By mid-afternoon, the garden fête had turned into a battlefield of glances, whispered comments, and subtle maneuvers.
Elizabeth was everywhere—laughing at the right moments, offering compliments that dripped with charm, and positioning herself perfectly for the prince's attention. But I was no longer invisible. Every subtle move she made, I had a counter ready.
The next event was a dance. The nobles paired off, and music swirled through the garden, soft and golden like sunlight caught in crystal.
"May I have this dance?" the prince asked, bowing slightly.
I raised an eyebrow. "I thought I'd have to fight for it."
He smirked. "I can be persuasive when necessary."
We moved together, steps fluid and synchronized. He was strong, but careful, letting me set the pace. I could feel the eyes of the court on us, and yes, Elizabeth's as well.
She approached as the song ended, her smile dazzling. "May I have the next dance, Your Highness?"
"Of course," he said politely, but instead of offering his arm directly to her, he whispered to me, "Keep your feet ready. I might need another dance later."
Elizabeth blinked, hiding her surprise with a delicate cough. She stepped aside, offering her hand to another nobleman.
I fought back a grin. Small victories mattered.
The rest of the afternoon blurred with games, performances, and polite conversation. I stayed near the prince, answering questions cleverly, engaging in light banter, and always managing just enough charm to keep him watching me without seeming forced.
Elizabeth tried to intrude, slipping in remarks meant to undermine me or highlight her own elegance, but I was ready. A soft laugh, a carefully chosen compliment, a witty comment at the right moment—each one deflected her attempts without confrontation.
Finally, the last event approached: a poetry reading. Nobles took turns reciting verses in front of the assembled court. Elizabeth had prepared something elaborate, romantic, dripping with sophistication.
I glanced at the prince. His gaze was warm but thoughtful. He seemed to anticipate Elizabeth's performance and its impact—but he was also waiting. Waiting to see what I would do.
When my turn came, I stepped forward calmly, reciting a short, heartfelt verse I'd prepared on the spot. Not perfect, not dramatic, but honest, full of subtle wit and charm. The words weren't meant to dazzle—they were meant to connect.
A hush fell over the garden. Even Elizabeth paused mid-breath, eyebrows raised.
When I finished, there was polite applause, but the prince's smile—soft, real, and unmistakably genuine—was the reward that mattered. He stepped closer, leaning down just enough to speak to me privately.
"You have a way of making everything feel… different," he said quietly. "Interesting. Alive."
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "I've learned from the best," I said lightly, tilting my head toward Elizabeth without looking directly at her.
The prince chuckled, shaking his head. "No. From you."
Elizabeth's eyes narrowed from across the garden. She was still the picture of perfection, but I could see the cracks: the tight line of her lips, the subtle tension in her shoulders.
That night, I would fall asleep knowing the fête had changed something—but exactly what, I couldn't tell.