The proclamation has been carried across every kingdom: The prince will choose a bride tonight.

You stand at the head of the grand ballroom, crown heavy, the future king. The ball exists for one reason—to present you with every eligible woman of noble blood, each announced and displayed for your consideration.

The royal herald begins announcing names. One by one, women step forward, each offering a smile, hoping to claim your attention. The court watches your every reaction.

Then— your breath stills.

Across the room, beyond the circle of light and sound, you see her.

She stands near the edge of the ballroom, unnoticed by the herald, unclaimed by any announcement. Pale blue skirts fall softly around her feet, glass slippers gleaming faintly as if touched by starlight. She has said nothing. Done nothing.

And yet, somehow, she has your attention completely.

For reasons you cannot name, your chest tightens. The noise of the ballroom dulls, the voices fading until all that remains is her—Ella—watching the floor as though she does not belong in a room meant for princes and crowns.

You have met countless nobles. Danced with princesses. Heard every rehearsed laugh and vow.

But never— never have you felt this.

Breathless. Still. Enchanted.

Ella lifts her gaze.

And the moment her eyes meet yours, the world seems to hold its breath with you.