Chapter Text
The grand halls of the Royal Palace of Madrid glittered under the warm glow of chandeliers. Laughter and music filled the air as the wedding reception of Prince Pugsley Addams, Count of Madrid, was in full swing. It was a historic moment—a joyous union that brought together royalty and dignitaries from across the world.
Among them, standing near the bar with a champagne flute in hand, was Enid Sinclair—the First Daughter of the United States. She had attended purely out of obligation—diplomacy, her mother reminded her, was a duty.
And she knew exactly who else would be there.
The Princess of Asturias, Wednesday Addams.
Her nemesis.
It was inevitable. Every major international event, every state dinner, every summer program they’d been forced into—Wednesday had always been there, watching with that cold, unreadable stare. Their rivalry wasn’t new. It was practically tradition at this point.
So when Enid caught sight of her across the ballroom, it wasn't a surprise she felt.
It was just the usual annoyance.
It started with a glare across the dance floor.
Enid had been laughing at something Ajax texted her when she felt a pair of cold, piercing eyes on her. She looked up and met Wednesday’s unreadable stare. Dressed in a sleek, black formal suit—because of course Wednesday would wear black to a wedding—she looked regal, elegant, and every bit as insufferable as always.
Enid raised an eyebrow, tilting her glass slightly in a mock toast.
Wednesday did not toast back. Instead, she walked toward Enid with deliberate, slow steps.
“I see they let just anyone into royal events these days,” Wednesday said, her voice as dry as ever.
Enid huffed, setting her glass down. “Well, at least I got invited. Did you have to threaten someone for your plus-one?”
Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “If I had, you would not be here.”
Enid forced a laugh. “Wow. You are really committed to being the worst, aren’t you?”
“And you remain as insufferably cheerful as ever,” Wednesday deadpanned.
“Oh, please.” Enid crossed her arms. “This is your brother’s wedding. Can’t we just pretend to be civil?”
Wednesday leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a near whisper. “I would, but you make it so difficult.”
It was then, in the middle of their argument, that fate intervened.
A waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes passed behind them just as Wednesday took a step closer. Enid, ever the expressive talker, threw a hand up dramatically, catching the waiter’s arm.
The tray wobbled.
“Oh shi—”
A champagne flute tumbled, splashing onto a passing violinist, who yelped in surprise. Startled, he stumbled sideways—
—directly into a server carrying a second tray of hors d’oeuvres.
The server lurched, trying to regain balance, but his foot caught on the edge of a decorative rug.
And then—
The unthinkable.
He staggered backward, colliding with the towering £75,000 wedding cake. Time seemed to slow as the masterpiece swayed precariously before tipping forward.
Directly onto Enid and Wednesday.
Gasps filled the ballroom. The music stopped. The laughter died.
And there, in the center of it all, stood Enid and Wednesday, drenched in layers of expensive vanilla and royal icing.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—
“You have got to be kidding me,” Enid whispered, wiping frosting from her face.
Wednesday blinked, a dollop of icing on her forehead. She turned slowly to look at Enid. “This,” she said, voice dangerously calm, “is your fault.”
Enid gaped. “Me? You were the one—”
“Silence.” Wednesday’s tone was sharp enough to cut through the cake. “I am contemplating whether your diplomatic immunity would protect you from what I wish to do right now.”
Before Enid could respond, Prince Pugsley’s booming laughter filled the room.
“Well,” he said, raising his wine glass. “That’s one way to make an entrance.”
The tension broke. The guests erupted into laughter, applause, and cheers. Even Queen Morticia and King Gomez seemed more amused than horrified.
Enid, covered in cake and fuming, shot Wednesday a glare.
Wednesday, despite everything, smirked.
“I hate you,” Enid muttered.
Wednesday picked a piece of frosting from her shoulder and licked it off her finger. “Likewise.”
And somehow, the feud continued.