After months on war-torn highways, Charlotte and her convoy finally returned to the palace, but the once familiar splendor of the royal halls felt distant and alien. The lavish balls, the sequined gowns, the ceaseless succession of courtly pageantry—all of it seemed foreign now. What had once been a golden cage now felt like a dark monument to all that had been lost. The sounds of music and laughter, once so frequent and inviting, had faded into an unsettling silence—like a sanctuary that could no longer protect her from the political waves her actions had set in motion.
Charlotte had changed during her time away. She was no longer simply Princess Charlotte the Mischievous, a name once spoken with a wink and a laugh. She had grown into something else, something more formidable. Now, with Mira at her side, she was a symbol of healing, of rebirth, and of the future—a stark contrast to the kingdom's dark past. The moment she and Mira passed through the palace gates, the courtiers, the nobles, and even the servants couldn't help but glance. Some looked with admiration, while others watched with suspicion. Some viewed Mira as a liability, a reminder of the upheaval Charlotte had brought upon them. Yet others, calculating and opportunistic, saw her as an instrument—a political pawn in a game they had yet to fully grasp.
The first to voice her objections was none other than Lady Anastasia. Still bitter from her loss in the portrait duel, Lady Anastasia's disdain for Charlotte's return was palpable. The sight of the princess walking through the palace halls with the quiet, orphaned girl by her side sent her into outright contempt.
"The princess comes back with a stray," Lady Anastasia sneered to one of her supporters, her eyes narrowing as she watched Charlotte glide past her. "Do we really have to be burdened with some orphan who can't even speak for herself? What message is that sending to the aristocracy? A sign of weakness, perhaps?"
Her words, sharp and venomous, slithered through the air, and the courtiers around her murmured their agreement. But Charlotte, who had long been accustomed to such criticism, paid it no mind. The whispers and stares were nothing new. The moment she entered the palace, she turned toward her chambers, Mira following quietly behind her.
"Let them talk," Charlotte said with a glint of mischief in her eyes, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. She inhaled deeply, as though savoring the sting of Lady Anastasia's venom. "Let them think what they will. They'll soon discover that power isn't always about appearances or words. Sometimes, it's about what you stand for. And right now, they'll see the weight of that symbol."
In the royal palace, Charlotte could not bear the thought of Mira being seen as anything less than an equal. The quiet child, once lost in her trauma, had quickly become her closest companion—her partner in crime. Mira's reserved nature made her the perfect counterbalance to Charlotte's more theatrical personality. Together, they forged an unbreakable bond, one that no amount of whispering or judgment could sever.
One afternoon, as the grand banquet was being prepared in the royal hall, Charlotte felt the stirrings of mischief. Palace staff had been working tirelessly to perfect an extravagant feast, a grand show to welcome her back. But Charlotte, true to her nature, had other plans.
With a conspiratorial gleam in her eye, she grasped Mira's hand.
"Come along," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Mira, ever the silent shadow to Charlotte's brilliance, followed without question. They crept through the halls, unseen by the bustling servants, until they arrived at the royal kitchens.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasting meats and simmering sauces. The chefs, frantically plating the dishes, had prepared a feast worthy of the grandest occasion. Among the offerings was a perfectly roasted pheasant, surrounded by delicately arranged vegetables—an artwork of culinary precision. Charlotte's eyes sparkled with mischief as she surveyed the scene. She knew exactly what she had to do.
With a wicked grin, she signaled to Mira, who, though silent, understood the game. Without a word, Mira moved quietly toward a nearby table, where a small bowl of salt was resting, ready for seasoning. She scooped up a generous handful, her movements swift and practiced, the kind of silent sabotage that could only be executed by someone accustomed to moving unseen.
Charlotte's heart pounded with excitement as she watched, her fingers trembling with anticipation.
"Just wait," she whispered, struggling to suppress her laughter. "In a few minutes, this banquet will be the talk of the kingdom."
They took cover behind a pillar, just out of sight from the kitchen staff. The chefs continued their work, blissfully unaware of the impending chaos. Finally, the golden pheasant was placed on a highly polished silver platter, ready to be presented to the guests.
Charlotte and Mira exchanged a quick glance. The moment of mischief was nearly upon them.
When the first guest, a pompous duke, took a bite of the pheasant, the entire room held its breath. In an instant, his face twisted with confusion, then disgust. His mouth opened in shock, the overwhelming taste of salt flooding his senses. He struggled to mask the horror on his face, but it was too late.
The room froze. The chefs rushed to the dish, alarmed by the sudden turn of events, but it was already ruined. Charlotte could no longer contain herself. A muffled laugh escaped her lips, and she ducked behind the pillar, with Mira standing silently beside her, a mysterious, knowing smile on her face.
"Princess!" one of the chefs cried out, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Who—?"
Charlotte emerged from her hiding place, her expression wide with feigned innocence. "I have no idea," she said sweetly, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "But it seems we've had an... unfortunate turn of events."
The chefs scrambled to salvage the dish, but it was too late. The banquet would be the subject of kingdom gossip for days to come, and Charlotte and Mira—partners in mischief—would forever be remembered for their unforgettable role in the evening.
As the chaos unfolded, Charlotte couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. In the end, she knew the power of a symbol—a symbol of rebellion, of change—was far more potent than any extravagant feast on a platter.