The long-awaited debutante ball had at last arrived. The ballroom glittered in chandeliers and golden light, with silks and jewels swirling in time to the music. Ladies shone in their gowns, eager to catch the eye of a nobleman, while young men bowed and begged for dances.
Many approached me, but I declined each one with practiced courtesy. Some looked crestfallen, others annoyed. No matter. I had no patience for trifles. To them, I was untouchable, and I preferred it so.
I chose a seat at the edge of the hall, where I could watch the dancers with clear eyes. The Empire's royal family had not yet made their entrance, though the festivities were already in full bloom.
I am a princess of Orchidia, a small kingdom beneath the Empire's dominion. I am not the only princess here tonight, yet I carry myself as if I were. I am eighteen this year, no longer a child, and though I had delayed my debut for two years, this time I could not escape.
And truth be told—I did not wish to. For tonight, there was one man I intended to meet.
Mr. Pseudo Yul Cato.
He stood apart in the corner, his black hair casting shadows over his eyes, his amethyst gaze distant yet commanding. A freesia lay tucked in his coat pocket, delicate yet defiant. He did not belong to this world of silk and polish, and perhaps that was why he drew me so completely. Around him clustered women and men alike, fawning as bees around a bloom.
Lady Luna vanished into the sea of silks and jewels, leaving behind the echo of her perfume and her words. I steadied myself, lifting my chin, and turned my gaze once more toward the man who had captured it all evening.
Mr. Cato still lingered in the corner of the hall — tall, dark, and untouchable. The crowd that buzzed around him was not unlike bees to honey, drawn by the mystery of his foreign features and the quiet confidence that clung to him like his long black coat. The freesia bloom at his chest seemed an afterthought, yet it burned in my vision brighter than the chandeliers above.
And then — his eyes lifted.
Amethyst, clear and cool, caught mine across the sea of dancers.
It was not the lingering gaze of a courtier, nor the bold stare of a suitor. It was… measuring. As though he had already taken my measure long before I realized I had stepped into his view.
I held his gaze, willing my posture into something the novels would call regal and unwavering. And for a moment, I thought I saw it — the faintest curve at the corner of his lips. A smile, perhaps. Or maybe only a trick of light.
I stepped forward, heart steady, resolve burning. I would not falter now.
"Princess Artemesia, how radiant you look tonight," came an eager voice at my side.
I did not turn at once. Mr. Cato was still watching. I could feel it, a thread of violet binding me to him across the hall.
Only when the voice repeated itself did I finally glance at the speaker — a young man bowing too deeply, smiling too widely. "Might I claim the honor of the first dance?"
I lifted my chin. "Forgive me, my lord. I do not dance."
I meant to step past him at once, to cut through the hall and reach Mr. Cato before the moment could dissolve. But like gnats to flame, others pressed in — emboldened by one, they gathered in threes and fours, forming a wall of insistent courtesies.
"Princess, I am Viscount Borromeo. We dared not approach you while the Moonland lady had your attention—"
"Your Highness, a single dance—"
"My gorgeous princess—"
They spoke over one another, their smiles bright, their manners suffocating. For all my reading, I had not learned how heroines untangled themselves from such a net without faltering.
I glanced once more toward the corner.
Mr. Cato was still there. Watching.
Not helping. Not moving. Only watching — with that same unreadable expression, as though he weighed the scene, as though he had already decided something about me.
"My lords," I said, forcing steel into my tone, "your regard honors me. But I must disappoint. I did not come here to dance, nor to be gathered like a trinket upon another's arm. My presence is required elsewhere."
Their babble faltered, if only for a breath. In that pause, I moved — sliding between them with practiced grace, every inch the princess Orchidia had raised me to be.
I freed myself. I turned.
The corner was empty.
Mr. Cato was gone.
A hollow beat struck in my chest, sharp and unexpected. He had seen me — seen me delayed, seen me tested — and then chosen to vanish. Not coincidence. Not chance. Choice.
A sigh escaped before I could swallow it back. In the novels, heroines who missed their moment cursed fate, or destiny, or the cruel hand of schemers. But this was no scheme. This was me. Too slow. Too untested.
And then the herald's voice shattered the silence:
"Her Highness Princess Rose Algeria! His Highness Prince Actaeon Algeria! And His Majesty, King Cal Liegre Damien Algeria!"
The golden doors swept open, and the true royalty of the empire entered.
But my eyes lingered on the corner — empty now, save for the fading trace of violet that had once met mine.