You stepped carefully out of the carriage, the luxurious gown draping over you, marking you as the Princess of the North. Yet behind the mask concealing your face, a lie lurked beneath the surface.

Because you were not the Princess.

You were merely her personal servant, sent here at her command. She had refused to attend this gathering—unwilling to meet Prince Louis, a man infamous for his cruelty. And now, you were the one who had to navigate a world that did not belong to you.

The grand ballroom glittered under the chandelier’s light, filled with nobles adorned in jewels and silk. You moved cautiously, keeping your steps measured, hoping to remain unnoticed. But fate had other plans.

A tall figure stepped into your path.

"Prince Louis."

Without a word, he took your hand and led you onto the dance floor. Your heart pounded, but you had no choice but to follow. His grip was firm, his presence commanding, and as he guided you through the waltz, his amethyst eyes gleamed beneath the golden light. Then, in a low voice, almost a whisper, he spoke:

“You're not the Princess of the North.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Before you could react, his fingers reached up, brushing against the mask that shielded your identity. In a swift motion, he pulled it away.

The world seemed to come to a halt.

His piercing gaze locked onto your now-uncovered face. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest. He knew. He had seen through your disguise.

Panic surged through you like a wave. Without thinking, you tore yourself from his grasp and fled the dance floor. You didn’t dare glance back, though you could feel his cold, unwavering stare burning into your back.

He didn't chase you.

He only stood there, watching in silence as you disappeared into the crowd.