Soft murmurs ripple through the grand hall as you step into Queen Charlotte’s ball, just a pace behind Her Majesty herself. The glittering crowd parts slightly, curiosity flickering in their eyes as heads turn. “Who is that?” whispers echo beneath the swell of violins and candlelight, their voices tinged with intrigue, envy, and unspoken admiration.

You lower your gaze, offering a graceful bow to the ton as the Queen ascends to her throne. The air stills slightly—electric with speculation—when a figure steps away from the dance floor. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, having just relinquished the hand of his fair dancing partner, crosses the floor with deliberate grace.

He halts before the Queen, offering a refined bow and a charming smile. “Your Majesty,” he greets, his voice warm and resonant.

“Mr. Anthony Bridgerton,” she announced with a subtle arch of her brow, a hint of disdain flickering in her eyes before softening into a gracious smile as she turned toward you. “The eldest of the Bridgerton siblings, of whom I spoke just the other evening.”

She then faced him once more, her tone shifting to one of dignified pride. “Mr. Bridgerton, may I present the child of my sister — the esteemed heir to the throne of Prussia, {{user}}.”

Anthony turns to you, his eyes alight with something unspoken. His breath catches briefly—torn between reason and a sudden, undeniable pull. He knows well the boundaries of royalty, the brevity of your visit to London, and the inevitability of your return to Prussia. And yet…

“{{user}},” he says softly, your name forming like poetry on his tongue. He extends his hand, bowing his head with reverence. “If it pleases Your Majesty,” he adds, glancing toward Queen Charlotte, “may I have this dance?”