An unlikely pair

16

Third person POV

The Rosier-Black Manor glittered that evening like a jewellery box came to life. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over the ballroom, where satin gowns swished and champagne flutes chimed against the steady hum of conversation.

Everywhere one looked, deep emerald silks, onyx velvets, and occasional flashes of royal navy commanded the space, a carefully curated palette of aristocratic wealth.

It was already in full swing when the hush began.

The double doors opened, and Valentina stepped through, fashionably late, as though time itself had paused for her.

White.

A vision of it, in a sea of green and black.

Her gown, a cascade of airy layers that caught the light with every movement, shimmered faintly as if each fold had been kissed by frost. The sculpted bodice, scattered with delicate floral details, seemed to bloom against her pale skin.

Her hair, swept into voluminous curls and pinned half-up, tumbled down her back like spun gold, framing her profile with an elegance that seemed effortless. The subtle gleam of her makeup caught the light as she lifted her chin, blue-grey eyes glinting with quiet amusement at the sudden stillness that followed her arrival.

A final detail sealed her presence: white heels tied delicately with satin ribbons at the ankle, tapping softly against the polished floor as she crossed the threshold.

Conversation picked up again, but with a different cadence. Heads turned. Whispers spread. In a world where every guest had been trained to blend into the grand tapestry of their house colors, Valentina had made herself the thread no one could ignore.

The chandeliers glittered as the orchestra eased into a quieter melody, the shift almost imperceptible until Cygnus Black moved forward, commanding the room without effort. He lifted a hand for silence, his dark eyes sweeping over the assembly of emerald, onyx, and navy.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice rang out, smooth and resonant, “tonight our gathering is honored with the presence of one whose name carries weight beyond these walls. It is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you—Her Royal Highness, Princess Valentina Lafenier.”

The title struck the room like a spell. A ripple of whispers surged, quickly hushed by the swell of polite applause that followed. Guests turned, their gazes sharpening with interest, curiosity, envy.

She stood framed in the doorway, white silk and light incarnate, her gown spilling in frosted layers that caught the chandeliers’ glow. Every detail–from the delicate satin heels tied with ribbons at her ankles to the tumble of golden curls over her shoulders–set her apart from the jeweled crowd.

Cygnus inclined his head toward her, the faintest smile of triumph on his lips. “May the evening be all the brighter for her grace.”

Valentina moved forward then, serene and unhurried, her smile cool and composed as though she had been born to command such a stage–and in truth, she had. Wherever she passed, conversation faltered, heads turned, and admiration mixed with envy.

Valentina had barely descended from Cygnus’s announcement into the thick of the crowd before the first wave of purebloods swept in, eager to be seen speaking with her. She greeted them with practiced poise, a dip of the head here, a faint smile there, but it wasn’t long before a pair of boys, younger than most of the stiff-necked lords and ladies, cut through the sea of silks with ease.

“Now this,” drawled a voice, warm with amusement, “is what I call an entrance.”
Barty Crouch Jr. all sharp cheekbones, gleaming eyes, and a grin that held too much mischief to be polite–bowed low before her, though the exaggerated flourish of it was just shy of mocking. “Her Royal Highness, Princess Valentina. I must confess, I wasn’t expecting the Christmas Ball to turn into a coronation, but here we are.”