Chapter 13: The Ballroom**
Moonlight spilled through arched windows carved from black glass, casting spectral shadows across the golden corridor. Ravena walked in silence, her red gown sweeping behind her like a burning flame. Her long straight hair shimmered under enchanted lanterns, each step measured, each breath calm but wary.
The stars outside blinked through the windows as if watching from afar, silent witnesses to her descent into a world of elegance cloaked in danger.
Golden flower vases lined the hallway, brimming with midnight roses enchanted to glow softly. Light orbs floated overhead, releasing faint melodies that echoed like whispers. At the end of the hall stood twin gilded doors—engraved with crescent moons, blooming vines, and runes that pulsed with subtle magic.
From beyond, soft music swelled.
A court violin. Laughter. Glasses clinking. A dream steeped in gold.
Two guards opened the doors.
As Ravena stepped in, time seemed to slow.
Eyes turned. Conversations paused. Even the music seemed to hush for a breath.
She walked gracefully down the marbled staircase, the red gown clinging to her frame like fire shaped by silk. The light above caught her green eyes, making them gleam with unspoken power.
A court attendant in ceremonial uniform offered his hand with a bow. She accepted wordlessly, letting him guide her into the room where every soul suddenly wanted to know her name.
> "Who is *that*?" asked a voice wrapped in velvet curiosity.
Prince Ezryn raised his golden goblet, watching her intently as the wine kissed his lips. The glow of the ballroom reflected in his amber eyes—gleaming like twin suns wrapped in shadow.
> "That's the princess I told you about," Seraphina said softly beside him, her voice sweet and knowing.
> "She carries storms in her silence."
Ravena followed Seraphina deeper into the room, her gaze sweeping across the glimmering space. The ballroom stretched into eternity—crystal chandeliers floated above like stars. Painted ceilings shimmered with celestial maps. Pillars wrapped in black vines glowed faintly under spellwork.
Couples danced effortlessly across floors that glittered with crushed gems. Waiters in embroidered coats served rosewater champagne and apple blossom pastries. There were gowns of silver silk, cloaks of fire-threaded velvet, and smiles too polished to be sincere.
Magic thrummed through it all.
> "Princess Ravena, come," Seraphina said gently, guiding her toward a marble balcony lined with ivory statues.
> "Welcome to the ball," Seraphina smiled.
> "Thank you, Princess Seraphina," Ravena replied with a nod, her voice composed.
> "I hoped you'd meet my cousins today," Seraphina said cheerfully.
> "But—where are your sister and the queen?"
Ravena glanced around.
> "They should be here any moment," Seraphina added.
And then—the hall stirred again.
From the entrance, Queen Elira and Solana stepped into view.
Solana glided forward like royalty reborn. Her sapphire gown sparkled like moonlight on waves. Her crown sat perfectly atop her curls. She wore a smile that demanded attention.
But the moment her eyes fell on Ravena's red gown… something shifted.
> "Ravena?" she asked, walking closer, voice sharp.
> "What are you *doing*?"
> "The same as you," Ravena answered, unbothered.
> "You always act like you're above everyone," Solana snapped.
> "Why didn't that stupid maid give me *that* dress? It would've fit me better."
Ravena rolled her eyes.
Seraphina stepped forward with poise.
> "Hello, Princess Solana," she greeted.
> "I didn't choose the gowns—but I think the blue suits you perfectly."
> "Of course it does," Solana huffed, flipping her hair.
> "Everything suits me. Your palace is... interesting."
Seraphina's smile remained serene.
> "Thank you. We aim to please."
Just then, a charming young man stepped from the crowd—his golden blonde hair falling elegantly over his forehead. Silver eyes met theirs with confidence and mischief. He wore a suit threaded with constellation embroidery.
> "Good evening, ladies," he said with a bow.
> "Oh—this is my cousin, Auren," Seraphina introduced.
> "Nice to meet you," Ravena replied, offering a graceful nod.
> "Nice to meet you, Auren," Solana added quickly, her smile suddenly radiant.
Seraphina led them to a grand table adorned with crystal dishes and floating candlelight. Sorbet roses bloomed in glass bowls. Platters of exotic fruits and golden pastries lined the center.
> "Would you like anything to eat?" Seraphina asked.
> "Something... nice," Ravena said quietly, eyes scanning the feast.
Solana leaned closer, voice lowered to a whisper.
> "What's *that* on your skin?" she asked.
> "Is that a tattoo? Since when do *you* get tattoos?"
Ravena glanced at her arm.
There it was—the mark. Twisting lines and symbols. It looked like ink carved from night itself. She had tried scrubbing, spells, even pain.
Nothing worked.
> "A long time ago," Ravena lied.
Solana narrowed her eyes.
> "You're lying," she whispered.
> "I've never seen it before."
> "Why don't you mind your own business?" Ravena muttered.
Seraphina glanced over.
> "Is something wrong?"
> "Not at all," Ravena replied with an effortless smile.
> "Just sibling talk."
The trumpet sounded.
All chatter stopped.
A voice rang out.
> "The King and Queen have arrived."
Everyone stood.
King Malrith and Queen Nyara entered with regal grace. Their robes trailed behind them like shadows wrapped in silk. Crowns glinted, eyes sharp. They surveyed the room with practiced power.
Bows followed.
But before the music resumed—
The room shifted again.
Prince Damiar entered.
He didn't walk—he *arrived*.
Dressed in black and gold, his form moved like smoke and authority combined. A stunning woman held his arm, but no eyes saw her. They saw him.
His long black hair flowed with each step. His golden brown eyes flicked through the crowd, as if deciphering souls. The air thickened. Magic stirred.
And hearts forgot how to beat.
Solana leaned in, breathless.
> "Okay… he is so fine," she whispered, biting her lip.
Ravena said nothing.
She watched him.
She felt him.
And somewhere deep inside—
Something stirred.
A whisper not from the room.
Not from memory.
But from the mark.