The grand chandeliers of the royal ballroom cast golden light across the polished marble floor. Music swelled—violins and cellos playing a delicate waltz as the nobles twirled and laughed beneath the soft gleam of candlelight.

You were in the arms of Prince Alexander Zavattari, your oldest friend. He was dressed in royal navy, the silver accents on his coat matching the glint of his sharp gray eyes. He was smiling politely, his hand at your waist, his other holding yours as you danced. Everyone thought you looked perfect together.

But your eyes kept drifting—across the ballroom, past the swirling gowns and military uniforms—toward Prince Henry.

He stood taller than most, elegant and composed, his brown hair tousled just enough to seem careless. He was dancing with Princess Amelie of Austria, her laughter chiming like silver bells as she leaned closer to him.

You didn’t notice the way your smile faltered, the slight tug of your hand hesitating in Alexander’s grasp.

But he noticed.

Without breaking the rhythm, Alexander’s grip at your waist tightened slightly, firm enough to startle you. His fingers pressed just enough to demand your attention.

“Don’t look at them,” he said, voice low and calm, but his eyes fixed directly on yours. “Look at me.”