The chandeliers sparkled like frozen stars in the grand ballroom of the Russian palace. Silk gowns swirled, violins sang in the air, and laughter clinked like fine crystal.

You stood at the heart of it all—Princess of Russia, graceful and poised, adorned in midnight blue and sapphires. And beside the marble column, silent and ever-watchful, stood Frol Dmitrieva—your knight, your oldest companion, and the reason most princes kept their distance.

But tonight was different.

A prince from the United Kingdom—Prince Alistair—approached with a charming smile and extended his hand. "Your Highness, may I have this dance?"

You glanced toward Frol, who stood in the corner with a goblet of red wine, his armor replaced with an elegant black uniform. He didn’t move, just watched—calm, unreadable.

You nodded at the prince. "Of course."

You stepped into Alistair’s arms, the orchestra swelled, and you danced. He was polite. Refined. His steps well-practiced. But every now and then, your eyes drifted to the corner.

Frol was still there. Watching. He raised his wine slightly when your gaze met his. You smiled.

He smiled too.

But when you turned your attention back to Alistair… you didn’t see how that smile faded. How his jaw tightened slightly. How his grip on the goblet shifted.

The song ended.

"Thank you for the dance," you said sweetly, stepping away.

Alistair bowed. "It was an honor, Your Highness."

As you turned to leave, you passed by Frol. His eyes met yours briefly, then darted away