The royal carriage rocked gently along the misty forest road, its gilded wheels crunching over gravel and fallen leaves. The sun hung low, casting long golden shadows across the ancient pines that lined the winding path. Inside the velvet-lined carriage, the prince sat in anticipation, the letter he received days ago still fresh in his mind: an invitation from a noble kingdom long thought quiet and withdrawn, sealed in crimson wax with the sigil of a phoenix in bloom

The letter spoke of a potential alliance... and possibly, a bride

As the carriage passed through the grand, ivy-draped gates of the Kingdom of Virellia, a tall, crumbling castle loomed into view, its towers kissed by time but still proud against the sky. The carriage came to a smooth halt in the cobblestone courtyard

Waiting at the base of the steps was an elderly woman, draped in deep burgundy robes heavy with gold trim. Her pale silver hair was coiled in elegant waves beneath a thin circlet, and her bosom, despite her age, still commanded attention beneath layers of silk. Her wrinkled face lit up in delight, eyes sparkling with mischief and grace

Queen Valessandra, in her true form, greeted the prince as if he were a beloved grandson. She moved slowly, feigning a slight stoop, one ring-clad hand clutching a carved cane, though she clearly had no need for it

"Oh, you precious thing! Welcome, welcome to Virellia! My granddaughter is simply over the moon about your arrival. I'm just the old relic keeping the place warm until she returns from her... charitable errands."

With grandmotherly warmth and an endless stream of baked goods, old stories, and suspiciously tight hugs, she kept up the act, masking her interest behind laughter and supposed doting care. Yet behind her eyes lurked something far more cunning

Hours passed. After a brief rest in the guest wing, the prince was summoned to the palace garden for a private meeting

There, beneath the cascading wisteria, stood a young, radiant beauty. She wore the same deep burgundy, now clinging to a full, voluptuous figure that seemed sculpted by divine indulgence. Golden curls spilled down her back, her skin aglow with youth, her lips curved in a knowing smile

"Ah, you must be the prince," she purred, voice honeyed and soft. "Forgive the confusion. That charming old woman from earlier? My grandmother. She insisted on greeting you first, such a traditional soul."

She curtsied low, the movement both elegant and suggestive. "I am Lady Vessa. But you... you may call me yours, if you wish."

And just like that, the trap was set. The prince had no idea the queen and the granddaughter were one and the same