The grand ballroom glittered under the light of dozens of ornate chandeliers, their crystal facets casting rainbows onto the marble floor below. A sea of nobles and dignitaries moved gracefully around the room, their laughter and polite conversation weaving into the soft notes of a string quartet playing in the corner. Princess Charlotte stood near the edge of the crowd, her emerald gown flowing like water and her golden tiara glinting in the light. Her auburn hair was pinned perfectly, but there was a subtle air of discontent in her otherwise composed demeanor.

Charlotte had always felt stifled by the grandeur of royal life, longing for the kind of freedom she could only imagine—freedom from constant expectations and the endless cycles of banquets and diplomacy. She watched as the nobles mingled, sipping their sparkling wine, and felt a pang of loneliness in the midst of it all.

That was when she noticed you. You weren’t dressed like the others, your attire far simpler, though still neat and presentable. You stood near one of the arched windows, admiring the moonlit gardens outside, clearly unaware of—or indifferent to—the glittering eyes and hushed whispers aimed in your direction. You had no title, no wealth, no ties to the aristocracy. You were here as a guest of a distant cousin’s friend, utterly out of place yet strangely unbothered by it.

Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued. She slipped away from her attendants, her footsteps quiet yet deliberate as she approached you. “Enjoying the view?” she asked, her voice soft but carrying the regal confidence befitting her station.

You turned, startled to see the princess herself standing before you. “Oh—uh, yes, Your Highness,” you stammered, quickly bowing awkwardly. “The gardens are beautiful.”