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The Grand Ballroom of the Royal Palace. Soft candlelight flickers across high ceilings and glimmering chandeliers. Laughter, music, and elegance fill the room.
The ballroom was aglow — like a page torn from a fairytale.
Musicians played a soft waltz beneath an arched ceiling adorned with golden vines.
Servers moved gracefully through the crowd, offering sparkling wine and sweet citrus hors d'oeuvres.
I stood at the top of the staircase as the grand doors opened. A hush swept through the room.
I was breathtaking.
Clothed in a gown of shimmering silver and pale lavender silk, the fabric hugged my slender frame and fell in soft waves behind me like starlight spilling across the marble floor.
My dark curls were pinned half-up with pearl combs, loose tendrils framing my delicate face.
A single crystal rested at my throat — subtle, regal, and commanding.
I looked like a vision.
A dream draped in elegance.
The future of the kingdom.
The nobles stared in quiet awe. Lords and sons alike watched me with parted lips, murmuring to one another.
Even the Queen's ladies paused mid-step.
But it was Rye who stood waiting at the base of the staircase, offering his hand with a practiced smile.
He was dashing in a deep navy coat, his house crest etched in silver along the sleeve, his dark hair perfectly in place.
And as I descended, my fingers slipped into his as naturally as a story reaching its final page.
We entered the ballroom together — a picture of harmony.
"They look made for each other," someone whispered.
"The perfect match," said another. "He keeps her steady."
I smiled gently at the comments, acknowledging each nod with the grace expected of me.
I bowed slightly to the nobles, offered thanks to the distant cousins of visiting lords, and received every compliment with practiced poise.
But my eyes… my eyes often flicked to the side doors, or the windows, or the balconies —
as if looking for someone who would never appear.
"Drink?" Rye asked smoothly, offering me a glass.
I nodded. "Thank you."
"You're doing beautifully tonight," he said, stepping closer.
"You've become the very image of a queen."
I tried to smile. "I'm only trying to survive the evening."
He chuckled and leaned in just slightly, whispering near my ear.
"Let them think you're floating above them, Evelynne. The higher they believe you are, the more power you hold."
I turned to look at him — his confident posture, the way he held my hand without truly touching my heart.
"You really do know how to play this game," I murmured.
"I've spent years watching kings and queens," he said softly.
"And now I get to stand beside the one who'll rule next."
The words struck something in me — pride? Confusion?
A hint of something that felt too sharp to define.
The music shifted into a slow waltz. Rye extended a hand.
"May I?"
I hesitated. Then nodded.
He led me into the center of the ballroom, where nobles cleared the floor. All eyes turned toward us — the princess and the nobleman's son.
The rhythm of the dance swirled around them, my gown twirling like clouds, his steps measured and poised.
He moved as one — like clockwork, like poetry.
And yet… I felt like I was watching myself from far away.
Like a porcelain figure on display.
Like I was dancing in a dream I hadn't chosen.
But I smiled anyway. Because I knew how.
And everyone watching believed it was real.
******
The Grand Ballroom, glowing with golden light and hushed music. I and Rye are in the center, all eyes on them.
we moved in perfect time — My dress swaying with every turn, my feet gliding across the marble like I was made for this world of elegance.
The candlelight caught in my lashes, the soft blush on my cheeks, the curve of my smile.
To the watching crowd, I was dazzling.
To Rye… I was a crown waiting to be claimed.
"You're the most beautiful thing in this room,"
he whispered, voice velvet-smooth, barely loud enough over the music.
I glanced up at him, a flicker of surprise in my eyes.
"You're just saying that."
"I'm not." He twirled me, then brought me close again.
"I've never seen you look like this. There's a glow about you tonight… like something out of a dream."
I tried to laugh it off, but my smile faltered.
"You're laying it on rather thick."
Rye leaned down slightly, his lips close to my ear.
"Forgive me. It's just hard to keep my distance tonight."
My breath caught. I didn't pull away — not yet.
The waltz slowed, the notes stretching into softer, lingering chords.
The crowd faded around us, the world narrowing to just the two of us beneath the grand chandelier.
"I've never seen your eyes shine like this," Rye murmured.
"You're not just a princess, Evelynne. You're becoming a queen. And I—"
He brushed his fingers lightly along my jaw,
"—would be the proudest man alive to stand beside you."
"Rye…" I whispered, uncertain.
He tilted his head, his hand gently guiding me closer.
"Just one kiss," he said, his voice like a thread of silk.
"To mark this moment. To show you I'm not going anywhere."
He leaned in, lips nearing mine.
But I didn't close my eyes.
My heart beat too loud. Not with anticipation — but confusion.
A hollowness filled my chest, as if something important was missing from this moment. The music, the lights, the warmth —
it all felt like it belonged to someone else's story.
And in the corner of my mind, a different pair of hands held mine.
A different pair of eyes stared at me with a love that didn't need rehearsing.
A voice that didn't flatter — just knew me.
Rowen…
Rye's lips hovered close — almost touching —
I turned my face just enough that his kiss landed on my cheek instead.
A moment of pause. Not rejection, but… not acceptance, either.
My eyes were glassy. "I… I need some air."
I stepped away, bowing my head slightly, and walked toward the balcony.
Gracefully. Regally. But with something shaking deep beneath the surface.
Rye stood still in the center of the ballroom, his jaw tight, his smile flickering — only for a second.
Then he turned, bowed slightly to the crowd still watching, and followed at a distance.
He wouldn't push tonight.
But he would not give up.