✧. ┊ And I know you could fall
for a thousand kings.
𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁， 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋
𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗌𝖾𝗒 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗇．✧˖*°࿐
george weasley...
a/n - a longer one!!! play vitamin string quartet renditions for this chapter x
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FOURTY ONE
The grand ballroom of Kensington Palace was a vision of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests, their murmurs quieting as the orchestra began to play. The first notes of a sweeping waltz floated through the air, setting the tone for the evening.
At the top of the grand staircase, Tori paused, her hand lightly resting on the polished railing. Her heart beat in time with the music, a steady rhythm that reminded her of the lessons she'd practiced for weeks. Each step, each turn, had been rehearsed endlessly. And now, it was time.
The ballroom stretched out below her, filled with dignitaries, socialites, and the esteemed guests of the year's most anticipated event. Among them, her friends—George, Fred, Alicia, Angelina, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and even Neville—stood near the edges of the dance floor, their eyes searching for her.
She took a steadying breath, her gown glistening under the lights as if adorned with stars. The sapphire blue fabric flowed around her like water, the diamond-encrusted bodice catching the light with every movement. Her blonde curls framed her face, and a subtle tiara perched atop her head, a symbol of the night's significance.
Slowly, she descended the staircase.
The crowd watched in awe as she moved gracefully, every step measured and deliberate. At the bottom of the staircase, waiting for her, was her father, Prince Charles. He stood rigid in his formal attire, his face a practiced mask of royal composure.
Tori reached the last step, her eyes meeting his. There was a moment of stillness, the weight of their shared history hanging between them. He extended his hand to her, and she took it with the practiced grace of a princess, her fingers cool against his.
"Victoria," he greeted her softly, a rare attempt at warmth in his voice. "You look... lovely tonight."
"Thank you," she replied, her tone polite but distant, as cold as the diamonds around her neck.
"I hope you'll enjoy tonight," he continued, leading her onto the center of the dance floor where the first dance would begin. "It's a special moment, after all."
"Indeed," she said, her eyes fixed straight ahead. "A moment for appearances."
Charles flinched almost imperceptibly but quickly recovered. "I know things have been difficult between us—"
She cut him off with a calm, icy smile. "Yes. They have."
The orchestra swelled, signaling the start of their dance. He placed one hand on her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder. Together, they began to glide across the floor, the epitome of royal grace. Yet, anyone watching closely would notice the tension between them—the stiffness in her posture, the formality in their movements.
