The last note of the waltz faded, leaving the ballroom wrapped in soft applause and glittering lights.
Charlotte stepped away from the Prince, trying to steady her breath. Every part of her felt too warm, too aware. She murmured a polite excuse and slipped out of the hall before her voice could betray her.
The palace corridor was dimmer, lit by golden sconces that washed the walls in gentle circles of light.
She leaned against a marble pillar, trying to calm the storm inside her. The dance still echoed in her veins. The Prince's touch remained on her hands like warm memories refusing to fade.
She whispered to herself, barely audible, "I must leave before I lose all sense of reason."
For a moment she allowed her eyes to close.
Then she heard footsteps behind her.
Slow and
ntentional.
Her eyes opened at once. She turned and saw the hooded man from the ballroom standing at the far end of the corridor. His cloak blended into the shadows. His mask was smaller, plain, revealing the sharpness of his jaw and the cold focus in his eyes.
Charlotte swallowed and forced herself to remain still. "Can I help you, my lord?"
He stepped closer. "Help me? No. But you may answer a question."
She tried to maintain a noblewoman's confidence. "If it is appropriate."
"Oh, it is." His steps were soft and dangerous. "Do you often hide under borrowed feathers, Charlotte?"
Her entire body went cold.He knew her name.
"I do not know who you think I am," she managed. "My name is—"
He cut her off with a quiet laugh. "You can lie to the ballroom. You can even lie to the Prince. But you cannot lie to me. I know those eyes. I know that face. Fairwell Manor leaves marks on its servants."
She stepped back until her shoulders met the wall. Her hands trembled at her sides. He reached for her mask.
His fingers were inches from touching it when a firm voice broke across the corridor.
"Step away from her."
The Prince emerged from behind a marble archway, his presence as sharp as steel. His expression was no longer warm or amused. It was royal, cold, commanding.
The hooded man stiffened. "Your Highness."
"You are out of place," the Prince said. "And too close to someone who clearly wishes to be left alone."
The hooded man gave a slow nod, but his eyes lingered on Charlotte. "My mistake. I did not know she was under your protection."
The Prince's jaw tightened. "Leave."
The man slipped into the shadows and vanished down another corridor without a sound. Charlotte released a shaky breath. She hadn't realized she had been holding it.
The Prince stepped toward her. His eyes searched her face through the mask. "Are you hurt?"
"No. I'm fine," she said softly, though her voice trembled slightly.
"He should never have touched you," the Prince said. "Nor spoken to you in that manner."
"I must have drawn trouble," she whispered. "I seem to be doing that all night."
"Trouble follows those worth watching," he said quietly. Then his voice softened. "And you are worth watching."
Her breath faltered and offered his arm and she accepted it. He guided her away from the empty corridor toward a balcony where soft night air drifted inside. The moonlight fell across her mask, casting delicate shadows down her cheeks.
He leaned on the railing beside her. "Tell me the truth. Is this truly your first royal gathering?"
"Yes," she said.
"You seem overwhelmed."
"Tonight is unlike anything I have ever known."
"And yet," he murmured, "you carry yourself with surprising grace."
She almost smiled. "I spilled wine on the palace floor."
"One mistake," he replied. "And a memorable one."
She shook her head, but a small laugh escaped her. It softened something in him. For a brief moment, they stood together quietly, both watching the moonlit garden below.
That quiet ended abruptly.
"Your Highness!"
Lady Arabella swept onto the balcony in a storm of shimmering silver. Her eyes widened dramatically as she saw them standing close.
"So this is where you disappeared to," she said sharply. "With her."
Charlotte tensed. The Prince exhaled slowly, already tired of the confrontation.
Arabella turned to Charlotte. "You seem to enjoy hiding behind masks. How convenient for someone who does not belong here."
"Lady Arabella," the Prince warned.
But she stepped forward and lifted her hand toward Charlotte's mask. "Let us see the face you hide so carefully."
The Prince caught Arabella's wrist before she could touch her.
"That is enough."
Arabella froze, shocked. "You would defend her over me? Over someone you have known for years?"
The Prince's expression remained cold. "I will defend any guest under my protection. Leave us."
Arabella's breath trembled with humiliation. She cast a final venomous glare at Charlotte and turned sharply, vanishing back into the ballroom.
Charlotte stared at the floor. "I'm sorry. I never meant to cause problems."
"You caused none," he said firmly. "Arabella seeks attention. You were an easy target."
Before Charlotte could respond, guards sprinted past the balcony entrance. Their boots echoed loudly through the halls. Urgent whispers followed behind them.
"Someone tried to enter the Queen's private wing."
"Masked intruder. Could not be identified."
"Slipped past the guards."
The Prince's posture shifted. He looked out into the hall with narrowing eyes.
"The hooded man," Charlotte whispered.
The Prince met her gaze. "Stay where I can see you. Do not wander. Do not speak to anyone unfamiliar. Do not remove your mask."
His voice was strict, but his eyes held a different message. A worried one. A protective one.
"I will return," he said, and rushed toward the Queen's wing.
Charlotte remained still, her breath unsteady. She placed a hand on her mask.
Then a whisper brushed her ear.
"Charlotte."
She turned. The hooded man stood in the far doorway, watching her with unsettling calm. The shadows clung to his cloak. His eyes shone with recognition and something darker.
This time he did not pretend ignorance. He knew exactly who she was.