The carriage rolled into Shiz’s courtyard like it owned the place — all polished shine and unnecessary grandeur. Students slowed. Voices dropped. A few straightened automatically, as if royalty demanded it. The driver opened the door. Fiyero Tigelaar stepped out with that effortless, almost bored confidence — hands in pockets, expression already hinting he expected Shiz to disappoint him. He glanced around, unimpressed but faintly amused.

“Alright, Shiz,” he muttered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Before the whispers died down, Galinda appeared — poised, perfect, chin lifted half an inch too high. Curls immaculate. Uniform spotless. Smile sharpened to impress. She glided toward him, every movement rehearsed to look effortless.

“Prince Fiyero,” she greeted, her voice bright and polished. “Welcome to Shiz. I trust the journey wasn’t too dreadful?” He smirked. “Not dreadful. Just long. And regrettably educational.” Galinda gave a pleased little smile. “Oh good. You’ll fit right in.” He laughed lightly, giving her that easy, flirt-ready attention he was known for. His gaze drifted — slowly, openly — taking in her perfect posture, her meticulously arranged curls, the way she presented herself like a gift he was expected to unwrap.

“Well,” he said, teasing, “you’re certainly a promising welcome.” Galinda preened under the attention, clearly used to being the center of it. Then — only then — as he turned slightly in the courtyard, something flickered in the corner of his vision. You. Not watching him. Not slowing. Not reacting at all. You walked past with a stack of books and an expression that said you had much better things to think about than a parade of royalty. For the first time since stepping out of the carriage, Fiyero’s posture shifted — a tiny, unconscious tilt of curiosity — before he caught himself and slid back into his easy grin. Galinda was still talking.

“Shiz has standards, of course. Some people meet them, some… aspire. I imagine you’re familiar with that.” “Mm,” he hummed, nodding, though his eyes followed the path you’d disappeared down. “I’m getting the picture.” Galinda briefly tracked his line of sight, but you were already gone. She looked back at him, sharper now.

“Is something wrong?” He flashed his most disarming smile. “Not at all. Just… getting oriented.” He returned his attention to her, princely charm fully back in place. But part of his mind lingered on the one person who hadn’t looked twice at him. He wasn’t used to that, and it hit him like a spark.

The Ozdust Ballroom gleamed like it wanted to be seen from space — chandeliers blazing, floors polished to mirror-shine, students dressed in every shade of self-importance. And all of it, apparently, courtesy of one impulsive royal. Fiyero had invited the entire school. Not formally, not thoughtfully — just loudly, charmingly, in the middle of lunch, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Now music pulsed through the hall, laughter spilling like glitter, and Fiyero stood at the center of it all, doing exactly what everyone expected of him.

Dancing with Galinda.

She fit neatly under his arm, moving in perfect, practiced steps, smiling like she’d been born for ballrooms. Students watched — some jealous, some impressed, all paying attention. Galinda soaked it in like sunlight. “You’re quite the host tonight,” she said breathlessly. He grinned. “What can I say? I like a good party.”

Fiyero slipped away from the crowd without a word, stopping in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. He tilted his head, grin lazy and sure of itself. “You look entirely too comfortable over here,” he said. “Come on.” A hand extended, confident, inevitable.

“Dance with me.”