CHAPTER THREE: The Royal Ball
The ballroom glowed like a dream—lit with glittering crystal chandeliers, polished silver pillars, and soft floating candles that drifted midair like stars. Music fluttered from the stringed instruments like a delicate spell, wrapping the room in elegance. The scent of roses and honey filled the air. Noble ladies twirled in shimmering gowns stitched with gems. Lords laughed with charm and bowed with old pride. It was a night built for wonder, for masks, and for expectations.
The time had come. The moment everyone had whispered about for weeks.
A trumpet sounded—clear, golden, commanding.
The towering golden doors creaked open.
Two young women stepped into the light.
Solana walked with grace in a flowing sky-blue gown, its layers as soft as clouds. Her golden hair spilled in shining waves down her back, her skin kissed by soft blush, and her smile—calm, angelic, and perfect—warmed the coldest hearts. Her very presence glowed like sunlight. Tonight, she looked like a queen already—gentle, radiant, and everything the kingdom hoped for.
Ravena stood beside her.
She was a vision in a rich emerald dress, deep as midnight forests. It clung to her tall figure like silk dipped in shadow. Her long raven-black hair fell wildly down her back, untamed, untouched. And her eyes—piercing, sharp green—cut through the room like daggers made of fire and ice. She didn't walk with grace. She walked with power. With purpose. Her beauty wasn't soft or sweet. It was fierce, untouchable, like a goddess of the night cloaked in secrets and storms.
The entire hall froze.
Every breath paused.
For a second, no one moved, no one blinked. It was the first time many had truly seen her—not the rumors, not the whisper—but her.
The King stood with pride in his eyes. "My daughters," he announced. "Welcome them."
Applause thundered, though some clapped too quickly, others too slowly—caught between admiration and unease.
The girls took their seats at the high table.
And the dance began.
One by one, noble suitors approached.
"May I have this dance, Your Highness?" asked Prince Alec, bowing before Solana with practiced charm.
"Of course," she answered sweetly, rising to meet him as the music played.
"You shine brighter than the chandeliers," he whispered as they swayed across the floor.
Solana giggled. "Thank you, kind prince. You're charming too."
From the shadows of the crowd, Prince Jordan approached Ravena.
He extended a hand, smirking. "Care to dance, Princess?"
Ravena's eyes flicked to him. She didn't move. "No. I'm good."
He laughed—but it was a low, mocking sound. "So you're the cursed one."
She raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "Run along, prince," she said, her voice like velvet over steel. "I bite."
He leaned closer, amusement curling on his lips. "You're prettier than they said. Those eyes—do they come with spells?"
"Only the kind that turn arrogant boys into frogs."
His face darkened. "Aren't you afraid you'll ruin the party with your… darkness?"
Ravena tilted her head slightly. "I'm not the storm," she said coldly. "I'm the silence before it."
He flinched, lips tightening. "Witch," he muttered and turned sharply, disappearing into the crowd.
Ravena exhaled and turned toward the balcony. Her steps were quiet, deliberate. She pushed the door open and stepped outside.
Cool night air kissed her skin. The stars blinked above like distant memories. For a moment, she let herself breathe.
"You're missing the dancing, Princess."
She turned quickly. The familiar voice cut through her quiet thoughts.
"Don't start, General," she said.
Kael leaned against the stone railing, arms crossed, a faint smile on his lips. "Wasn't going to scold you. I was going to say… you look powerful tonight."
She smirked. "Better than frilly lace and royal blue, huh?"
He chuckled. "You always did make rebellion look beautiful."
She looked at him then. A real look. "You know," he added softly, "any prince would be lucky to marry you."
"I don't need a prince," Ravena said. "I need freedom."
Before Kael could reply, heavy footsteps approached.
The King.
"There you are, my daughter," he said gently, though his eyes were searching. "Have you chosen a suitor yet?"
"I don't want to marry anyone," she answered calmly.
"You are a woman now. A princess. You must choose."
"I want to be a knight. Not someone's wife."
A sharp voice snapped behind him.
"You should shut your mouth," Queen Elira hissed, stepping forward in cold fury. "You bring darkness into every room you enter. You've always been a shame. You're lucky we even let you live."
The words struck like knives—but Ravena didn't flinch.
"Enough!" the King shouted, but it was too late.
Ravena's heart was already breaking—again.
Without a word, she turned and walked away.
She climbed the stairs to her chambers, silence wrapped around her like a shroud.
Inside her room, she tore off the emerald gown like it was chains. She slipped into her guard clothes—black, strong, real. She tied her hair back, tightened her boots, opened the window—and leapt into the dark.
She ran.
Into the woods.
Away from the palace.
Away from the people who called her curse.
Into the shadows where she belonged.
But even the shadows, tonight, felt warmer than home..