The royal ballroom was a masterpiece of light and music, woven together with enchantments so old and delicate they shimmered like dreams in the air. Candles glowed in golden halos as they floated effortlessly above polished wooden tables. Silk curtains danced with the breeze coming in through the open archways, and crystal chandeliers refracted light into a thousand rainbows, making the grand hall feel like a fragment of the stars themselves.
Elowen stood at the edge of the dance floor, clutching her wineglass, the cool crystal chilled against her palm. Her gown was a cascade of midnight blue silk with delicate silver embroidery resembling constellations. It sparkled faintly as she moved, as though the fabric itself had absorbed the starlight and now tried to return it to the world. She felt beautiful, but beauty felt hollow when it was expected, not desired, and especially when her heart was twisting with uncertainty.
This was the first time she had attended such a ball with this kind of weight hanging over her—the first time she would have to look at him, Prince Alaric of the Golden Vale, not as a distant figure of power, but as her soon-to-be husband. She had imagined this moment countless times, in whispers, in dreams, in the quiet corners of her study as her fingers traced ancient tomes of magic and history. But now that it had come to this, she could feel her throat tighten.
"Elowen," a soft voice broke into her thoughts.
She turned toward the sound, startled. There he was again, standing just beyond the golden light. His blue tunic glimmered faintly with silver thread as he moved, and his dark hair caught the golden glow of the enchanted lights. His smile was small, but it reached his eyes, which were piercing and confident as they met hers.
"Prince Alaric," she said, surprised by how steady her voice managed to sound.
He inclined his head toward her, his expression thoughtful. "You look as though you are lost in the stars," he murmured.
Elowen's stomach tightened, and she looked back toward the dance floor, the golden lights and musicians spinning a delicate waltz. "Perhaps the stars have their own way of making people feel lost," she replied.
Alaric's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he stepped closer. "You've been quiet this evening," he said. "Are you not enjoying the celebration?"
She hesitated, unsure of how much of her own heart to reveal. "Celebrations feel strange when they are nothing but gilded expectations," she admitted softly, taking another sip of wine. She tried to keep her tone light, but the words were sharp, unguarded. "Do you enjoy these affairs, Prince?"
His gaze sharpened, but his voice remained even, casual, a touch playful. "I do not think I've ever had the luxury of enjoying them," he said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "They are... expected, as you say."
She glanced at him, startled. His voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a note of weariness, perhaps. She wondered how much of his confidence was truly natural and how much of it was a learned shield against the pressure of his position. His life had to be a delicate dance of expectation, duty, and appearances, much like her own, though their paths had diverged long ago.
Before she could think of a response, the music shifted—a new melody began to rise, light and airy, as though the harp itself was weaving magic into its strings. It stirred her—a kind of pull, a whisper at the edges of her mind, though she couldn't name it.
Alaric held out his hand. His voice was low. "Shall we?"
The question caught her off guard. She glanced at him, hesitating, and found herself unsure of whether he meant the dance or something else entirely. But there was no time to puzzle it out. His hand, extended toward her, looked warm, steady, inviting. He was a prince, his presence both commanding and graceful. His confidence pressed into the air around them like an unspoken promise.
Before she could say no, she found herself nodding, her hand moving into his own.
"Yes," she whispered.
He led her toward the dance floor with an easy kind of grace. His hand was warm against her waist, his other hand strong in hers as they stepped onto the polished wooden floor. The music seemed to wrap itself around them, sweeping them into motion with every note. She struggled to focus on the steps—waltz, step, turn—but her thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions. His presence felt different here, closer. The sharp clarity of his voice, the easy confidence in the way he held her—it tugged at something buried in her.
His voice came again, smooth and easy, though quieter this time. "You dance with a certain kind of strength, Lady Elowen," he murmured. "Not all would dare step onto this floor with such purpose."
She looked up at him, startled. His gaze was piercing, his expression unreadable, though his tone was kind. "Perhaps that is because I've always valued choice," she said quietly, trying to steady her voice.
He paused, turning his gaze toward her fully. His hand tightened slightly on hers, but not unkindly. "Choice can be a double-edged sword," he said, his voice contemplative. "We must choose between paths, but fate has its own way of guiding our steps."
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
"Are you always this philosophical?" she managed to tease, trying to steer the conversation toward safer ground. The music swelled again, carrying them across the floor. She tried to lose herself in the rhythm, but his words lingered.
"Only when the stars are watching," he replied with a faint smile, his voice low.
She could feel him watching her, his gaze intent, but she said nothing. There was an air of mystery about him, a kind of veiled strength that tugged at her curiosity. His words felt layered, cryptic, and she wasn't sure if she trusted him or if this was simply a dance, a careful game of words between two strangers becoming entwined by circumstance.
But as they continued, her heart settled. The music wove its spell around them. The air seemed warmer here, filled with soft laughter and magic. She couldn't resist the pull of his presence. There was something about him, something that felt as if it belonged to the very stars themselves.
Perhaps fate had more plans for her than she could ever have imagined.