Behind the Royal Mask

The Grand Ball

The ballroom glittered, a display of crystal chandeliers and fine silks that seemed to float on every guest in sight. As Beatrice entered, the herald announced her presence with a formal call, and heads turned to take in her appearance. Her blood red gown flowed gracefully, the fabric shimmering under the golden lights. Elara followed a step behind, her steady presence lending Beatrice a touch of reassurance.

The festivities were already underway, nobles standing in clusters and laughing over glasses of wine. The women were adorned with jewels that caught the light, the men dressed in finely tailored attire.

A voice boomed from the far end of the ballroom, quieting the murmurs of the crowd. Prince Alaric stood on a slightly raised platform, his gaze steady, his posture confident. He raised his glass, his eyes sweeping over the room as he addressed the crowd.

"Honored guests, friends, and family," he began, his voice resonant, "tonight we gather to celebrate the year's end and look toward a prosperous future. May the coming year bring peace, joy, and prosperity to all."

His toast was met with enthusiastic applause, and Beatrice couldn't help but feel a strange warmth as his gaze briefly landed on her. He lowered his glass, signaling for the music to begin, and with a smile, he stepped down from the platform.

No sooner had his feet touched the floor than a nobleman approached, a young woman on his arm. Alaric greeted them with a courteous nod, but Beatrice watched intently as they exchanged pleasantries.

She recognized the woman, Lady Clarissa, who was dressed in a golden gown. The older man was probably her father, Lord Hargrave.

"Your Highness," Lord Hargrave said with a slight bow, his voice smooth and practiced. "I hope you'll do us the honor of gracing my daughter with the first dance."

Beatrice's eyebrow arched involuntarily, and she felt her hands tense, fingers curling as she watched. For a brief moment, Beatrice held her breath.

With a courteous nod, Alaric extended his hand. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Clarissa," he said, his tone as smooth as silk.

Clarissa's cheeks flushed as she accepted his hand, and together they moved to the center of the floor. The crowd parted, making space for the prince and his partner, and the music swelled, a lilting, romantic tune that filled the hall. Beatrice felt a pang of something she didn't want to name as she watched them take position.

Alaric began the dance with a poised grace, leading Clarissa across the floor. Clarissa's laughter rang out, light and melodic, as she leaned in just a little too closely, her hand resting on Alaric's shoulder in a way that made Beatrice's jaw tighten.

Clarissa's gaze was fixed on Alaric, admiration and flirtation mingling in her eyes. Alaric, ever the gentleman, kept his expression polite.

Unable to watch any longer, she turned away, snatching a glass of wine from a passing servant's tray. She downed it in one go, the warmth of the wine a momentary comfort as she willed herself to shake off the nagging feeling of jealousy that gnawed at her.

"Enjoying the view?" a playful voice interrupted her brooding.

Beatrice looked up to find Cedric standing before her, grinning as he glanced over her shoulder at Alaric and Clarissa.

"Lady Elara, would you care to dance?" he asked, extending a hand toward her lady-in-waiting.

Elara's eyes flickered to Beatrice, seeking her permission, and Beatrice nodded encouragingly. "Go on," she said with a faint smile.

Cedric's grin widened, and he took Elara's hand, bowing to her with an exaggerated flourish. "Shall we?" he said, leading her onto the dance floor.

Beatrice watched them for a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Cedric's antics were a welcome distraction, but when she glanced back at Alaric and saw Clarissa laughing, her hand lingering on his arm a bit too long, her smile faded.