Chapter 7
1366words
In a secluded palace storeroom, Anastasia berated Ariel, resembling a fund manager watching her portfolio crash in real time.
"You possess unique differentiation factors, exceptional physical attributes, and refined bearing—these are your core competitive advantages! Yet what have you done with them? You follow the prince around like some unpaid companion animal! When he reads, you sit there vacant-eyed; when he walks, you trail behind like a lovesick puppy! Are you pursuing a relationship or performing volunteer work?"
Ariel gazed at her pitifully, pointed to her throat, and shook her head.
"Vocal limitations are no excuse for substandard performance!" Anastasia dismissed the excuse outright. "Communication has countless channels! Your fundamental problem is undefined market positioning and nonexistent product promotion! The prince remains completely unaware of your unique value proposition!"
She paced the room frantically before stopping abruptly, her eyes gleaming with strategic brilliance.
"No, we must seize the initiative. Starting today, we implement 'Prince Acquisition Strategy: Phase One.'"
The first step: "brand image enhancement."
That evening, Anastasia "temporarily acquired" the most stunning gown from the palace laundry and "borrowed" jewelry from an unsuspecting countess.
"Put these on," she tossed the finery to Ariel. "Remember, you're not some desperate beggar pleading for affection—you're a limited-edition luxury item. Make him feel privileged to have your attention."
Step two: "core value proposition demonstration."
At the prince's birthday celebration, noble ladies performed elegant but indistinguishable court dances. Anastasia nudged Ariel: "Showtime. Ignore the pain in your feet—consider it 'production overhead.' Now go execute your 'product launch.'"
Ariel inhaled deeply and stepped onto the dance floor. Her performance was utterly unique—a vibrant fusion of oceanic rhythms and human movement. Each spin evoked seaweed dancing in currents; each leap recalled dolphins breaching waves. Though each step brought excruciating pain that blanched her face, her gaze toward the prince radiated warmth that could thaw the deepest winter.
The entire hall fell silent. The prince's gaze, for the first time, truly lingered on this mysterious silent girl. He stepped forward and claimed dance after dance with her.
Step three: "scarcity marketing."
"Beginning tomorrow, limit your appearances," Anastasia instructed Ariel after the ball. "Never let him think you're readily available. We must create perceived scarcity to enhance your market value."
Under Anastasia's meticulous direction, the situation progressed favorably. The prince grew increasingly captivated by Ariel. He took her for seaside strolls, presented her with exquisite shells, and shared his deep connection to the ocean.
As an observer, Anastasia clinically analyzed every development.
"According to my behavioral metrics, the prince's average gaze duration toward the target has increased thirty percent, while his interaction initiation frequency has risen fifty percent. His smile curvature when facing her exceeds that shown to other noblewomen by approximately twelve degrees..." she calculated privately.
But some variables defied her calculations.
She couldn't comprehend why Ariel's eyes shone with such radiance when looking at the prince—as if her very soul had caught fire.
Nor could she fathom why the prince wore that foolish smile when facing Ariel, expecting nothing in return.
"What inefficient emotional expenditure," she thought scornfully on multiple occasions. "We could simply drug him, force the issue, and arrange a hasty wedding—project completed in twenty-four hours."
Yet despite these cynical thoughts, watching Ariel's day-long happiness stemming from a single gentle glance from the prince stirred something strange and unquantifiable within her.
She attributed this sensation to "anticipation of project completion."
Finally, one evening, the prince confessed to Ariel: "I believe I've fallen in love with you. But... as a king's son, I must honor my obligations. My father has arranged my marriage. Tomorrow, a princess from the neighboring kingdom arrives. If she isn't the one who rescued me from the sea, I'll ask my father to cancel the arrangement and marry you instead."
Hearing this, Ariel's face drained of color, yet she nodded with tear-filled eyes.
Anastasia, eavesdropping from the shadows, nearly ground her teeth to powder.
"Idiot! World-class moron!" she mentally screamed at the witch. "At this critical juncture, she should be sobbing hysterically, creating a scene, or threatening self-harm! She should be revealing herself as his rescuer! What does nodding accomplish? Is she actually accepting these absurd terms?!"
"This is an inevitable narrative junction," the witch's voice remained impassive.
The following day, the neighboring princess's fleet arrived at port. The princess was beautiful and regal. Stepping onto the dock, she immediately addressed the prince: "My dear prince, we meet again. That day by the sea—it was I who rescued you."
The prince stood stunned. He looked from the princess before him to Ariel, standing ashen-faced in the crowd, his eyes reflecting inner turmoil. Eventually, honoring his "promise," he took the neighboring princess's hand and announced their engagement.
The palace buzzed with wedding preparations, while two souls silently shattered.
One was Ariel.
The other was Anastasia.
"Warning: Target 'Ariel' has triggered 'Terminal Dissolution Protocol.' Twenty-four hours remaining until complete entity liquidation," the witch's notification resonated.
Anastasia glanced from the distant celebrations of the prince and his fraudulent fiancée to Ariel, now hollow with despair. Rather than surrendering to hopelessness, she laughed with fury, her eyes igniting with combative determination.
"Entity liquidation? Did I authorize this outcome?"
She cracked her knuckles with sharp, decisive pops.
"A calculated hostile takeover attempt, blatant identity fraud, and they believe they can appropriate my meticulously developed acquisition target?"
"Do they genuinely believe I, the senior consultant, am merely decorative?"
"Cry! Cry! CRY! Is that your only skill set?!"
Anastasia kicked open the storeroom door and unleashed a blistering tirade at Ariel, who huddled in the corner, nearly dehydrated from endless tears.
"In twenty-four hours you'll be nothing but sea foam, and you're wasting time on tears? Channel that energy into exposing that fraud!"
Ariel raised her puffy, desperate eyes and silently shook her head.
"Fantastic. I knew you'd be useless." Anastasia rolled her eyes, pacing irritably. "That con artist succeeded solely by claiming the 'prince's savior' title, correct? If we simply prove she's lying, doesn't that solve everything?"
"You," she jabbed a finger at Ariel, "stay here and think about what, besides your voice, proves your oceanic origin. I'm going to secure witnesses."
Anastasia bypassed the library entirely, heading straight for the palace stables. She'd observed that the stable master was a notorious drunkard and gambler—precisely the type who responded well to both bribes and threats.
She found him secretly drinking and flicked a glittering fake gem—plucked from her borrowed dress—onto the ground before him.
"I need information."
The stable master's eyes lit up as he snatched the gem. "Ask away, m'lady, ask away!"
"Were you present when the prince washed ashore after the shipwreck?"
"Yes, yes! I was among the first guards to reach him!"
"Excellent." Anastasia leaned closer, dropping her voice. "At that moment, beside the prince, apart from sand and seaweed, was anyone else present? Perhaps... the neighboring princess?"
The stable master hesitated, clearly wanting to fabricate something, but meeting Anastasia's penetrating gaze, he shuddered and answered truthfully: "No... nobody. His Highness was alone. That Princess arrived by ship, through the main harbor. The port captain would know best."
"Perfect." Anastasia nodded, satisfied with this confirmation, and turned to leave.
"And... what about my gemstone?" the stable master called softly after her.
"Keep it. If anyone asks tomorrow, you know what to say, correct?" Anastasia replied without turning. "Deviate by even one word, and I'll inform everyone how you gambled away the entire month's feed budget for the royal horses."
The stable master trembled visibly, nodding frantically.
With testimony secured, she still needed conclusive physical evidence.
Anastasia returned to her quarters and withdrew a small conch shell from her bodice—the "bonus clause" she'd insisted on adding to Ursula's contract: a magical shell capable of recording Ariel's voice once.
"See this?" she waved it triumphantly before Ariel. "This is professionalism! This is what we call a 'contractual contingency clause'! The detail that saves everything at the critical moment!"
She instructed Ariel to sing her finest melody into the shell. The hauntingly beautiful voice was perfectly captured within.
"Perfect," Anastasia tucked the shell away carefully. "Come, my esteemed client. We have a wedding to attend—and crash spectacularly."
