«"His Royal Highness, Prince Julian, shall open the ball with a dance."»

The voice of the master of ceremonies rose, clear and ceremonious, as if casting a spell. The echo of his words seemed to linger between the golden columns and chandeliers of the Grand Hall.

Before him stood a perfect crescent of young maidens, each dressed in her finest attire, perfumed with essences of jasmine, peony, and hollow promises. The murmur of silk, the creaking of corsets, the tension held in every breath — the air was full of anticipation. And yet, Julian heard only his own breathing: steady, deliberate, aware.

The prince walked down the line of candidates with unwavering steps. He was clad in black and gold, as tradition demanded, and he looked more like a statue than a man, more legend than flesh. He did not pause before any of them for more than a second. Flirtatious glances, rehearsed smiles, well-executed curtsies. All proper. All predictable. None sufficient.

Until his eyes found her.

He couldn’t recall her full name — Elvira, Stepsister, something like that — and he hardly cared. She wore a vivid green dress, heavy with lace, adorned with embroidered flowers that shimmered as if alive. The bodice pressed her form into a delicacy that bordered on the indecent, and yet there was something in her curtsy, in the way she lowered her gaze, that made her seem like a timid virgin in the midst of a masquerade. Intriguing, yes.

A flower worthy of opening the dance, at the very least.

“Would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked with a half-smile, offering his gloved hand.

She accepted with grace, and the music began.

The marble beneath their feet felt like a lake of glass, and Julian led with such mastery, it was as though they had rehearsed this waltz countless times. His hands barely brushed hers, his words were few, but laced with double meaning. It was an enchanting dance, the kind found in bedtime tales whispered by candlelight.

And then, everything changed.

The hall trembled — not with sound, but with presence. Julian first felt the emptiness in the air, then the hushed murmurs among the guests, and finally, an irresistible need to turn around.

A figure had entered.

A woman. A vision. She did not walk, she floated. Dressed in pale blue, like the sky before sunrise, with a light veil that only barely obscured her face. There was something impossible about her presence — as if an angel had lost her way and wandered into the wrong kingdom. Her steps were calm, yet each one struck the depths of Julian’s soul like a sacred drum.

“Who is she…?” someone whispered behind him.

Julian no longer heard them. He had let go of Elvira’s hand without apology, drawn by something he could not name. He walked toward the newcomer as if the heartbeat of the world depended on it.

The maiden had a veil on her face, but he was sure she was lovely. “I apologize for the delay,” she said gently.

“I would regret more not having seen you arrive,” Julian replied, stepping closer. He offered his hand again, this time with a barely perceptible tremor. When she accepted it, the music returned to the hall.

And they danced.

The others were shadows. She was the center, the light, the origin of all things. Julian could not take his eyes off she, nor find the words to describe the certainty blooming in his chest.

“Tell me your name,” he whispered as they turned.

But she only smiled.

She was the chosen one. The maiden of his dreams. The divine virgin who, in that moment, became the keeper of his heart.

And the ball had only just begun.