Page 6 of Ashes and Glass (Cursed Kingdoms)

Prince Marius

The grand ballroom of Rivendale Palace glittered like the surface of a sunlit lake. Crystal chandeliers suspended from the vaulted ceiling cast prismatic light across marble floors polished to mirror-like perfection. Courtiers in their finest regalia formed a kaleidoscope of color and movement, while musicians played from the mezzanine, their melodies floating down like gentle rain.

I stood at the edge of this splendor, acutely aware of the weight of expectation pressing down upon my shoulders. Tonight, I would begin the process of selecting my future queen. The thought sent a ripple of unease through me, not unlike the disturbed surface of a pond.

"Remember, Your Highness," Sir Gareth murmured at my side, his silver-streaked beard nearly touching my shoulder as he leaned closer, "a diplomatic union is essential for Rivendale's continued security."

I resisted the urge to sigh. "You've mentioned this several times today alone, Sir Gareth."

"Because it bears repeating." His blue eyes, normally warm with affection, had taken on a steely quality that reminded me of frozen lakes in winter. "I've prepared a list of suitable candidates from noble families whose alliances would strengthen our borders." He pressed a folded parchment into my hand. "I recommend focusing your attention on these ladies in particular."

Unfolding the document, I scanned the names. All were daughters of nobility from kingdoms bordering Rivendale, with three names circled in Sir Gareth's precise hand—none from Elaria, I noted. The exclusion seemed deliberate.

"You've given this considerable thought," I observed, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"It is my duty to consider the future of Rivendale," he replied, a hint of defensiveness coloring his words. "As it is yours to secure it."

Before I could respond, the royal herald's voice rang out, announcing the arrival of Prince Casimir Blackthorn. The crowd parted like water around a stone as the prince from the Black Desert strode into the ballroom. He wore midnight-black attire made of velvet, adorned with subtle crimson embroidery. His smile was wide and practiced.

"Prince Marius," he said, greeting me with a low bow. "A magnificent gathering. I'm honored by your invitation."

"Prince Casimir," I returned with equal formality. "Rivendale welcomes you."

A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps, or disdain—crossed his features before his mask of courtesy slipped back into place. "I look forward to witnessing which fortunate lady captures your attention tonight."

He moved away to mingle with the court, leaving behind an unsettling chill. I watched as he navigated the social currents with ease, paying special attention to the reactions he evoked from various courtiers. The more observant nobles maintained polite distance, while the ambitious moved closer, drawn to the dark prince's obvious power like moths to flame.

The herald continued announcing nobles and dignitaries, each name blending into the next. I performed my duty as host, greeting guests and engaging in the prescribed pleasantries, all while feeling increasingly like a performer in an elaborate play rather than the master of my own destiny.

It was during a brief respite from these formalities that I noticed Sir Gareth slipping away from the main gathering. With a discretion honed by years of hunting in the forest, I followed his path with my eyes, watching as he approached a shadowed alcove where Prince Casimir had positioned himself moments earlier. Their heads bent close in conversation, their expressions guarded.

A discordant note in an otherwise harmonious evening.

The exchange lasted only seconds before they separated, but the subtle nod they shared spoke of understanding. Unease pooled in my stomach. Sir Gareth had raised me, guided me, protected me—yet lately, small inconsistencies in his behavior had accumulated like droplets forming a rivulet of doubt. His insistence on this ball, his carefully curated list of potential brides, his apparent connection to the prince I instinctively distrusted...

"Your Highness?" The captain of my guard approached, breaking my concentrated observation. "Is something amiss?"

I composed my features. "Nothing requiring immediate attention, Captain. Please continue your duties."

He bowed and retreated, leaving me to my unsettled thoughts. The musicians began a new composition, a stately waltz designed to encourage dancing. Nobles paired off across the ballroom floor, expectant glances cast in my direction. The moment had come for me to select my first partner of the evening—a choice that would be dissected and analyzed by every gossipmonger in the kingdom.

Sir Gareth materialized at my side once more. "Lady Emmeline of the Northern Isles stands by the eastern column," he suggested, gesturing toward a tall woman in seafoam green. "Her father controls the most significant naval fleet in the region."

I opened my mouth to respond when the herald's voice cut through the ballroom once more.

"My lords and ladies, may I present—"

He paused, consulting his scroll with momentary confusion.

"A noble lady of Elaria's court," he finished with unusual ambiguity.

The crowd's attention shifted toward the grand entrance, and in that moment, the carefully orchestrated patterns of the evening shattered like ice in spring thaw.

She stood framed in the doorway, a vision unlike any I had ever beheld. Her gown captured the essence of fire itself—deepest crimson at its heart, fading to burnished gold at its edges, with subtle patterns that seemed to move with each breath she took. Her hair, a cascade of copper curls, was partially gathered at her crown while the rest fell free past her shoulders, adorned with tiny jewels that caught the light like stars emerging at sunset.

But it was her eyes that arrested me—vibrant emerald, alive with intelligence and something more, something familiar yet undefined. The courtiers parted before her like mist, whispers trailing in her wake. Who was she? How had this unmarried daughter of Elarian nobility escaped the court's notice until now?

"I don't recognize her," Sir Gareth muttered, his forehead creased with concern. "She isn't on any official register of noble houses."

I barely heard him. Something about this mysterious woman called to me on a level beyond conscious thought. The water magic in my blood responded to her presence like a tide answering the moon's pull. Without making a conscious decision, I found myself moving toward her, drawn by forces I couldn't name.

Court protocol dictated that she should approach the throne and be formally presented. Instead, our paths converged in the center of the ballroom as if choreographed by fate itself. Up close, I noted the subtle flush of her cheeks, the slight tremble of her gloved hands—nervousness beneath confidence, vulnerability behind strength.

"Your Highness," she greeted me with a curtsy both graceful and unpracticed, as though she knew the steps but had rarely performed them.

"My lady," I responded, bowing in return. "I find myself at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I have not had the pleasure of learning your name."

A fleeting shadow crossed her features. "Names have power, Your Highness. Perhaps tonight, the mystery might add to the enchantment?"

Her voice carried a melodic quality that stirred something within me—a memory just beyond reach, like the echo of a song heard in childhood.

"Then I shall have to earn the right to know it." I extended my hand. "Would you do me the honor of this dance?"

She placed her gloved fingers in mine, and the moment our hands met, a current passed between us—subtle but unmistakable. From her momentary widening of eyes, I knew she had felt it too. The orchestra began a new waltz, and I led her onto the floor, acutely aware of the court's collective gaze following our movement.

"You dance beautifully," I observed as we began the first measures, her steps matching mine with natural grace.

"Thank you, Your Highness. Though I confess I have had little practice in such grand settings."

"That's difficult to believe, given your poise."

A smile touched her lips. "There are many forms of grace in this world. Not all are learned in palaces."

We moved together through the steps of the waltz, and with each turn, the strange resonance between us intensified. The water magic that flowed through my veins—usually a calm, controlled current—began to surge in response to her proximity. It was as though my element recognized something in her, reaching out across the boundary of our separate selves.

"You're different from the others," I said, the words emerging before I could consider their wisdom.

Her emerald eyes met mine, surprise giving way to something deeper. "As are you, Your Highness."

"Marius," I said impulsively. "Please, call me Marius—at least for tonight."

The waltz grew more intricate, our movements more attuned. As we turned beneath the crystal chandeliers, I became aware of a subtle shimmer emanating from her gown—not merely reflecting light but somehow generating it from within. Golden sparks seemed to trail her hemline, so ephemeral I might have imagined them.

"Your gown," I murmured, "it's extraordinary. Almost as if it's woven from—"

"Stardust and dreams?" she suggested with a hint of mischief. "Isn't that what fairy tales would have us believe about magical nights?"

There was something in her voice—a knowledge, a secret shared between us though unspoken. The magic within me responded unbidden, and a cool mist began forming around our feet as we danced, so subtle that most observers would likely attribute it to a trick of the light. Her eyes widened slightly, and in their depths, I caught a flicker of amber—like embers awakening in a hearth.

"You—" I began, but she gently pressed my hand in warning.

"Not here," she whispered. "Too many eyes."

The dance floor had indeed cleared around us, the other couples retreating to watch our display. I understood her caution, yet I couldn't help the exhilaration coursing through me. To feel my elemental nature acknowledged, even silently, by another who clearly carried magic of her own—the sensation was intoxicating.

As the music swelled toward its crescendo, our connection deepened. The mist at our feet spiraled upward in delicate tendrils, while golden sparks descended from her gown like falling stars. Where the elements met, they intertwined rather than extinguishing each other, creating ephemeral patterns of extraordinary beauty. Gasps rippled through the watching crowd, but their voices seemed distant, unimportant compared to the silent communication flowing between us.

When the waltz ended, neither of us moved immediately, bound in a moment outside ordinary time. The spell broke only when the orchestra began their next piece, and the murmurs of the court grew louder, more insistent.

"I should—" she began, withdrawing her hand from mine.

"Stay," I finished, reluctant to break our connection. "There's so much I wish to ask you."

A shadow crossed her face. "I can't. Not now."

From across the ballroom, I caught sight of Sir Gareth watching us, his expression one of both surprise and alarm. Beside him stood Prince Casimir, his dark eyes narrowed with unmistakable interest.

"At least promise you'll return," I said, lowering my voice. "After you've had refreshment. There's a terrace garden through those doors, more private than this spectacle."

She hesitated, then nodded. "I'll try."

With a final curtsy, she moved away, disappearing into the crowd swiftly. I watched her go, fighting the urge to follow, but aware of protocol and dozens of expectant nobles awaiting their turn for royal attention.

Sir Gareth approached immediately. "Who is she?" he demanded, his usual formality strained.

"I don't know," I admitted. "Isn't that curious? A noble lady from Elaria, unknown to Rivendale's spymaster?"

His jaw tightened at my pointed reference to his unofficial role in gathering intelligence. "I advise caution, Your Highness. Unknown elements bring unknown risks."

"I wonder if you know more about my mysterious dance partner than you're admitting,” I answered quietly.

Before he could respond, a young woman in a lavender gown approached, her movements hesitant despite her elegant attire. I recognized her as one of Lady Belladonna's daughters—Ursula, the younger one, if memory served. Her blue eyes darted nervously between Sir Gareth and myself.

"Your Highness," she curtseyed deeply, her voice barely audible above the orchestra. "Might I... that is, would you consider..." She stumbled over her words, clearly uncomfortable with her assigned task.

"Would I have the pleasure of this dance?" I supplied, taking pity on her obvious distress.

Relief washed over her features, followed immediately by renewed anxiety. She nodded, unable to meet my gaze.

"Excuse us, Sir Gareth," I said, offering my arm to the girl. He bowed stiffly, disapproval radiating from him in almost palpable waves.

As I led Ursula onto the dance floor, her discomfort was evident in every tense line of her body. "Forgive me," she whispered as we began the simple box step of a country dance. "Mother insisted I secure at least one dance with you."

"There's nothing to forgive," I assured her. "Though I suspect you are not particularly enjoying this obligation."

A startled laugh escaped her, quickly stifled. "That's... very perceptive, Your Highness."

"Marius," I offered, hoping to ease her nervousness. "And you're Ursula Everwood, yes? We met briefly during last summer's harvest festival."

She nodded, surprise registering in her expression. "You remembered."

"I make it a point to remember the citizens of both my kingdom and our neighbors," I explained. "Especially when they seem as unhappy in formal settings as I often feel myself."

This earned a genuine, if small, smile. "Mother would be horrified to hear me admit such a thing, but I'd rather be organizing the household accounts than attending balls. Numbers make sense. People are..." She trailed off, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

"Complicated?" I suggested.

"Terrifying," she corrected with unexpected candor.

We continued the dance in companionable silence. Though Ursula clearly had no interest in romance—her relief at my understanding was too evident—I found myself appreciating her honesty. It was refreshing after an evening of calculated political maneuverings.

As the dance concluded, I noticed her gaze drift to the edge of the ballroom. Following her line of sight, I saw the fiery-haired beauty who had been in my arms moments before freeze in obvious alarm. Her eyes were fixed on the main entrance, where Lady Belladonna Everwood had just arrived, resplendent in violet silk.

The mysterious woman backed away, panic visible even from across the room. She turned and fled toward the terrace doors, moving with desperate speed.

"I should go," Ursula murmured, dropping into a hasty curtsy. "Thank you for the dance, Your Highness."

She hurried away toward her mother, while I moved in the opposite direction, following the path of the retreating woman. I reached the terrace just in time to see her golden skirts disappearing down the grand staircase toward the gardens below.

"Wait!" I called, but she didn't slow.

The clock in the palace tower began to strike midnight as I pursued her down the marble steps. She was remarkably swift, her flight impeded only when one of her unusual slippers—crafted from what appeared to be glass or crystal—slipped from her foot on the final stair. She paused for just a moment, looking back with evident conflict, then abandoned the slipper and continued her flight into the darkness of the garden.

I bent to retrieve the fallen item, marveling at its craftsmanship. It appeared to be made of pure crystal yet felt warm to the touch. As I straightened, I caught sight of Sir Gareth emerging onto the terrace above, his expression alarmed. He hurried down the steps toward me, hand outstretched.

"Your Highness, allow me to take that. We should have it examined for enchantments before—"

I stepped back, closing my fingers around the slipper. "No. I'll keep it safe."

His eyes narrowed, and for a brief, startling moment, I glimpsed hostility in his expression. It vanished so quickly I might have imagined it, replaced by his usual respectful concern.

"As you wish," he conceded, though tension remained in the set of his shoulders. "But we must discuss what happened in there. The display of magic—"

"Was remarkable," I finished, turning the crystal slipper in my hands, feeling its magic pulse in time with my heartbeat. "And entirely unexpected."

The ball continued behind us, the music and laughter spilling out into the night, but all I could think of was the woman who had fled at midnight, leaving behind this singular glass slipper.

"I will find her," I said, more to myself than to Sir Gareth. It wasn't merely curiosity or attraction driving me, but something deeper. Our magic had called to each other, water to fire, like elements separated long ago seeking reunion.

Sir Gareth's hand came to rest on my shoulder, heavier than usual. "Some mysteries are best left unsolved, Your Highness."

I looked up at the man who had raised me, studied his familiar features now rendered strange by shadows. "Why does that sound like a warning, Sir Gareth?"

He didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes. As we returned to the ball, the crystal slipper tucked safely inside my formal jacket, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking a precipice between worlds—the controlled, diplomatic future Sir Gareth had planned for me, and a new path blazing with potential and danger in equal measure.

One thing was certain: I would not rest until I found the woman whose magic had called to mine across a crowded ballroom, whose presence had awakened something dormant within me. The owner of this enchanted slipper had fled into the night, but the connection between us remained like a shimmering thread of destiny I was determined to follow wherever it might lead.