CHAPTER IV

Night had fallen over the palace. The moon hung low above the gardens, its silver light spilling through Selena’s window like a soft whisper. The faint hum of crickets echoed in the distance, a melody of peace that felt almost foreign.

Selena sat by the window, her fingers tracing the carved edge of the sill. Her thoughts wandered and the Queen’s words still echoed faintly in her mind, “You must be ready.”

A gentle knock pulled her from her reverie. “Miss Selena?” Melody’s familiar voice chimed.

The door opened, revealing the cheerful servant carrying a silver tray and an even brighter smile. “Dinner’s ready! The cooks made roasted duck tonight! They said it’s your welcome feast!”

Selena turned, her eyes softening slightly. “I… don’t know if I can eat much.”

“Oh, you’ll try,” Melody said, hands on her hips. “Two years of sleeping? You owe your stomach at least one celebration.”

Selena gave a small, reluctant smile, but followed.

The dining hall glowed with candlelight, chandeliers casting soft gold over polished marble. Selena and Melody sat at a smaller table near the end, away from the courtiers. The air was filled with warmth and laughter from other guests, clinking glasses, the faint music of violins.

Melody talked through most of dinner, filling the silence Selena couldn’t. She spoke of palace gossip, the head chef’s temper, and how she once tripped in front of a duke but “made it look like a bow.”

Selena almost laughed. A quiet sound, fleeting but real.

When dinner ended, Melody walked her back to her chambers. The corridor was silent now, the only sound their footsteps echoing faintly.

“Tomorrow,” Melody began, breaking the stillness, “you’ll start your lessons.”

Selena blinked. “Lessons?”

“Mm-hmm!” Melody nodded eagerly. “Her Majesty assigned you a teacher. You’ll be learning all the proper etiquette, posture, curtsies, ballroom manners, and dancing. You’ve got four days before the ball.”

Selena frowned. “Five days… doesn’t seem enough.”

“That’s why you’ve got me!” Melody grinned. “I’ll make sure you don’t faint halfway through a waltz.”

The next morning began with exhaustion.

Selena’s teacher, Madame Renalt, was an older woman with an expression so sharp it could cut glass. Her voice carried the authority of someone who’d taught nobles since before Selena was born.

“Posture, Miss Selena. Back straight, chin up. Again.”

Selena obeyed, her muscles burning. Hours passed, balancing books on her head, memorizing forms of address, learning which fork belonged to which dish.

By the second day, she was dreaming of escaping the classroom entirely.

Melody, of course, never stopped cheering.

“You’re doing great!”

“That was almost curtsy… the floor just moved!”

“You’re a natural, really! …sort of.”

By the third day came dancing and disaster.

The music swelled through the ballroom as Selena tried to follow the teacher’s steps. Her slipper caught the edge of her skirt, and she stumbled nearly colliding with a column.

“Miss Selena!” Madame Renalt scolded, exasperated. “A lady must glide, not gallop!”

Melody rushed to help, stifling a laugh. “It’s alright, miss. Even the queen must’ve tripped once in her life!”

“I doubt that,” Selena muttered.

Still, she tried again. And again.

Each fall brought laughter from Melody, a sigh from Madame Renalt, and a quiet determination in Selena’s eyes. She was tired of falling, tired of feeling helpless.

By the fourth night, something shifted. The palace slept, bathed in the silver of a full moon.

Selena stood on the terrace, her gown fluttering softly in the night breeze. Alone, she replayed the waltz in silence, her bare feet gliding over the cool marble. The music existed only in her memory, a ghostly hum she whispered to herself.

One step, turn, step—

Her steps grew lighter. Her posture, graceful. The rhythm of the waltz began to flow through her, no longer foreign but natural like the beat of her own heart rediscovered. Her skirts swirled around her as she spun beneath the moonlight.

And then—

“You can’t practice ballroom steps without a partner.”

The voice was low, calm, cutting through the stillness like the first note of a forgotten song.

Selena froze.

A tall man leaned against one of the terrace pillars, his figure half-hidden in shadow. Moonlight caught on his features… sharp, refined, his eyes glinting like cold steel.

He wore no crown, no insignia, but something in his posture carried the weight of command.

Selena straightened instinctively. “I— didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were too lost in your steps,” he said quietly, walking closer. “But even the most graceful dancer needs a partner… or she’ll lose her rhythm.”

Selena’s breath hitched as his gaze met hers. There was something familiar in it… distant yet hauntingly known.

“I wasn’t aware,” she said softly, “that I needed one.”

“Then you’re about to learn.”

He extended a gloved hand. “Allow me.”

The air between them seemed to still. the soft hum of the night, the whisper of roses below, the faint sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Selena hesitated, then slowly placed her hand in his.

And as they began to move beneath the silver moon, there was a strange comfort in his hold, as though this wasn’t the first time the world had brought them together under the same moon.

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