The Swan Princess

Chapter 5: Winging It

"Announcing: Princess Insun Yi, of the Joseon Dynasty!"

The booming voice of the announcer echoes across the cavernous ballroom.

I step forward and take a look at the sheer magnificence of the occasion. Golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Musicians play the harp to the left of me. On the right, a table is filled from end to end with chocolates, cakes, and wines. In front of me, I see cinched bodices, flowing skirts, and impeccable makeup on the ladies fighting for the prince's hand tonight.

I will say, however, that I look the best. Emilia's sewing has transformed me into what could have passed as a real princess. New, light pink ribbons lace up my front bodice. My arms flow through added lace-tipped, pastel-capped sleeves. From my waist out, my dress is covered in layers of light blue tulle, soft enough to make me feel like I'm walking through mist. Covering the whole ensemble is carefully applied gold glitter from Emilia, which makes me feel as though I'm shining when I glide across the ballroom dance floor.

Most important, is the white, feathered mask I wear over my eyes. A masquerade ball for the prince: and an endless opportunity for myself.

My goal today: to dance with as many men as possible, and hope, eventually, that they fall in love with me. That I can find a man who loves who I am beneath this disguise, enough to break the curse I've fallen under. That the white feathers from my mask tonight will be some of the last I ever have to wear.

I move through the ballroom, Emilia escorting me as my "handmaiden" with gloved hands. I hastily fastened her a servant's hanbok, and with her light yellow mask, she's indistinguishable from her usual self tonight.

"You're the only one dressed in pastels tonight," Emilia remarks as she trails me through the ballroom. "Most people wear the kingdom's colors for good luck: royal blue and gilded gold."

"Exactly," I purr. "I'm here to be remembered, Hae-won. Nobody will forget us tonight."

Emilia glances at me, smiling at the new name. It means "graceful garden," in my first language, Hangul, and we picked it out together.

"Given that you've been winging it so far, I assume you don't know how the ball will run tonight?" Emilia asks. "Every lady in attendance will be received, one by one, at the throne."

"According to what the other servants told me," Emilia says, leaning in, "He only just glanced at the other princesses in attendance tonight. So far, he has declined to dance with anyone."

"Well then, perhaps I should seduce him," I suggest, half-joking, as we stroll through the room.

"Indeed."

We glide forward, only to be stopped by a massive line of gold and blue. There are dozens of girls and their families, all waiting in line for their introduction to the throne. They've got dresses and styles from all over the world, and yet they all chose the same, repetitive colors.

Emilia uses her gloved hand to guide me toward the line, but I have a better idea.

"Let's go to the main dance floor," I suggest.

"You don't want to meet the king?"

"No. I want the king to meet me."

With that, Emilia holds out a gloved hand, inviting me to lead the way.

The slow tunes of the harp set the mood as I walk to the center of the ballroom, directly in front of the prince and his parents. As I walk, I hear the sharp criticism of mothers and the whimpers of teenage suitors. It seems many were disappointed by the lack of response from the king tonight.

When I reach the center, I behold him. The Prince. The shining brown hair, and oddly familiar blue eyes. The black, gold-tipped mask hides most of his facial features. Yet beneath, I can still see the sharp jawline and slanted smile of a very handsome prince.

He's wearing the royal blue color on his suit, with gold details to match his crown. Beside him, a gilded bow-and-arrow sits. An interesting choice for a prince, I think. Most would choose a sword.

To dance with any eligible bachelor at the ball tonight would be a dream. But to dance with him? That would be the ultimate victory.

"Dance with me, Hae-won," I announce.

"What? Two women never dance together," She starts. "I don't even know how to dance," she finishes in a befuddled tone.

"Exactly." I retort. "Let's dance, and get ourselves noticed."

"If you say so," she answers warily.

With that, we position our arms so that they're crossed diagonally upwards, and start to circle each other. Emilia looks like she's about to laugh, but we continue to dance around each other gracefully.

"What are they doing?" An elderly man whispers.

"Oh, my heavens!" another whisper shouts.

We keep turning, linking arms, disbanding, spinning away, and then returning back to each other. Both of us are smiling now, and we let the music guide our graceful slides, hops, and spins.

Initially, I was a pastel flower waving in the wind among rich blues and yellows.

Now, we're dancing alone, and all the others have paused to stop and stare.

I let myself feel the motion of the music. The melody rises, and so do I. The music brightens, and I spin around. My hair and skirts twirl, and I know I look as good as I feel.

"We're attracting attention," Emilia whispers.

"Good," I reply, tuning out everyone else to dance.

As the song slows down, it stops abruptly.

The other couples move back, and Emilia stops.

"Prince Siegfried," Emilia graciously greets, "This is her majesty, Princess Insun."

"Princess Insun," a familiar voice begins, "I do not believe we are acquainted."

Stunned, it's everything I have in me to remain my composure.

"Honored, your majesty," I reply, realizing who I ran into in the woods earlier.

"You skipped out on the line, Princess Insun. Am I to believe you came here to perform, and not to charm me?"

The royal court jester, indeed. If he wasn't a prince, I would have scolded him for acting so irreverently to a princess. If I actually was one, that is.

"Yes," I respond.

Emilia nearly squeaks, covering her mouth with her hands.

My mask must be working, if he does not recognize me from earlier. I suppose at least one aspect of his personality is consistent, regardless of whether he's talking to a peasant or a princess: he believes the world revolves around him.

"I saw so many other lovely young ladies get rejected, and I wanted to make sure I at least had fun first," I say lightly, trying to decipher if he likes getting teased.

"Fun dancing, or fun tempting me?" He does.

"Can one tempt the incorrigible?" I fire back.

"Dance with me," he demands, "and we will find out."