The grand chandeliers of the Imperial Palace glittered like fallen constellations, casting golden light across a sea of silk gowns and polished boots. Music swelled from the royal orchestra, strings weaving with flutes in a melody as intoxicating as the perfumed air. Laughter and gossip rippled through the crowd, every maiden fluttering their fans as if to draw the Crown Prince’s gaze toward them.

Amber wanted none of it.

She moved with practiced subtlety, her steps light and precise, blending into clusters of noblewomen as though she were one of them. Her gown—a modest beige silk that glittered faintly as tiny gems caught the chandelier light—was chosen carefully to be elegant but not ostentatious. It clung and flowed in the right places, refined yet quiet, a gown meant to let her pass like moonlight in a storm of colors.

Her appearance, however, had always betrayed her attempts to remain unseen. Pale white skin, unblemished and porcelain-like, reflected every stray light. Her hair—long, curly, cascading in black and streaked with deep red—looked like fire burning through the night. It was the one feature she could never tame. Standing taller than many of the ladies present, she knew she stood out even in stillness.

Amber, she reminded herself silently, the reluctant guest at a queen’s command. A nobody trying to be invisible in a ballroom full of peacocks.

She walked in rhythm with the crowd, fanning herself idly, every gesture measured to appear unremarkable.

If I can just make it to the doors without anyone noticing, she told herself.

Slipping behind a gaggle of ladies gossiping about dowries. Then I can breathe again. This whole ordeal is just the Queen’s decree, nothing more. Attend the ball, curtsy, and disappear.

But fate, as always, had a sense of humor.

As she neared the edge of the hall, the orchestra abruptly shifted to a livelier tune. The crowd’s movement changed—pairs forming, ladies twirling, skirts swishing in brilliant arcs. Amber tried to slip sideways, but the surge of dancers swept her back into the throng. Her fan snapped shut in frustration.

“Smile, dear,” whispered one lady beside her, mistaking Amber’s grimace for nerves. “This is the moment he chooses!”

Amber nearly groaned. Moment he chooses? I choose to be anywhere else but here.

She ducked her head, weaving through the twirling couples. For a second, it worked—until a sharp tug yanked her backward. One lady’s jeweled slipper had caught the hem of Amber’s gown. Her balance faltered, and with an ungraceful gasp she stumbled forward, crashing to the polished marble floor.

The music faltered.

Eyes turned. Whispers surged like wildfire. Fans froze mid-wave. Every lady in the room seemed to glare daggers, as if her fall were some scandalous attempt to upstage them.

Amber stayed down for a heartbeat longer than necessary, cheeks burning. Wonderful. The perfect disappearing act—straight onto the floor.

And then, before she could scramble up, a hand extended into her vision. Strong, elegant, unmistakably royal.

“Are you hurt?” The voice was warm, concerned. She didn’t need to look up to know it was him—the Crown Prince himself.

Every maiden in the hall inhaled sharply. The orchestra had gone utterly silent.

Amber kept her gaze on the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. No, no, no, this is the exact opposite of blending in.

She forced the faintest smile, her voice tight. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

As he helped her up, Amber’s thoughts spun furiously. Great. Not only did I fall, but now I’ve dragged the Crown Prince into my humiliation. Perfect. Just perfect. Why don’t I go ahead and trip into the royal cake while I’m at it? Or maybe set fire to the drapes with my hair—it already looks like a torch.

She kept her head bowed, forcing herself not to look into his eyes. Don’t look at him, Amber. If you look, you’ll encourage him. And encouraging a prince means endless dances, endless questions, and endless daggers from every lady in this room. No thank you.

Yet her hand lingered in his just a moment too long. His grip was steady, warm, grounding. And it made her heartbeat stutter in betrayal.

This is going to be the longest night of my life.

Crown Prince’s POV

From the dais where he had stood, Crown Prince Red had been bored. Every maiden’s smile looked rehearsed, every gesture polished to perfection. They sparkled, yes, but like cut glass—beautiful, yet hollow. His eyes skimmed the crowd again and again, waiting for something, anything genuine.

And then, a ripple of commotion.

A young woman fell—gracelessly, honestly, disastrously—onto the polished marble floor. Gasps echoed, fans froze, and the crowd held its breath. For a moment, she did not scramble to correct herself. She stayed there, cheeks flushed, frustration clear in the tilt of her shoulders.

Something about her struck him immediately: not the stumble itself, but the utter lack of pretense in her fall. She hadn’t engineered it for attention like so many others might. No, she wanted nothing less than to be seen.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

Red found himself moving before thought caught up. He pushed through the gathering whispers, knelt before her, and extended his hand.

“Are you hurt?”

When she hesitated—hesitated!—to take his hand, his intrigue sharpened. What maiden would not seize such an opportunity? But she lowered her eyes, her voice clipped and polite: “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Red’s lips curved faintly as he drew her up. His gaze lingered on her face, pale but striking, framed by a cascade of black and red-tinged curls that gleamed like embers in the chandelier light. She looked fragile at first glance, but there was something… iron beneath the surface, a fire he could almost sense.

And just like that, the ball no longer seemed dull at all.

Prince Vlad’s POV

From the far corner of the hall, cloaked in shadow and half-forgotten by the crowd, Prince Vlad watched. Unlike his brother, he had no throngs of ladies vying for his hand. He preferred it that way—unnoticed, unbothered.

But his sharp eyes missed nothing.

He had seen the girl before anyone else reacted, the way she tried to shrink, to vanish, to slip away from the current of gowns and laughter. And he had seen the fire in her hair when she stumbled—the kind of fire one doesn’t easily forget.

His brother’s hand reached for hers, and the entire ballroom gasped. Vlad’s jaw tightened. He did not know why, but something about the scene unsettled him. It was more than the whispers that had already begun weaving themselves like cobwebs among the courtiers.

This girl… she’s not like the others. And Red has noticed.

For the first time that night, Vlad felt a shadow of unease stirring in his chest.

Closing Scene – Amber’s Relief

Amber finally slipped free of the ballroom hours later, after what felt like centuries of false smiles and stares sharp enough to cut steel. The moment the heavy palace doors shut behind her, she exhaled deeply, clutching her skirts as if she had just escaped a battlefield.

Her carriage waited, its emblem catching the faint moonlight. The coachman bowed and opened the door without a word. Amber climbed in, sinking against the cushioned seat. Her body was tense, but at last her lungs filled with something that wasn’t perfume and nerves.

“Finally,” she muttered, tugging at a stubborn curl. “Air. Blessed, ordinary, breathable air. No chandeliers, no sharp glares, no crown princes asking if I’m hurt.”

Her lips curved faintly, betraying her irritation. This night better not follow me into my dreams, she thought as the carriage rolled forward. But even then, her heart refused to settle, still echoing with the warmth of a hand she never wanted to hold.

The sound of the palace faded at last, swallowed by the quiet hum of the city beyond its gilded gates. Amber leaned back against the velvet seat of her carriage, her fingers loosening from the fan she had clutched half the night. A long, weary sigh escaped her lips.

“Finally…” she murmured under her breath, watching the lamps outside blur past. “The longest night of my life is over. Thank the heavens.”

She let herself slump for a moment, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off the stares of a thousand jealous ladies. Her gown glittered faintly in the carriage light—the beige silk now creased from the stumble that had stolen every scrap of her anonymity. Her pale skin looked even fairer under the lantern’s glow, her long curls of black and crimson hair still burning like embers in the night.

*All I wanted was to blend in,* she thought. *But no—trip once and suddenly you’re the star of the ball. Perfect.*

---

**Earlier that Night – The Garden Escape**

Amber’s first attempt to escape the suffocating ballroom had been—miraculously—successful. She had slipped past a group of noblewomen gossiping about the prince’s future bride, ducked down a quiet corridor, and slipped through an open door into the gardens.

The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses and trimmed hedges. She inhaled deeply, letting the coolness wash over her flushed cheeks.

“At last,” she whispered dramatically to the moon. “Freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom.”

She swished the skirts of her gown as if bowing to the stars, reveling in the quiet. But her peace lasted only moments.

“Well, well,” came a smooth voice from the shadows of a nearby hedge. “A lady escaping her own ball? How very rebellious.”

Amber stiffened, then turned sharply. A tall man stepped forward, his silhouette cutting a striking figure against the garden’s lanterns. His hair was dark, streaked with midnight blue that caught the light when he moved. His jawline was sharp, his eyes piercing and faintly amused. His lips curved into a smile that was both mischievous and—frustratingly—tempting.

Amber crossed her arms, unimpressed. “And who might you be? Another bored noble looking for amusement?”

The man chuckled, bowing slightly with theatrical grace. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I enjoy seeing who dares to slip away from the Queen’s watchful eye.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “Well, congratulations, you’ve found me. Now what? Planning to report me to Her Majesty? Or will you simply stand there smirking like a cat who’s found a lost mouse?”

“Smirking?” His grin widened. “I prefer to think of it as… intrigued.”

“Of course you do,” Amber muttered, brushing past him to sit on a stone bench beneath a vine-wrapped arch. “You nobles really must have too much free time if pestering strangers in gardens counts as entertainment.”

He followed, leaning casually against a pillar, clearly enjoying her sharp tongue. “And yet, here you are, conversing with me instead of returning inside. Curious, isn’t it?”

Amber shot him a flat look. “Don’t flatter yourself. You just happen to be in my way. If I ignore you, maybe you’ll vanish.”

The man laughed softly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I’m not so easy to ignore, Lady…?”

“None of your business,” Amber cut in smoothly. “And do stop hovering. You’re blocking my moonlight.”

He tilted his head, studying her with a strange intensity that made her skin prickle. But before she could demand he leave, a voice from the ballroom carried faintly into the garden—calling for the gathering to return. Amber seized the moment, rising quickly.

“Well, this has been… charming,” she said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave before someone mistakes us for having a scandalous tryst.”

She swept past him with a swish of her gown, never once realizing she had been sparring words with Prince Vlad himself.

He watched her retreat, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. *Sharp wit, fiery hair, and no fear of snapping back… interesting.*

---

**Prince Vlad’s POV**

Later, from one of the upper balconies of the palace, Prince Vlad stood in the shadows, his sharp eyes following the departing carriages. Tall, cloaked in dark attire, his features half-hidden in the torchlight, he watched with an unreadable expression. His gaze lingered on one particular carriage, the crest on its door catching his attention in the brief flicker of the torches.

“Sebastian,” Vlad murmured, his voice low and steady.

The older man stepped forward from the shadows, his ever-loyal butler. “Yes, my lord?”

“That carriage,” Vlad said, nodding ever so slightly toward the disappearing light of Amber’s retreat. “The emblem upon its door—it is not one I recognize among the noble houses often parading in court. Quietly, I want you to learn whose sigil it bears. No whispers, no trails.”

Sebastian inclined his head with a faint smile. “Consider it done, my lord. By dawn, you shall have your answer.”

Vlad’s lips curved faintly, though his eyes remained sharp. “Good. Something about that girl… I’d rather not ignore it.”

---

**Amber’s POV**

The carriage slowed. Outside, the familiar silhouette of her manor greeted her, a stark contrast to the blinding grandeur of the palace. The moment the coachman opened the door, cool night air rushed in, carrying the earthy scent of the gardens. Amber stepped down with palpable relief.

Waiting at the entrance was Sylphy, her elf attendant, whose silver hair shimmered under the moonlight. Her pointed ears twitched as she hurried forward, graceful even in her worry.

“Lady Amber!” Sylphy said, her green eyes scanning her quickly. “You’re back late—I was beginning to worry. Did the ball go… well?”

Amber raised a brow and let out a sharp laugh. “If by ‘well’ you mean I managed to fall flat on my face in front of the Crown Prince and half the court, then yes, it was an absolute triumph.”

Sylphy gasped, covering her mouth. “You didn’t—”

“Oh, but I did,” Amber said, sweeping past her toward her chambers with theatrical flair. “Graceful as a swan on ice… if the swan was drunk and the ice was on fire.”

Despite her witty retort, Amber felt her cheeks warm again at the memory. She tugged at her gloves, eager to shed every reminder of the night.

Inside her chamber, Sylphy immediately set to work, helping Amber out of her glittering gown. The gems on the fabric winked mockingly as they slipped free, pooling at Amber’s feet. Sylphy fetched her nightdress, soft and plain, blessedly free of sharp corset stays and layers of chiffon.

As Sylphy unpinned the last curl from her hair, Amber exhaled, finally feeling herself again. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror—a tall figure, pale skin framed by hair like fire and shadow, eyes sharp despite her fatigue. For all her wit and complaints, there was something fierce lurking under the gentleness of her face.

She tapped the mirror lightly with one finger. “Well done, Amber. Day one of ‘avoid attention’ is a complete disaster. What’s next? Getting mistaken for the Queen herself?”

Sylphy chuckled softly, though her concern never fully faded. “You always make light of it, my lady… but perhaps it wasn’t so bad. If the prince noticed you—”

Amber cut her off with a groan, throwing herself onto the bed. “Exactly the problem. The prince noticed me. And so did every dagger-eyed maiden in that ballroom. I could feel them sharpening their fans into blades.” She pulled a pillow over her face dramatically. “This is why I should’ve just pretended to faint at the entrance and gone home early.”

For a while, the room filled only with the quiet rustle of Sylphy tidying the gown and the steady crackle of the fireplace. Amber closed her eyes, willing her thoughts to slow.

Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still feel the weight of the Crown Prince’s hand pulling her up, the intensity of his gaze when she dared not meet it. And stranger still—the shadow of another gaze, watchful, sharp, hidden behind the crowd.

Amber shivered slightly. “Trouble’s coming, Sylphy. I can feel it.”

But before Sylphy could ask what she meant, Amber rolled to her side, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “For now, though… I’m going to sleep and forget this nightmare of a ball. Wake me if the palace catches fire.”

Sylphy sighed, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, my lady.”

Amber drifted off, blissfully unaware that the night was only the beginning of something far greater than palace gossip.

Amber woke to the morning sun spilling across her chambers, the light almost too cheerful for the weight of her mood. She groaned, rolling over with dramatic flair, pulling a pillow to her chest. Sylphy, dutiful and bright as always, was already tidying up her nightdress from the floor.

"Sylphy," Amber grumbled, sitting up with her hair tumbling in wild curls, half fire and half night. "Remind me, what’s worse: being stared at by a thousand gossips at a ball or being hunted by an annoyingly persistent noble in a moonlit garden?"

Sylphy’s ears twitched, her lips pursed in thought. "From the way you complained all night in your sleep, I’d say… the noble?"

Amber threw her hands in the air. "Exactly! He was insufferable. That smirk—like he knew something I didn’t. And the way he lingered!" She flopped backward onto her bed. "If the gods love me, I’ll never see that man again."

Destiny, of course, had its own sense of humor.

The sharp *knock, knock* at the front doors of the manor echoed up the hall. Sylphy tilted her head, startled, while Amber froze mid-roll.

"Who in the world would call so early?" Amber muttered, dragging herself out of bed and peeking through the window toward the courtyard.

There he stood. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed impeccably yet effortlessly, his dark hair shimmering faintly with that midnight-blue sheen that made her jaw clench. And that smirk. That insufferable, tempting smirk.

Amber’s blood ran cold. "No. No, no, no. Not him. Anyone but him."

Sylphy blinked. "Who—?"

But Amber was already storming toward the door. She flung it open, stared at the man she had just wished into nonexistence mere minutes ago… and promptly slammed it shut again with a resounding *BANG.*

She pressed her back against the door, palms spread, heart racing. "Oh gods above, it *is* him."

From the other side came a low chuckle. "Now that’s no way to treat a guest."

Amber covered her face with her hands, muffling a groan. *Why me? Why today?* A hundred questions buzzed in her mind—how did he know where she lived? What did he want? Why was he here? And most importantly, how long until he got bored and left?

The answer, to her horror, came swiftly.

"I do hope you’re not planning to hide in there all day," the man’s smooth voice teased through the wood. "Because I am, unfortunately for you, quite determined to stay."

Amber peeked through the side window and nearly fainted. He had made himself comfortable, hands clasped behind his back as if this were his estate and not hers.

Sylphy whispered in disbelief, "He… intends to stay the whole day?"

Amber dragged both hands down her face. "Oh, perfect. Just perfect. The one man I never wanted to see again decides my home is today’s playground." She stomped her foot. "The universe clearly despises me."

Behind the door, Prince Vlad—though Amber knew him only as an infuriating noble—smiled in quiet triumph. Her fiery reactions, her wit, her refusal to bend easily—it all amused him far more than the polished charm of the court’s ladies. And if it meant spending an entire day pestering her, then so be it. He could think of no better way to pass the time.