MY SASSY PRINCESS

THE DINNER TRAP

Chapter 2

If Arabelle had a coin for every time she’d been forced into a gown she hated, she’d have enough to buy her own queendom — one without ballrooms, etiquette tutors, or painfully stiff corsets.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Her mother had summoned her — no, threatened her — into attending the welcome feast for Prince Darius. Every noble house was invited, every seat was filled with expectant smiles and backhanded compliments, and every dish smelled too rich for comfort.

“I look like a pastry,” Arabelle grumbled, glaring at her reflection as her maid tightened the laces of her pale gold gown.

“You look stunning, Your Highness,” the maid said with practiced obedience.

“I look like I’ve been dipped in butter and rolled in lace.”

Still, she allowed herself to be led into the Great Hall. The chandeliers sparkled. The string quartet played something tragic. And the nobles turned, bowing and murmuring greetings as she walked in — late, of course.

She caught sight of Prince Darius seated near her father. He stood the moment he saw her.

*Ugh, perfect posture too.*

“Princess Arabelle,” he said, offering his hand with that maddening smile. “You clean up well. I was beginning to think you only wore tree sap and sarcasm.”

She placed her gloved hand in his and replied sweetly, “And I thought you only came in one flavor — boring.”

The nobles chuckled nervously, unsure if she was joking or starting a war.

Darius leaned in just slightly and whispered, “You know, if we’re going to pretend to like each other for the sake of diplomacy, you might want to try *not* threatening my pride in public.”

She smirked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

They took their seats beside each other at the long royal table. The dinner dragged on with dull toasts and even duller conversation. Nobles prattled on about hunting seasons, trade routes, and their children’s questionable harp talents.

Darius turned to her midway through the second course. “So, tell me, Princess. What do you do for fun when you’re not ambushing knights or sabotaging suitor dinners?”

“I start rebellions in my head,” she said, sipping her wine. “And plan my escape from tedious evenings like this one.”

“And here I thought I was charming company.”

She raised a brow. “Oh, you’re charming. Like a toothache.”

Before he could respond, a court musician plucked a dramatic note, and her father, King Edric, stood to make a speech.

“Tonight, we welcome Prince Darius of Westmoor, who has traveled far in the spirit of peace and unity between our kingdoms…”

Arabelle zoned out. She’d heard this script a hundred times before. Every word felt like a chess piece being moved on a board she hadn’t agreed to play.

But her ears perked up at the last line.

“…and it is our hope that in the

To be continued....