In the days that followed the King's return, Charlotte found herself drawing ever closer to her mother. The palace bristled with tension. The King's newfound affection for a commoner had sent shockwaves through the court, disrupting alliances and raising eyebrows. But Charlotte—clever, sharp, and just the slightest bit theatrical—saw an opportunity.
If the King had chosen someone else, then so would she.
She turned to the one constant in her life: her mother, the Evil Queen.
Charlotte had always admired the Queen's ruthless brilliance. She was fierce, calculating, and impeccably dressed—even while plotting someone's downfall. And lately, she had become more commanding than ever. The King's distance, the whispers of rebellion, the commoner girl—all had galvanized the Queen into action. Watching her move through the court with unshakable purpose, Charlotte couldn't help but want to be just like her.
One crisp afternoon, Charlotte found herself in the Queen's chambers, a cavern of dark silks and glittering chandeliers. Papers were scattered across the great table, marked with the wax seals of noble houses and foreign emissaries. But Charlotte was not interested in diplomacy.
She was interested in mischief.
"Mother," she said, climbing into a velvet chair with a grin far too wicked for a six-year-old. "What if we caused a little chaos? For fun. Maybe a few well-placed rumors to spice things up?"
The Queen paused, raising one elegant eyebrow. Then, slowly, a smile curled on her lips. "My darling," she said, her voice smooth as silk and twice as sharp, "you have a mind for mischief. How utterly delightful."
And so, side by side, they began to plot.
Their first victim? The royal gardeners. Lately, the palace's prized rose bushes had grown wild and untrimmed. It was unacceptable. Naturally, the Queen and Charlotte decided this could be spun into a scandal. They spread the tale that the flowers were "overgrowing with jealousy"—a romantic overreaction to the King's excessive attention to the commoner.
Next came a clumsy ink spill on a handful of official correspondences, courtesy of Charlotte. While the staff panicked and scribes screamed, the Queen calmly redirected attention with a single arched brow. The court was thrown into harmless disarray, and Charlotte had never laughed so hard in her life.
Each prank was small, precise, and deliciously disruptive. As days passed, mother and daughter became an inseparable team. Their laughter echoed through the palace corridors—cool, elegant, and always just a little menacing.
Charlotte realized something then: her father had never shared this side of her. With him, everything had been stiff and somber. But with her mother? With her mother, she was alive.
And the King—well, he was fading into the background. Every time Charlotte saw him now, he was with her. The commoner. The girl with soft eyes and ordinary manners. Charlotte offered him pleasantries when necessary, but the warmth between them was gone. He no longer called her his little princess. He barely looked at her.
So be it.
Charlotte no longer needed him.
With the Queen, she was learning how the palace truly worked—not with rules and reason, but with whispers and winks and power hidden in plain sight. And the Queen, for all her poise and cruelty, adored Charlotte's budding flair for drama.
As the weeks passed, the Queen's influence seeped deeper into Charlotte's heart. They orchestrated subtle pranks, spun rumors like golden thread, and toyed with the court's expectations like cats with string. The Queen's praise was Charlotte's greatest reward. And in those moments—those delicious moments—they weren't just mother and daughter. They were a team. A force.
The King, meanwhile, remained oblivious. His world revolved around stolen glances and garden strolls, lost in a romance that was far too simple for the complexities of court life. Charlotte could already see the cracks forming.
One evening, as they sat in the Queen's chamber sipping elderflower cordial from crystal goblets (Charlotte's had only the faintest splash of cordial, the rest was sweetened water), Charlotte leaned in conspiratorially.
"Mother, we should make the next royal ball a bit... more interesting," she said, her eyes glittering with wicked ideas.
The Queen, now thoroughly amused, arched a brow. "Oh? Do tell, my love."
Charlotte leaned forward, whispering her plan in exquisite detail. The Queen's laughter—low and knowing—was the only reply she needed.
The King may have returned changed.
But Charlotte and the Queen?
They were just getting started.