The Grand Ball
The culmination of Friedrich's courtship came in the form of a grand ball held in the Ritz's largest hall. The event was a spectacle of opulence, attended by London's elite and European royalty. The ballroom, illuminated by towering crystal chandeliers, glittered like a sea of diamonds. The scent of fresh roses and jasmine filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of anticipation as the guests awaited the moment Aurora Ritz would enter.
And when she did, the room fell silent.
Aurora, dressed in a gown of shimmering sapphire silk, was the embodiment of celestial beauty. The fabric hugged her slender figure perfectly, cascading like liquid down to the floor in an effortless waterfall of elegance. The neckline of her gown was modest yet alluring, adorned with intricate embroidery in silver thread that caught the light with each step. Her hair was arranged in soft curls, a few delicate strands framing her radiant face. A diamond comb, simple yet dazzling, adorned her golden locks, enhancing the otherworldly aura she exuded.
Friedrich stood at the far end of the room, his cane resting lightly against his side. He was resplendent in full regalia, his strong frame accentuated by a tailored coat of deep midnight blue, trimmed with gold. His piercing gaze followed Aurora as she descended the grand staircase, his admiration as clear as the chandeliers above.
As their eyes met, a current seemed to pass between them. Friedrich stepped forward, his every movement deliberate despite the slight limp that required the support of his cane. Extending his hand, he bowed slightly.
"Miss Ritz," he said, his voice steady and rich, "would you honour me with the first dance?"
Aurora inclined her head gracefully, her lips curving into a soft, enigmatic smile. "It would be my pleasure, Your Highness."
A Dance of Unspoken Promises
The orchestra struck the opening notes of a waltz, and as Friedrich led Aurora onto the polished dance floor, the assembled guests moved aside, forming a circle of admiration around them. Their movements were fluid, synchronised as though they had danced together countless times before.
Aurora's sapphire gown swirled around her as Friedrich guided her effortlessly, his strong hand firm against her back. The closeness between them was electrifying, though their expressions remained composed, their shared glances betraying the deeper emotions simmering beneath the surface.
Friedrich leaned in slightly, his voice low and intimate. "Every moment with you, Miss Ritz, feels like I am glimpsing perfection."
Aurora's gaze flicked upward, her emerald eyes meeting his. "Perfection," she replied softly, her voice laced with both sincerity and restraint, "is an illusion, Your Highness. But I appreciate the sentiment."
For a moment, their movements slowed as Friedrich studied her, captivated by the duality she embodied—her strength and vulnerability, her grace and mystery. He longed to break past the polished exterior she presented to the world, to understand the woman beneath the brilliance.
As the waltz reached its crescendo, Friedrich twirled Aurora one final time before drawing her close, their proximity sending a ripple through the room. The applause was thunderous, yet Aurora and Friedrich seemed oblivious to it. For a fleeting moment, they stood together in perfect stillness, as though the world had ceased to exist around them.
A Question Left Unanswered
As the evening progressed, the Prince's attentions did not waver. He remained by Aurora's side, escorting her through the labyrinth of conversations and introductions. His devotion was evident, and yet he did not overstep; his gestures remained thoughtful, his words measured.
Late in the evening, as the last of the desserts—a tower of spun sugar and candied violets—was being served, Friedrich turned to Aurora, his expression uncharacteristically solemn.
"Aurora," he began, his voice carrying a weight that made her heart quicken, "I have watched you command this world with elegance and strength. And yet, I wonder… do you ever tire of it all? The expectations, the relentless admiration?"
Aurora paused, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his question. She hesitated before responding, her fingers lightly tracing the stem of her crystal goblet.
"There are moments," she admitted quietly, her gaze distant, "when I wonder what it might feel like to be seen not as a symbol, but as a woman—flawed, perhaps, but real."
Friedrich's brow furrowed, and for the first time that evening, he seemed uncertain. "And do you think I see you as anything less than real?"
Aurora's lips parted slightly, but no words came. The intensity in his gaze made her chest tighten, and she found herself unable to answer. There was a question lingering in her heart, unspoken but insistent: Was this a courtship of true affection, or merely an alliance born of power and prestige?
As Friedrich reached for her hand, his touch light but deliberate, Aurora felt the weight of the moment pressing upon her. The room, alive with laughter and music, faded into the background. For the first time in years, Aurora Ritz—unshakable, untouchable—felt uncertain.
And so the night ended, not with promises or declarations, but with a single unanswered question that lingered between them like a fragile thread, its resolution yet to come.