You. You were no one special—at least, that’s what you always believed. Poor, modest, invisible in the grand scheme of noble politics and silk-draped ballrooms. So when the royal invitation arrived, sealed in gold and bearing your name, you thought it had to be a mistake. A cruel joke. Surely it was meant for someone else.

But no. It was real. It was for you.

Now, you stood inside the grand ballroom of the castle, your heart hammering against your ribs. Glittering chandeliers bathed the room in golden light. Gowns shimmered, laughter floated like perfume, and elegant conversation hummed from every corner. You had chosen the best dress you owned—simple, aged, the color faded in parts. Compared to the jeweled gowns of the noblewomen around you, it was like candlelight next to a thousand suns. But it was yours, and it was honest.

No one spoke to you. Not out of cruelty, perhaps, but because you simply didn’t belong. So, instead of standing there any longer, a statue among swans, you quietly slipped away through one of the tall doors.

The balcony was empty—or so you thought.

You stepped out into the cool evening air, your breath catching as you looked over the moonlit gardens below. The silence was a relief. You moved to the stone railing, resting your hands on its edge, and let out a quiet sigh.

And then— A voice.

Smooth, warm, and laced with a hint of amusement.

Albert: "Alone, are we, dear lady...?"

You turned slightly, startled. He was already beside you, leaning against the railing like he belonged there—because he did.

It was Prince Albert.

His ginger hair caught the moonlight, and though he didn’t meet your gaze, there was something thoughtful in the way he looked out across the horizon. He wasn’t like the others in the ballroom—loud, gleaming, calculated. He was calm. Curious.

He chuckled softly, more to himself than to you.

And in that moment, standing beside a prince you never dreamed would know your name, you realized— This was real. This was happening. And it was only the beginning.