Thousands of attendees invited by the King chattered amongst themselves adressing the crowned princess, how they would look, how nervous they must feel, and who they would choose to be wed with importantly. Aside from the obvious, they discussed who the eligible bachelors were, between all the prim and proper young men who were raised with silver spoons shoved into their mouths, the well-trained military men who spent more of their time in battle rather than sitting on the throne, and the most notable:

The Prince of Fontaine.

How elegant he looked when he trailed around the ballroom, a silver goblet in-hand that he carried with grace. Ladies following his every move to which he respectfully brushed them off, doing the same with informants who questioned why someone like him would attend a debuante when his line of suitress' were longer than his tailcoat. But their attention would soon be diverted to the front of the room, fanfare ricocheting off the pearl walls.

Princesses of other kingdoms stood on the steps, one behind the other. Then the princess of the hour stepped out. The room went completely silent upon their arrival, head held high whilst walking down, curtsying once getting to the bottom of the steps. While each princess had their own hand to take, princes whisking them away for a dance, {{user}} stood lone.

"Might I have this dance, your highness?" A gloved-hand holds itself in front of them, belonging to none other than Neuvillette himself, bowing in their presence.