Music recommendation: "Dynasty" by MIIA
Zarafea moved through the crowd with grace, her gown flowing like water around her, as if she belonged to the very air of the ballroom. She made her way toward a nearby table, where fae wine gleamed in crystal goblets under the light of the chandeliers. The murmur of whispers followed her, thickening the air with curiosity, envy, and veiled insults as nobles strained to piece together who she was and how she had managed to captivate the king's attention.
Lifting a glass, Zarafea brought the wine to her lips, its taste cool and sweet, easing the heat of the stares on her back. As she set the glass down, the sharp clatter of heels approached her. A group of fae and human ladies gathered nearby, their smiles polite, but their eyes gleaming with barely concealed disdain. Catherine was among them, her expression stiff as though she could barely contain her bitterness.
One of the fae ladies, her smile too sharp to be friendly, stepped closer. "A stunning dress, though it does have the air of something… simple about it. I suppose a physician's daughter must make do with what she can find, yes?"
Another human lady, her gown glittering with gemstones, added, "It's admirable, though, coming from such humble beginnings and managing to attend a ball like this." Her voice was laced with mock sincerity, her eyes flashing with smugness.
Zarafea turned toward them, meeting their stares with calm, cool composure. The heat of their insults simmered beneath the surface, but she refused to let it touch her. She straightened her posture, her chin lifting slightly as her gaze moved between them.
"Thank you for your concern," she replied with a soft, warm smile. "It's a blessing to be among such… elevated company, and I'm honored to have caught the king's attention. But true elegance, I believe, lies in one's ability to carry themselves with grace rather than in what one wears." Her voice was gentle, yet firm, her words landing with precision, leaving the ladies blinking in silent shock.
The women exchanged sharp looks, their smugness faltering as they realized Zarafea wasn't as easily embarrassed as they'd hoped. Catherine, however, stepped forward, her lips pulling into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Indeed, grace is important. Though I imagine being a physician's daughter has its advantages. After all, you must know all about… healing, yes?" Catherine's voice held a dangerous edge, a sneer barely hidden behind her tone. "Perhaps you could assist the king if he ever found himself… ailing."
Several of the women snickered at Catherine's insinuation, eyes flashing with satisfaction as they expected Zarafea to falter. But Zarafea merely tilted her head, regarding Catherine with a calm, serene expression.
"Knowledge of healing is a noble pursuit," she replied smoothly, her smile unwavering. "After all, many forget that even the most powerful among us can benefit from it. Perhaps I'll be of more help than you can imagine, Lady Catherine."
Her words, sweet but cutting, caused Catherine's smile to freeze, the laughter from the other women suddenly dying on their lips. The subtle jab had landed perfectly, and as Zarafea took another sip of wine, her elegance and unshakable confidence seemed to draw even more eyes to her.
Catherine's face flushed with fury as she tried to mask her embarrassment. "She's nothing," she hissed under her breath to the ladies beside her. "A nobody. I've heard whispers that she's a fraud, some commoner posing as someone important. She won't last long in this court, not once the truth comes out."
The women exchanged conspiratorial glances, eager to spread rumors and tarnish Zarafea's image, but the mood in the room shifted before they could act further.
A sudden hush fell over the ballroom. Zarafea, sensing the change in atmosphere, turned slightly, her eyes widening as she saw King Asher descending from the dais. His tall, commanding presence drew every eye in the room, and the tension rippled through the crowd like a wave. Catherine, along with the other noblewomen, straightened, their hearts racing in anticipation.
Asher walked with a calm, measured pace, his eyes fixed on one target alone: Zarafea. The faintest flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly masked it, her breath catching as the king stopped before her.
He held out his hand, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Lady Zarafea," he said, his voice deep and commanding, yet soft enough to be intimate, as though the room was filled with no one but them. "Will you grant me the honor of this dance?"
A stunned silence descended upon the ballroom. The ladies who had been whispering moments before now stared in open shock. Catherine's expression twisted, her hands clenching into fists as she realized, in that moment, that she had been entirely outshone. The rumors she had tried to spread died in the throats of the women around her, as they could do nothing but watch in silent disbelief.
Zarafea blinked, her heart fluttering, but her composure remained. She hesitated for only a second, then gave a graceful nod. "It would be my honor, Your Majesty."
With that, she placed her hand in Asher's, and the king, with a subtle smile, led her to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled, filling the room with the soft notes of a waltz, and the two began to dance, their movements effortlessly in sync. Zarafea's gown shimmered under the light, her beauty undeniable, even without her full powers. Asher's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes never left her face as they moved together.
Around them, the nobles could only watch, the whispers replaced by stunned silence. Some fae and human women exchanged envious glances, their earlier taunts now hollow as they realized that Zarafea had done what none of them could—captivate the king. The ladies who had tried to insult her moments before now seethed in silence, their petty remarks meaningless in the face of Zarafea's undeniable presence.
As they danced, Zarafea felt the weight of the stares, the burning jealousy of the women around her, and the confusion in their eyes. But she paid them no mind. Her focus was on the task ahead—the delicate, dangerous game she was now fully a part of.
And she intended to play it to perfection.