Cold Hands Warm Heart (A Vampire Fan Fiction) - Harry Styles

Chapter 1• The Ball

"Good morning, my lady. Your breakfast is served," Aunt Colette announced, her voice a soft, familiar melody as she made a graceful curtsy. She stood up, her kindly face crinkling with a smile.

"Please, Aunt Colette," I sighed, pulling myself up against the pillows. "How many times must I ask you to call me Carolina?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, a fleeting shadow of apology. "My apologies, Miss Bennett... Carolina. It is only that your father, the Master, insists upon proper respect."

I let out a soft sigh, my shoulders sinking slightly. Father's constant insistence on treating me as though I were some rare, delicate bird of the royal court always chafed at me. I was eighteen years of age, not a child to be coddled. The world beckoned with its chaos and wonders, yet I remained confined to my gilded cage.

I set the silver tray aside, the clatter of porcelain on the nightstand a small rebellion. "Aunt Colette, what is the date today?"

She glanced over her shoulder as if to consult an invisible calendar. "It is the 13th of November, 1840," she replied.

I nodded, the information settling in my mind like the last piece of a puzzle. I rose from the bed, smoothing the wrinkles from my nightgown, and crossed to my dressing table. A good hair tonic had given my unruly locks a pleasing sheen. I took up my golden comb, brushing through the cascades until they fell like a fine silken curtain.

"What gown shall I wear today?" I asked, looking at her through the mirror's reflection.

She moved to the wardrobe, her hands sifting through the silks and satins. She pulled out a white gown with delicate pink ruffles tracing the hem. The bodice was fitted perfectly, and the long sleeves ended just above the elbow, with a small ribbon at the neck.

"It is a day of clear skies, Carolina," she said, her voice full of a gentle cheer. "This gown will make you look as fresh as a summer bloom." She twirled the dress in front of her.

I giggled. "Thank you for your help, Aunt Colette."

"It is my pleasure, my lady," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "Now, off with you. A bath, then we will see to your hair. Master Bennett wishes to speak with you in the garden."

~

I found my parents in the gazebo, the scent of petunias and roses heavy in the air. The tea set was laid out, a delicate array of China and silver.

"Good afternoon, Father. Good afternoon, Mother," I said, with a polite nod as I took my seat.

"Good afternoon, my dear Carolina," my father began, a note of worry in his voice. "You seem out of sorts this afternoon. Is something the matter?"

I took a deep breath. "Nothing is wrong, Father. I am merely... weary of it all. The days are a blur of the same routine: rise, appear perfect, act the part of a princess. I am eighteen, and yet I feel as though I am living a life not my own. I long for something new, something real. My life feels like an exquisite fraud, and I yearn to experience something more."

My father's brows knitted together, a mix of surprise and concern on his face, while my mother offered a small, knowing smile.

"I understand your heart's desire, my dear," my father said, his voice softening. "I only wish to see you happy. You are my only daughter, and I fear the world may be too cruel for you."

I reached across the table, taking a hand from each of them. "I am already happy because of you both, and everything you have given me. But it is time for me to find my own way. You raised a brave girl, Father, and you know it." I gestured with my hands for emphasis. "Do you not remember when I was a child and I nearly fell into the well? I was clever enough to climb out myself. I have always been able to think for myself, and I am doing so now."

My mother's eyes glistened with tears as she rose and embraced me, my father joining her moments later. "We love you so very much, Carolina. We only do not wish to lose you," Mother whispered into my hair. We stood there for a long time, held in a moment of tender understanding.

When we finally drew apart, Father cleared his throat. "We are to attend a ball this evening. It is Queen Adelaide's birthday, and she has requested our company. Let us hope it is for a good reason."

I nodded, the promise of a ball distracting me from my earlier melancholy.

~

I found myself strolling through the garden, the scent of flowers now mingling with the sweet perfume of the ball. I heard footsteps behind me and smiled, turning with a flourish. "Mother, I told you I would be back shortly!"

It was not my mother.

A man stood before me, his presence as striking as the midnight sky. "Mother?" he said, his voice a low, amused rumble. "Forgive me, but I am Lord Harold Edward Styles. Though you may call me Harry."

I scoffed, my carefully constructed composure crumbling. His tone was insolent, and before I could utter a rebuke, he had taken me by the waist, drawing me so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Unhand me!" I exclaimed, twisting out of his grasp. "Do you not know who I am?"

He merely smiled, a flash of arrogance in his eyes. "Indeed, I do. You are Princess Carolina Evangeline Bennett, daughter of Prince Victor Bennett and Duchess Louisa Bennett. Is there anything else you require?"

I took a moment to smooth my skirt. "Very well, Lord Harry, you have the advantage. I am quite surprised you know so much of me. Now, if you will excuse me, my parents will be worried." I turned to walk away, but he took my hand, his grip gentle but firm.

I turned back, a steely resolve in my gaze. "Is there something you wish to ask?" I said, my voice as civil as I could manage.

He nodded, and for the first time, I truly looked into his eyes. They were a vivid, mesmerizing emerald green, and a strange flutter started in my chest. He was arrogant, to be sure, but his eyes held an unexpected depth.

"Will you do me the honour of a dance?" he asked, and a genuine earnestness had replaced his earlier insolence.

I drew closer to him. "And why should I dance with a man as impertinent as you?"

He drew me closer still, and my breath hitched. "Parce que je t'aime."

The French words, "Because I love you," sent a shiver through me. My heart began to pound a furious rhythm against my ribs. I found myself blushing. It was illogical, utterly foolish, and yet I was captivated.

"I... I am not sure what to say," I stammered.

"Say it back," he said, and his face drew closer.

I met him halfway, and our lips touched, moving with a surprising, unfamiliar harmony. In that moment, the entire world melted away, and I no longer worried about my parents, the ball, or the life that was expected of me.