicited opinions to people, and maybe—just maybe—your rusty womb might actually work again, and you could have kids of your own to give your useless advice to. I'm obviously fine without it," Paris spat out, her eyes narrowing as she delivered the cruel words.
"don't need it."

She couldn't see it but the court ladies had exchanged worried glances at each other, quite shocked at how she spoke.

Denise let out a shaky breath, her composure slipping as the hurt settled in. But surprise? No, she wasn't surprised. This was just another day in the life of being Paris' stepmother.

The relationship between Paris and Denise had always been fraught with tension. Ever since Oliver Vurton, Paris' father, had announced his intention to marry Denise shortly after Paris' mother's death nine years ago, the rift between them had been set in stone. Despite Denise's countless attempts to reach out, to care for Paris, the young woman had never accepted her, or shown her kindness. To Paris, Denise was a pathetic and laughable replacement for her mother, someone who didn't belong in their lives.

Paris took every opportunity to remind Denise of her perceived shortcomings, particularly her inability to conceive a child. To Paris, this was the ultimate proof of Denise's uselessness to the Vurton family. Denise, on the other hand, was nothing but kind and supportive, always trying to bridge the gap, but Paris never allowed her an inch of progress.

"Paris!" The cold voice of her father, Oliver Vurton, cut through the air, pulling her attention back to him. He lowered the newspaper from his face, his stern gaze locking onto hers. "We are at the king's palace, and in a few seconds, we will be in the presence of the king. I will not have you embarrass this family or disrespect your mother this way, especially in front of the king."

Oliver Vurton.

It wasn't hard to see where Paris had inherited her sharp tongue and aggressive demeanor. The prime minister of Breton was a formidable man, one of the most feared in the kingdom. Power wasn't just something he wielded—it was something he embodied. The Vurtons had long been a pillar of Breton's foundation, their influence stretching back generations. They were one of the few families who could challenge the royal family's supremacy, and Oliver was determined to secure his legacy by marrying Paris to the prince, solidifying the Vurtons' place at the top of Breton's social hierarchy.

For Oliver, the royal throne was the ultimate prize, and he would stop at nothing to achieve it. This dinner was just another step in his grand plan, a crucial piece of the puzzle that would ensure his family's dominance.

Paris rolled her eyes, but Denise quickly looked away, knowing better than to push the matter further. As much as Paris loved to provoke, she wasn't about to jeopardize this moment for her father. The occasion was too important, too vital to their family's future. She reluctantly handed her phone to the court lady behind her, who hurriedly stepped forward to take it just as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the room.

Another lady in palace uniform entered, her hands folded neatly in front of her thighs, her head bowed in deference. The sharp clicks of her five-inch heels against the marble floor drew everyone's attention as she approached.

"His royal Majesty-the King, her Grace-Queen Vanessa, and his highness-Prince Aiden, will be joining you now," she announced, her voice respectful and measured.

Oliver was the first to rise, followed by Denise and Paris. Paris felt a flutter of excitement in her chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation. She quickly checked her reflection in the polished surface of the table. Was her makeup still perfect? Was her hair in place? She cursed herself for not keeping her pocket mirror before handing her bag over at the security checkpoint.

She bit her lip and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as the footsteps grew louder. This was it—the royal family was here, and she was about to see him. She had been waiting for weeks.

The prince wasn't someone you could just bump into whenever you wanted. His schedule was always packed, and their engagement wasn't until three days from then. Paris didn't have the power to visit him whenever she liked, and even if she did, Aiden always found a way to avoid her. He never made time for her, always using his schedule as an excuse. But tonight, she would finally see him again, and that was all that mattered.

Paris' face lit up the moment a tall man entered, his presence commanding the room. Dressed in an exquisite suit, every detail meticulously crafted, he held a golden scepter in his right hand—a symbol of his authority and power. King Albert. The sovereign monarch of Breton, the most powerful man in the kingdom.

His face was adorned with a warm smile, but beneath it lay an aura of authority that demanded respect. He was a man who had fought tirelessly for his kingdom, a ruler beloved by many—though not all. King Albert was not just a leader; he was a symbol of Breton's strength and stability, a man who had worked alongside the nation's elite to build a country that was secure and prosperous.

Beside him walked Queen Vanessa, equally regal in her demeanor, and finally, Prince Aiden, their son, taking his time with both hands tucked into the pockets of his perfectly fitted black trousers. His houndstooth plaid shirt was neatly tucked into one side of his trousers, and his sleeves were rolled up just above his wrists, showcasing his diamond-studded wristwatch.

Aiden was a sight to behold. His tall, athletic frame and piercing gaze made him stand out even among royalty. His presence was magnetic, but his expression was one of practiced indifference. Black was his favorite color, and he wore it well. Tonight, his hair was straightened and styled into a center-part mullet, a departure from his usual curls or bun. Yet despite his striking appearance, there was an unmistakable air of distance about him—a coldness that made it clear he was not here by choice.

"Your majesty" Everyone chorused some together, some one after the other as they bowed their heads in unison. The Vurtons stood in perfect reverence as the royal family approached the table.

Oliver kept his head lowered until he felt the warm, reassuring hand of King Albert on his arm, gently pulling him up. If only Oliver could muster a smile in return, but he was too focused, too intent on the gravity of the situation.

"Thank you for honoring my invitation," the king said, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with Oliver's stoic demeanor. He turned to Denise and Paris, his smile genuine. "All of you."

Oliver nodded in acknowledgment, watching as the king made his way to the head of the table. Queen Vanessa took her place at his right, and Aiden settled into the chair at his left.

"We are indeed humbled," Queen Vanessa began, her voice smooth and gracious. "We have prepared a gift for all of you. Please, do not stand on ceremony, join us."

Paris could hardly contain her excitement. She hurried to the seat closest to Aiden and took it, practically brushing against him as she sat down. The space between her parents and the royal family seemed vast, but she was right where she wanted to be—next to Aiden, soaking in his presence.

The king chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he observed Paris' eagerness.

"It looks like Paris missed you a lot, Prince Aiden," he remarked, his voice filled with amusement.

Queen Vanessa's smile widened. "You should visit the palace more often, Paris. I'm sure the prince would love to welcome you."

Aiden's eyes remained on the table, his expression unreadable. He felt Paris's shoulder graze his, her enthusiasm palpable, but it only deepened his annoyance. He let out a quiet, controlled breath, fighting the urge to roll his eyes where they could see.

"Thank you for the flowers," Queen Vanessa said, turning to Paris. "I received them today. They are beautiful as always."

"The pleasure is mine, Your Highness," Paris replied, turning her gaze to Aiden with a hopeful smile. She wanted so badly to connect with him, to bridge the distance between them. "Did you like your gift, Your Highness?"

Aiden's eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly, then shifted to the others at the table who were watching him intently. He knew they were waiting for his response, waiting to see if he would acknowledge her efforts. His expression remained neutral.

"It was alright," he said flatly, turning back to his plate. "Thank you."

Not the response she was expecting and she fought deep within herself not to show it but a frown slowly carved itself on her lips, as she pouted in disappointment. The king, sensing the tension, cleared his throat and turned his attention to Oliver as the maids began serving the food.

"It gladdens my heart to see how well our families are getting along," the king began, his tone full of pride and optimism. "Our children have grown so close, and their union will be one of the most significant in the history of Breton. You and your family have been loyal to the throne for generations, Oliver. I am confident that when my son becomes king, with your daughter as his queen, the fate of Breton will be in great hands—strong and united."

Oliver's expression softened slightly at the king's words, though his eyes remained as calculating as ever. Paris, on the other hand, felt a warm glow of pride and accomplishment. This was what she had been raised for, what she had been working towards her entire life. Compliments from the king himself—it was everything she could have hoped for.

"You honor us with your words, Your Highness," Paris said, her voice filled with determination. She turned to the queen, her eyes shining. "My family will continue to serve the royal family and our country with utmost loyalty. I look forward to helping the prince fulfill your dreams for Breton. Together, we will ensure that the legacy of the royal family lives on, strong and wise, for generations to come."

Aiden couldn't help but let out a small, almost imperceptible scoff. The grandiosity of her words, the rehearsed sincerity—he could barely stand it.

"Oh my," the king chuckled, clearly pleased with Paris's display of loyalty and ambition. "You see, Oliver, this is why I am so eager for their union. Your daughter will make an excellent queen—so wise and well-spoken."

Oliver smirked slightly, satisfied that Paris had made a good impression.

"Perhaps we should just go ahead and wed them immediately," the king suggested with a light-hearted tone, though there was a seriousness behind his words.

Aiden's grip on his fork and knife tightened slightly. Paris's face lit up at the suggestion, her eyes widening with excitement.

"What do you think, Denise?" the queen asked, turning to Paris's stepmother, who had been sitting quietly throughout the exchange. Denise looked up, slightly startled by the sudden attention.

"Your Highness?"

"You've known Paris since the day she was born," the Queen continued. "You've been by her side, caring for her ever since her mother passed. If anyone knows Paris well, it's you."

Denise glanced nervously at Paris, who was glaring at her, silently urging her to say the right thing. But Denise could see the uncertainty in Paris's eyes, and it weighed on her heart. She knew what was expected of her, but she also knew she couldn't lie.

"Y-Your Highness," Denise began, her voice trembling slightly. She felt the weight of everyone's gaze on her, the pressure to say something that would please both Paris and the royal family. But her conscience wouldn't allow her to simply play along. "To be honest, I don't think there's anything Paris isn't capable of. She's strong, smart, and determined. She can handle any responsibility that comes her way."

Paris's lips curled into a small, satisfied smirk. But then Denise continued, and Paris's smirk faded into a deepening frown.

"But," Denise hesitated, knowing her next words would be unwelcome. "I also think that both the prince and Paris are still so young. They have their whole lives ahead of them, and many experiences to live before taking on the responsibilities of marriage. I believe they deserve the time to enjoy their youth, to complete their education, and to fully prepare for the roles they will one day assume."

Aiden exhaled quietly, relieved that someone else was finally saying what he had been thinking all along. Oliver's expression darkened, a deep frown creasing his forehead as he stared at Denise, barely able to contain his frustration.

"Really?" the queen asked, her curiosity piqued. "But you know, the king and I married when we were young, almost as young as Aiden and Paris. Being queen is the highest honor, a great responsibility that must be assumed at a young age, and a big privilege greater than any of us. What more could Paris want to do before becoming queen?"

"Forgive my wife, Your Highness," Oliver interjected, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "What she means is—"

"I don't think she's entirely wrong," Aiden interrupted, his voice calm but firm. All eyes turned to him, including Paris, who looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear. "Times have changed. The world is different now from when you and father were young. I believe Mrs. Vurton is only suggesting that Paris should have time to enjoy her youth, to fully prepare herself for the pressures of being queen. It's not a role to take lightly. There's no rush for me to marry or produce an heir, especially with you and father still so young and strong."

The king took a moment to consider Aiden's words, his expression thoughtful.

"Hmmm," he murmured, stroking his chin. "The prince makes a valid point. They are still young, with their whole lives ahead of them. Perhaps we should focus on the engagement for now and let everything else unfold naturally, in due time."

The queen smiled warmly, turning to Paris, who was struggling to hide her disappointment.

"Don't be sad, Paris," she said gently. "As a mother myself, I understand that your mother only wants what's best for you, and we shall respect her wishes. Why don't you and the prince play us a song after dinner? You both used to love playing the piano together when you were younger. It's what brought you two together in the first place."

Paris's mood brightened slightly at the suggestion. She remembered the joy of playing the piano with Aiden when they were children. But things were different now.

"There's this song you both loved to play back then—what was it?" the queen mused, trying to recall.

"Canon," both the king and Oliver chorused, sharing a knowing smile.

"Oh yes," the queen laughed softly. "It feels like just yesterday when you both played together at the royal ball. I would love to hear you play again after dinner. Paris, I'm sure you still enjoy playing the piano?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Paris replied, her smile returning. "I could never forget how to play, even if I lost my memory. It's even better when I play with the prince."

The queen's eyes sparkled with delight as she turned to Aiden, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"My piano skills are quite rusty," Aiden said, trying to find a way out. "I haven't practiced in years, and I've probably forgotten how to play a few notes, especially in Canon."

"You've forgotten how to play?" the Queen asked, her tone one of mild disbelief. "But you used to love playing the piano, Aiden."

Aiden sighed, glancing at Paris before making a decision.

"Would you like to take a walk with me in the royal garden after dinner?" he asked her. "The weather is perfect, and the flowers have blossomed beautifully. We have a lot to catch up on before summer break is over and the Royal Academy resumes."

"S-Sure," Paris stammered, her heart fluttering at the invitation. "I'd love that, Your Highness."

"Good," the king said, pleased with the resolution. "I'm happy to see that everything is going well. Let's eat before the food gets cold."

He smiled warmly before turning his attention to his plate, the rest of the table following suit. Paris, despite her earlier disappointment, felt a surge of hope. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe she and Aiden could finally connect, away from the prying eyes and expectations.

As the dinner began, she couldn't help but glance at him from time to time, wondering what the evening might hold.