The bells finally stopped ringing, but the ballroom didn't know what to do with the silence they left behind.
No one danced. No one spoke above a whisper. It was as if society itself was clutching the wallpaper and trying to regain composure.
Mother inhaled sharply. "She ran. A girl ran. From a prince. In public."
She looked personally offended, as if Cinderella's sprint violated the laws of nature and etiquette simultaneously.
Drizella took a step toward the terrace, instinct blazing.
"I'm going after her—"
Rowan materialized from the crowd like a man paid in timing and sarcasm. He caught her by the elbow before she could bolt outside in full skirts.
"And do what?" he asked. "Challenge gravity to a rematch?"
Drizella yanked her arm back. "I could help!"
"You'd trip halfway down the steps."
"I would not."
Rowan tilted his head. "Do you want to find out?"
Drizella considered it. Considered the stairs. Considered her ankles.
"…not tonight."
Rowan nodded, satisfied. "Wise. The stairs win too often."
Mother, meanwhile, fanned herself so aggressively she nearly took flight.
"If that mysterious girl ruined the prince's first dance, I swear this entire generation needs discipline."
"Mother," I said, "she breathed. Calm down."
"Breathing is no excuse."
Sometimes I wasn't convinced Mother knew what living was supposed to involve.
* * *
On the terrace, the prince stood with the abandoned shoe in hand—still catching up to events he'd never trained for.
Rowan joined him, slower, gaze flicking between the steps and the shaken crowd.
"Did she say anything?" Rowan asked.
"No," the prince answered. "Just… left."
"That's usually how running works."
The prince shot him a look that would have silenced a lesser man. Rowan merely smirked.
With a sigh, the prince handed the shoe to a palace guard.
"Catalog it. Have it stored. And do not—" he added, anticipating nonsense, "—announce to the ballroom that I will choose a bride based on footwear."
"Yes, Your Highness," the guard said, slightly disappointed, as if deprived of a more dramatic order.
The prince's shoulders dropped once the formalities ended. The ballroom had begun to swallow up its panic and repurpose it into gossip, and gossip was work he didn't want to supervise.
"Go enjoy the ball," he told Rowan.
Rowan blinked. "Enjoy? With nobles?"
"Try it. Consider it a mission."
"At least give me a weapon."
"You have wit."
Rowan looked horrified. "I asked for a weapon."
The prince let out the smallest laugh—too tired to disguise it.
"I'm getting changed."
He left Rowan behind and disappeared into his private corridor.
Once inside his chambers, the prince peeled out of the ceremony like shedding armor — boots, jacket, velvet, duty. When he reemerged minutes later, the ballroom prince was gone.
In his place was a young man in a simple linen shirt, dark trousers, and boots meant for forests instead of marble.
The music resumed behind palace walls. The chatter returned. The expectations recycled.
He headed in the opposite direction.
Toward the gardens.
Toward air not scented by ambition.
Anastasia sat on a garden chair, alone, her skirt gathered protectively around her like a campfire. One slipper off, bare foot cooling against the gravel, looking more like a person than a participant.
She didn't see the prince at first. She was too busy staring at the sky, as if judging the stars for minding other people's business.
He approached without ceremony, stopping a few paces away.
"You left before the dancing resumed," he observed.
She flinched—a startled deer, but only for a heartbeat. Then her chin lifted, boldness returning to its throne.
"Well, yes," Anastasia replied. "A divorcee cornered me and listed fabric expenses for ten minutes. I considered leaping into the lake."
The prince blinked. Twice. Then laughed—quiet and honest.
He knew her. Not by name, not by title. But as the girl from the forest who he helped catch a horse, and later from the market, bold and unfiltered, utterly unimpressed by rank.
"You," he said, recognition settling. "From the woods. And the fabric stall."
She narrowed her eyes. "…Do you follow me?"
"No," he said. "You simply appear in unexpected places."
"Well," she shrugged, "life is unexpected."
The prince's smile was tired and real. "Tonight more than most."
* * *
"
So... You ran away too?" She asked.
You look... Less suffocated out here."
"No... I just came... to patrol the garden. I'm a guard." I replied.
"Oh! I just saw a girl running maybe a dragon was following her. You should check.
I paused for a minute then started laughing before I could stop myself—loud, real, un-princely by court standards. The kind of laugh I only managed in the forest.
" You are too relaxed for being a guard. No sword and all." She give a questionable look.
"Well... Like you said. Running away. May I?"
She gave a nod of not believing but still accepting what I said. I sat beside her.
She leaned against the garden chair, breathing in the night air like it was rare vintage. "Your Prince's ball is… very shiny," she commented.
"I noticed," I said dryly. "I've been blinded three times by sequins."
"Oh thank goodness," she sighed. "I thought it was just me. I swear some of those gowns could signal approaching ships."
I found myself smiling again. "Did you at least enjoy some of it?"
She paused, thinking. "The food was good. The music was good. My mother was… not good. But the dancing was funny."
"Funny?"
"There was this one lord who moved like a distressed heron."
"That's just Lord Pembroke," I muttered. "He moves like that even while sitting."
She burst out laughing. I felt myself standing straighter, like sunlight had hit a window no one opened in years.
"I'll be honest," she added after a moment, voice lowering just a fraction, "I didn't expect people to stare so much. Half the nobles kept looking at me and my sister's dress like it personally offended them. And started whispering after looking at our face. "
I frowned. "Why?"
"It wasn't 'up to their standards,'" she said, pulling a face to imitate them.
"Too plain, too bold, too this, too that."
She shrugged, but it didn't hide the faint sting behind the humor. "Funny how they judge more by face and embroidery than by manners."
"We had our first dance whereas others were on their fourth or fifth. Mine wasn't even a proper dance."
I felt something twist in my chest. "Then their standards are terrible," I said simply. "Most of them can't tell a decent person from a decorative vase."
She stared at me for a second—surprised—before bursting into a laugh that felt brighter than any lantern in the garden.
"Well. At least you noticed."
For a moment, neither of us talked. The music from the ballroom drifted into the garden—soft and steady, like a memory that had slipped out to join us.
I cleared my throat. "Would you like to dance?"
She blinked. "Here?"
"Unless you'd prefer to return to the sequins."
"…Absolutely not."
She accepted my hand, more with boldness than grace. There was no audience, no anxious mothers, no nobles judging footwork. Just us, the moon, and a violin far away trying its best to sound romantic.
We danced terribly.
My shoe stuck in the gravel. She stepped on my foot once, twice—five times? She twirled the wrong direction, nearly collided with a rosebush, and at one point said, "If I trip, you catch me or we both go down. That's the deal."
"I accept these terms."
And yet—
I liked it.
Here, I didn't feel like a crown balanced on a neck. I felt like a person—laughing badly through a clumsy dance with a girl who didn't seem to care who I was.
No expectations. No pressure. Just… calm.
When the music faded, we didn't immediately let go. She tilted her head, studying me again—not the prince, but just the man.
"You look happier now," she said.
I swallowed the strange warmth curling in my chest. "I think I am."
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SIDE NOTE: I made the last part of this chapter Prince's pov cause his feelings matters. I wanted to make it a touching story so if not heart touching at least it was kidney touching I guess. 😅😅 And please always have a look in the picture above.
If you like my story then give it a star and share it with your friends, this will help me to keep motivated and write new stories.