Episode 1: “A Match Made in Magical Mayhem”

Main Characters:

Princess Liora Solaria

Magic type: Light illusions + charm spells

Personality: Think Regina George meets Elle Woods but secretly lonely and emotionally deep.

Favorite spell: Glamours, fake smiles, and sparkles that blind her enemies.

Secret: She doesn’t want to rule—she wants freedom.

General Riven Thorne of Umbra

Magic type: War magic, dark energy, elemental control

Personality: Stoic, broody, thinks flirting is a strategic weakness

Favorite weapon: Literally a sword made of lightning

Secret: He writes poetry about her in his journal. No, you can’t read it.

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Scene: Royal Announcement Hall, Solaria Palace

Princess Liora Solaria adjusted her glittering tiara with the grace of someone who knew she looked good in a scandal. The hall was packed—nobles, journalists, even a few nosy fae—and every single one of them waited with bated breath.

“Smile,” her mother whispered through clenched teeth. “You’re making history.”

“No, Mother,” Liora replied, eyes locked on the man across from her. “I’m making a terrible decision.”

Enter General Riven Thorne of Umbra.

Tall, dressed in char-black armor laced with cold silver, and wearing the exact expression of someone who’d rather be fighting a dragon than attending a royal engagement party. His arms were crossed, his jaw clenched, and his lightning eyes locked with hers like they were already mid-duel.

Liora hated him instantly.

Which was inconvenient, considering they were now betrothed.

“Princess Liora Solaria,” the High Chancellor announced. “Do you accept this union for the good of both realms?”

Liora plastered on her best “I’m not panicking” smile. “I accept… under magical protest.”

The crowd chuckled.

“And General Riven Thorne?”

He didn’t even blink. “I accept. She’ll learn discipline eventually.”

Liora turned her head so fast it nearly broke royal protocol. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said what I said.”

Their magical auras flared on instinct—golden shimmer against crackling blue. Half the crowd stepped back. One poor duke fainted into his wine.

“Oh, you’re going to regret saying that,” she whispered sweetly.

“I already do.”

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Scene: Later that evening, in the Grand Ballroom

It was supposed to be a diplomatic waltz. Instead, it was a battlefield with string music.

Liora stepped onto the dance floor in a gown enchanted to sparkle brighter with every insult she delivered. Riven’s storm-magic shimmered around him, making his cape float like he thought he was some kind of tragic romantic hero.

He took her hand. Electricity met light.

“Try not to step on me,” she murmured.

“No promises,” he replied.

They danced. They spun. They traded barbs sharp enough to cut glass.

But when her heel slipped—just slightly—he caught her. Hand firm at her waist. Eyes locked.

And for a breathless second, the war quieted.

“You don’t like me,” she whispered.

“No,” he said. “But I’m starting to understand you.”

Liora’s heart did something traitorous. But instead of responding, she twirled away, leaving behind a trail of glitter and confusion.

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