Doors shut. Candles were snuffed out, and fireplaces left to smolder in fading embers. Jewels adorned graceful necks, glimmering faintly in the dim light. Gowns swept across the marble floors as carriages, crafted from fine stone and polished wood, rolled through the quiet streets.
Horses' hooves echoed against the ground, each step loud in the stillness.
The moon cast a pale glow over the town, its silver light stretching into the night. Silence lingered in every corner, wrapping the streets in an eerie stillness. Not a soul could be seen in the houses or along the roads. The entire town had gathered at the castle, celebrating the return of their beloved prince—or perhaps, only half of them.
At the royal castle, atop the roof of the West Wing, two silhouettes stood in silence, their figures outlined against the night sky. From their vantage point, they watched the grand procession below—shimmering carriages arriving one after another, delivering equally dazzling guests draped in wealth and elegance.
The glow of lanterns and chandeliers reflected off polished surfaces, creating a spectacle of light and movement beneath them.
"Are you sure it's here?" the first man asked, his voice low, barely carrying in the wind.
"Positive," the second replied shortly, his tone firm and without hesitation.
The first man shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed on the activity below. "And after we find it… what next?"
A brief silence followed, thick and deliberate.
Then—
"We find ourselves a fish."
The words hung in the air, cold and intentional.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The wind whispered past them, tugging at their cloaks as the distant sounds of laughter and music drifted upward from the celebration below.
Then the second man stepped forward.
Without another word, he walked to the edge of the roof and leapt.
His body vanished into the darkness below.
A second later, the first man followed, jumping down after him without hesitation—both shadows swallowed by the night.
A white carriage adorned with precious stones slowly made its way to the entrance of the grand ballroom. As it came to a stop, the servants at the back quickly jumped down, one of them carrying a small stool. He placed it carefully before the carriage door while the other stepped forward and opened it.
Moments later, a lady emerged.
Dressed in a glamorous red gown, she stepped out gracefully, like a princess straight from a fairytale. Her chin was held high, her posture elegant and proud. Her face was delicately adorned with soft, light makeup that enhanced her natural beauty, giving her an almost ethereal glow.
As she made her way into the hall, the hem of her gown swept gracefully across the polished floor, trailing behind her like a soft whisper.
"Lady Tabitha of House Thel, daughter to the Duke and Duchess of Barrowberg."
The moment her name was announced, every eye in the room turned toward her.
Tabitha did not falter.
With practiced grace, she descended the steps, each movement measured and deliberate, her posture flawless. The soft glow of the chandeliers caught the details of her gown, making it shimmer as she moved. There was confidence in every step she took, a quiet command that demanded attention without effort.
She approached the area where the royal family stood, her expression composed, her chin slightly lifted.
Bending her knees, she dipped into a perfect curtsey, her movements fluid and elegant. The angle was intentional—carefully executed to present herself at her most captivating, ensuring the prince would not miss even the smallest detail of her appearance.
When she rose, her expression remained serene, as though unaware of the effect she had just created.
She turned and stepped away, but she had barely taken a few strides before the attention she had drawn began to manifest.
"Lady Tabitha, may I have the honor of the first dance?"
"Lady Tabitha, would you save a dance for me?"
"Lady Tabitha…"
Voices overlapped, one after another, eager, insistent.
Suitors quickly surrounded her, each vying for her attention, their eyes filled with admiration and ambition. Hands were extended, smiles offered, promises unspoken yet clear.
She had become the center of the room.
And she knew it.
A faint smile curved her lips—subtle, controlled, but unmistakably proud.
Many minutes passed before another carriage rolled to a smooth halt at the entrance. Its polished surface gleamed under the lantern lights, and the footman quickly stepped forward to open the door.
One by one, its occupants descended.
"Lady Christiana Denton, escorted by her parents, the honourable Mr. and Mrs. Denton."
The announcement rang clearly through the hall.
And then—silence.
Christiana stepped forward.
Her gown caught the light instantly, commanding attention before she had even taken her first step down the staircase. It was a masterpiece—crafted from layers of soft, flowing fabric that shimmered like the early morning sky. The colour shifted subtly between pale blue and hints of silver, as though dawn itself had been captured and woven into silk.
Tiny stones were embedded delicately across the bodice and sleeves, each one glinting like scattered droplets of light. They weren't placed heavily, but strategically—just enough to catch every flicker of movement, making her appear as though she was glowing with every step she took.
The bodice was fitted to perfection, accentuating her slender frame, while the neckline dipped just enough to be elegant without losing its grace. The sleeves were sheer and airy, trailing softly at her wrists like wisps of clouds. From her waist, the gown flowed outward in gentle layers, cascading down the steps behind her like a quiet waterfall of light.
Every movement she made caused the fabric to ripple, reflecting the glow of the chandeliers in soft, breathtaking waves.
Her hair was styled simply, allowing the dress to speak for itself, while the pearl necklace resting against her collarbone added a final touch of quiet sophistication.
The entire room stilled.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Glasses paused halfway to lips. Even the music seemed to fade into the background.
All eyes were on her.
Step by step, Christiana descended the staircase with her parents at her side, unaware—or perhaps fully aware—of the effect she had just created.