Episode 1.

Arabella's POV

“Happy birthday, Ari dear.” Mom squeezed me tight, but our moment was cut short by the crisp clearing of a throat.

“I believe it is my turn with my little princess,” Dad announced, stepping forward with a wide grin. I slipped easily into his embrace, winding my arms around his waist.

“Happy birthday, Pup,” he murmured, his voice muffled against my hair.

I pressed a soft thank you against his shirt just as Mom dismissed herself. “I have to finish cooking.”

He held me tighter, a sigh escaping him. “My little girl is finally growing up. You've become a beautiful, smart, and kind young woman, Ari. I am so profoundly proud of you. You will be an amazing Queen.”

The weight of his conviction hit me instantly. When I pulled away and searched his eyes, I saw no royal duty—only raw honesty and deep, paternal pride. My own eyes blurred, relief mixing with joy. It wasn't just anticipation for the crown; it was the sudden, overwhelming realization that he truly believed in me.

“Mommy! Daddy made Ari cry!” A small, frantic voice accused, followed by two insistent arms wrapping tightly around my shins.

Aaron, my younger brother, peered up at me, his brow furrowed with serious kindergarten logic. “You shouldn’t cry on your birthday. You have to be happy.”

I laughed, scooping him onto my hip. “I am happy, squirt. These are happy tears.”

He gave me a look of profound, six-year-old disbelief. “I know what will make you happy!” He leaned in, beckoning me closer with a tiny, urgent hand. I lowered my ear to his mouth, and he clamped his small palm around my lobe like a secret vault.

“Mommy said not to tell,” he whispered dramatically, "but she made chocolate waffles with strawberries for breakfast. And whipped cream, too.”

Plucking him back onto the floor, I grinned, ruffling his hair until it stood up in spikes. “I am ecstatic now!” I cheered, and Aaron celebrated his successful mission by latching onto my legs.

“Aaron,” Dad suggested smoothly, “why don’t you help Mommy set the table?”

Aaron nodded and dashed off. When he was gone, Dad's tone shifted, becoming low and serious. “You and Asher are leaving at dawn tomorrow.”

I nodded, the reality settling in, and followed him toward the delicious smell of breakfast.

Aaron took my hand and towed me toward the dining table, stopping proudly before my seat. “Ari! I got you a special plate!”

When I looked down, a wave of nostalgia hit me. It was the ceramic plate I’d painted in sixth grade. “Mommy said you made this when you were little.” The design was simple: a crude, but unmistakable, golden crown. It was the future I'd envisioned before I could even understand the word 'destiny.'

“I remember that,” Dad murmured, leaning over my shoulder. “You told me you couldn't wait to be a big girl so you could wear your mother’s crown.”

“And you told me I had to wait,” I countered, the memory sharp and sweet, “because Daddy still needed his little princess.”

“Mommy, can we eat now? I’m hungry,” Aaron whined, cutting off our moment. Dad chuckled and took a seat.

“Come here, squirt. You can sit next to the birthday girl.” Aaron’s pout vanished, replaced by a face-splitting grin. He yanked the chair next to mine and scrambled onto the cushion.

“Chocolate waffles for the birthday girl!” Mom announced, sweeping back in. The platter was laden with square, dark waffles, each adorned with glistening, ruby-red strawberries. She placed the bounty in the center, and the aroma alone was heaven. We all took a portion. My stomach actually growled in anticipation.

“Ari, help me,” Aaron whispered urgently from my side.

“With what, buddy?” I asked, already planning my first bite.

I turned and immediately dissolved into laughter. Aaron had achieved maximum culinary disaster: a strawberry was floating in his juice, his entire waffle swimming in a sea of whipped cream, and chocolate syrup was smeared across the table surface. Kids truly were a force of chaos.

“No more whipped cream for you, young man!” Mom scolded, snatching the aerosol can just as Aaron tried to spray a direct stream into his mouth.

Dad chuckled, confiscating the can. “More for me, then,” he teased, squirting a clean dollop directly into his own mouth, making Aaron pout.

I used the opportunity to scoop a bit of cream onto the tip of Aaron’s nose. “Hey!” He scrubbed at it, only managing to spread the white streak across his face like badly applied sunblock. I laughed so hard, my vision blurred with tears.

When the laughter finally subsided, I wiped my face—and realized my plate was empty.

“What the heck?!” I stared. Mom hid a laugh behind a cough.

Dad pointed, and there was Aaron, happily devouring the last of my waffles. “Very yummy,” he announced, crumbs dusting his chin.

Mom handed me another plate, and we settled into eating and sharing that rare, golden moment—the kind you wish could last forever.

But it won't. Tomorrow, the comfortable rhythm breaks. Tomorrow, I leave with Asher. Tomorrow, I set out to find my mate, the future King.

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