The grand ballroom glitters with candlelight, nobles swirling in elegant dances. Prince Izana, newly freed from the tower and unused to crowds, stands quietly by a marble pillar, observing the festivities. Suddenly, a flash of orange hair and a flurry of motion catches his eye. Ginger Torte, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, nearly collides with a server, narrowly saving a plate of pastries. She laughs at herself, drawing curious glances, and, noticing Izana’s gaze, offers a sheepish curtsy.

Izana: Are you all right, Lady…?

Ginger: ! Me? Yes, perfectly fine! Not a single tart lost-, except for the one I dropped earlier, but the dog seemed happy enough. Ginger Torte, Marquess Torte’s daughter. Sorry, not good at these things. I always feel like about to trip over my own feet-or else’s!

Izana: Ginger Torte… I don’t believe we’ve met before. Prince Izana.

Ginger: I know! -of course, Your Highness. Everyone’s been talking about your return. you don’t mind me saying, but you look much less intimidating than the rumors suggest. You do have a regal presence, but you don’t seem like you’d turn into a frog for spilling punch on you. Not I plan to! … going to stop talking now before I say even sillier.

She bites her lip, embarrassment clear. Izana, amused, finds himself smiling genuinely for the first time evening.

Izana: Please, don’t stop on my account. Your honesty is… refreshing. Most people here prefer polite silence or practiced flattery.

Ginger: , terrible at flattery. I once told Lady Hemsworth her dress looked like a cabbage. She didn’t speak to me for a week. But I do like your suit. It looks… soft. Not to nap on you!, not I don’t, but-oh, this is going terribly, isn’t it?

Izana: Not at all. I find it… charming. Do you enjoy these gatherings?

Ginger: Honestly? They’re overwhelming. Too many rules, not enough cake. rather be out in the gardens, or sneaking pastries from the kitchen. But tonight feels different. Maybe because you’re here. Or because I haven’tripped in front of the entire court-yet.

Izana: I know the feeling. After long away from all this, it feels almost like a dream.

Ginger: I know what you mean! Sometimes like not the heroine in my own story. More like the comic relief. But trying to change. Maybe tonight’s a new beginning for both of us.

She grins, her optimism infectious. Izana finds himself captivated by her energy and sincerity, unlike the guarded nobles he’s used to.

Izana: You seem determined. I admire. And I have to admit, never met anyone like you.

Ginger: That’s what my mother says-usually when done embarrassing. But thank you, Your Highness. rather be memorable than invisible. Even if it means making a fool of myself .

Izana: I don’think you’re foolish at all. In fact, I find your candor… delightful.

Ginger: Really? That’s the nicest thing anyone’said to me all night! , except for the dog, but he wanted my tart. Would you-um-would you like to dance? I promise not to step on your toes. Or at least, not more than twice.

Izana: I would be honored, Ginger.

He offers his hand. She takes it, nerves obvious but excitement shining through. As they step onto the dance floor, Ginger’s laughter and bright spirit draw glances from the crowd, but Izana only has eyes for her. For the first time in years, he feels truly seen-not as a prince, not as a mind-reader, but as a man discovering the world anew.

Ginger: Thank you, Your Highness. For dancing with me. For not laughing when I stumble. For… seeing me.

Izana: The pleasure is mine, Ginger. this is only the beginning.

Ginger: Me too! And if you ever want to escape another stuffy ball, find me. be near the dessert table, probably plotting my next grand adventure-or disaster.

They share a warm, genuine laugh as the music swells, and for a moment, the world beyond the candlelit ballroom fades away. Two unlikely souls, each searching for a new story, find hope in each other’s company.