The banquet hall shimmered like jewels under sunlight. Long banners in deep scarlet and gold lined the walls, swaying gently with each draft from the palace doors. Perfumed air drifted between guests, mixing the sweetness of ripe fruit, warm pastries, and the faint smoke curling from braziers set along the pillars.
Everywhere, nobles clustered in small circles, fans lifted like painted wings hiding eager mouths. "His Highness, Crown Prince Kazein, looked especially radiant today during the procession," Evaluna remarked as she reached for a sugared fig. "Oh my! Were you able to see him, Lady Evaluna?" gasped another woman, leaning in, her bracelets chiming. "By mere chance, my dear. The crowd parted for half a heartbeat."
A third lady clutched her fan to her chest. "A little birdie told me His Highness will be without a partner tonight." "That cannot be true," viscountess Swain protested. "Whatever happened to Lady Florette?" "Hush," Evaluna warned as she snapped her fan shut. "Keep your voices down, ladies. Have you been living under a rock, lady Swain? The two are now history."
"Oh dear," the viscountess breathed. "I thought that was just a vicious rumor meant to ruin the poor girl." "I didn't believe it at first either," another chimed in, "but after hearing of the prince's solo entrance…"A booming voice cut through their whispers. "Attention!" the guard bellowed as fanfares blared bright and metallic across the hall. The announcer stepped forward, holding his scroll high. "Enter His Highness, Crown Prince Kazein and his esteemed guest!"
The crowd stilled. The rustling silk and murmured gossip died off as heads turned in unison. Nathaniel led Fatima across the hall with steady confidence, though she could feel the weight of every gaze pressing against her like a physical force. Fans snapped open to hide shocked expressions. Noblemen stared openly, jaws slackened, drinks paused halfway to their lips.
Fatima kept her posture straight, grateful the mask hid most of her expression. Even so, heat crept up the back of her neck. Everyone glittered under the chandeliers in their finest attire, jewels catching every stray gleam. For a moment she worried her own appearance might pale beside them, but the thought faded just as quickly. Madam Dupree had insisted on every adornment, every last embellishment, and Fatima realized now she had been right.
She almost stepped into the night underdressed. An irreversible mistake she would have made. Nathaniel leaned closer, voice low enough that only she could hear. "You have been rather scarce lately, Princess. If I did not know better, I would think you have been avoiding me since that night."
She stiffened. "I am not sure I understand what Your Highness is implying," she murmured, eyes pointed anywhere except at his. His gaze had a way of pulling her in like deep water. "Oh? Then I should explain."
His tone shifted into a lazy, teasing drawl. "Hiding from me. Pretending to be asleep. Missing our morning meals. The list goes on. You are not regretting your decision, are you, Princess?" Before she could form a reply, they reached the monarchs. Both bowed their heads gracefully. The hall held its breath as the emperor and empress acknowledged them with approving nods.
Soon after, Nathaniel guided her to the center of the ballroom. Musicians lifted their instruments, and the first soft notes drifted out like silk unfurling. Fatima slipped into her stance with practiced ease. She had learned how to dance since her days as a crown princess, memorizing countless waltzes from across the continent. The light-footed steps of Alkaraz had always been her favorite. With the right partner, the dance felt like floating.
Nathaniel's hand settled on her waist, warm and steady, gently pulling her toward him. "Impressive," he whispered with a bright, surprised smile when she glided through the early steps. Gasps rippled through the room. Conversations burst alive again, full of shocked delight, as though the audience were witnessing something extraordinary.
In the corner, Florette and her mother glared daggers sharp enough to cut glass. Fatima kept her focus trained on the pattern of the dance, only to jolt when Nathaniel unexpectedly shifted his footwork. "What are you doing, Your Highness?" she hissed under her breath. He leaned in, voice almost tender. "Bringing your attention back to me. Eyes on me, love."
Her stomach fluttered violently. His face hovered only inches away. She could feel his breath as it brushed her cheek. The musicians changed melodies seamlessly, the tempo aligning with her movements as if they were reading her pulse.
The Swan's Sway. A waltz of her own creation. Elegant twists, airy leaps, silent landings. She had never performed it in a royal banquet before. She doubted Nathaniel knew the slightest thing about its structure. She was proven wrong when she felt his hands catch her at precisely the right moment, lifting her clean off the ground.
"You leave me speechless, Princess." he murmured as he held her aloft, his eyes gleaming with warm affection. "You continue to impress me every second I am in your presence." A roar of applause thundered through the hall, interrupting the tender moment. Guests cried out for an encore, their voices overlapping in bright waves.
"Are you planning to hold me like this all evening, Your Highness?" she asked breathlessly, heat rising to her face. "If that is what it takes to keep those hungry wolves at bay," he muttered, flicking a glare at a cluster of noblemen eyeing her too intently. Her heart skipped. "Please put me down."
The playful spark in his face dimmed, but he obeyed. As her feet touched the floor, she inhaled deeply, surprising herself with how long she had been holding her breath. Nathaniel bowed his head slightly. "I shall return shortly, Princess." He lifted her hand and brushed a soft kiss over her knuckles before turning away.
Fatima watched him disappear into the crowd, an unfamiliar pinch settling in her chest. He will not leave me alone for the entire night… will he? She drifted toward the banquet tables, their spreads arranged like edible mosaics. Freshly baked loaves steamed between bowls of golden butter. Rows of snacks glistened beside towers of sugared fruit and a chocolate fountain. But her appetite had evaporated. Anxiety curled around her thoughts like smoke.
Or maybe it was not anxiety. Maybe she had simply grown too accustomed to his presence in such a short time. While she stood there lost in her thoughts, a group of young noblewomen swept toward the table in a cluster of lace, perfume, and venom.
**
Florette had been out of sorts from the moment Nathaniel swept in with a mysterious woman at his side. All evening, Gwendolynn's eyes kept drifting toward her daughter. She watched the way Florette's fingers twisted in her skirts and how her smile never quite settled. The ballroom's bright light made every anxious twitch stand out more than usual.
Was it really necessary for him to make such an entrance? Now half the court is whispering about the woman. Gwendolynn felt a prickle of dread along her spine. I should take Florette aside before something bad happens. "Florette?" she called under her breath.
Florette was nowhere near the spot she had been standing. Gwendolynn's stomach dropped as her head whipped restlessly, eyes scanning the ballroom. She spotted her daughter weaving through the crowd toward the masked woman. For a brief moment the music drowned out everything except the soft thud of her own heart.
Good heavens. Gwendolynn rushed forward only to be blocked by a tall figure who stumbled directly into her path. Wine sloshed dangerously close to her gown. "Hello dear zister. Haz it really been that long?" Dietrich beamed at her, his cheeks flushed and his grin sloppy.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is not the time or the place, Dietrich. Move aside." "What waz that?" he asked, swaying a little. He lifted his glass as if to toast her. She pushed past him. "You are drunk. Stay out of the way."
Before he could reply, a sharp gasp rolled through the hall like a shockwave. Heads turned. Fans snapped open. Servants froze with trays mid air. Gwendolynn's pulse spiked. She hurried toward the commotion, slipping between clusters of nobles who were far too entertained for her liking. When she finally saw Florette's trembling shoulders and her tear-streaked cheeks, she felt something inside her collapse. Her daughter was unraveling right in the center of the ballroom, and the rest of the court only watched and whispered.
"Florette Kartier. That is quite enough!" a commanding voice carried from the dais' staircase. Nathaniel descended with practiced grace. The crowd parted for him, the women all fluttering at the sight of his polished boots and unreadable face. Florette choked back a sob as she snatched a wine glass from a table and threw its contents across the mysterious woman's gown. Red wine spattered across pale silk in a sharp, ugly bloom.
"What are you doing?" Nathaniel hissed as he caught Florette's wrist. His grip looked firm enough to steady her but not gentle enough to comfort. Florette leaned forward, breath shaking. "Who is she? Who is this woman to claim you as hers? Who is she?" Her voice cracked under the strain.
A stir ran through the crowd when Nathaniel let go of her and turned to the woman instead. He cupped the Fatima's face, and to everyone's shock, his features softened. For the first time ever, they had witnessed the prince cracking a smile. "Did he just smile?" someone whispered. "I have never seen him smile before," said another. "There must be something between them."
Florette stood frozen, staring at them with wide, wet eyes. Her friends hovered nearby, whispering that she should leave, but she refused to move. Then Nathaniel spoke to the woman. "Did you really say that, princess? Did you truly claim me as yours?"
The murmurs doubled at once, and before Fatima could gather her thoughts, the murmurs had resumed. "He called her a princess." "Which kingdom?" Florette pointed at the crowd, her voice echoing over the din. "Everyone here heard it."
Gwendolynn stiffened. If the girl truly was a princess, then every eye in the hall would turn on Florette in judgment. She had no intention of letting her daughter dig herself deeper. Fatima gave a soft laugh. "Forgive me, your highness. Perhaps I teased a bit too freely. She asked me about my relationship with her fiancé in front of everyone. I could not resist." Her voice carried an airy confidence that only irritated the room further. More whispers followed.
"She sounds charming." "She certainly looks foreign." "Princess or not, that gown looks expensive." All the while Florette sunk to her knees, tears slipping over her knuckles as she covered her face. Watching her daughter crumple while the nobles focused on the stranger felt like a knife twisting inside Gwendolynn. She straightened her spine. "Step aside," she said, her voice low but sharp.
The crowd scattered quickly, eyes dropping, shoulders stiffening. No one dared challenge her. She knelt, took Florette's trembling arm, and lifted her gently but firmly. "We are leaving, sweetheart." she told her. Florette did not argue. Her sobs stayed quiet as Gwendolynn guided her away from the commotion. The music attempted to fill the silence behind them, but it sounded thin and embarrassed.
At least the emperor and empress were seated far from the scene. Perhaps they had not witnessed the spectacle. But Gwendolynn knew the truth. Rumors traveled faster than music in this palace. By sunrise, every detail of this humiliation would reach the highest ears, and she would be ready to face the storm.