Cassie adjusted the weight of the silver tray balanced on her palm. Champagne flutes clinked softly with each step she took, the delicate sound almost lost amid the rising hum of activity. She followed the line of servants into the grand ballroom, the doors yawning open to reveal a space that seemed crafted to dazzle and intimidate in equal measure.
The beauty was undeniable, but to Cassie, it felt suffocating. This was no mere celebration—it was a battlefield in disguise, and every detail of its grandeur served as armor for those who wielded power.
She glanced down, ensuring the glasses on her tray were still neatly aligned, and moved toward her assigned station. Her unease lingered like a shadow at the edge of her thoughts. The heroine was supposed to be here. Evelyn’s stories had painted this moment so vividly—a modest girl stepping into the dazzling world of nobility, her presence shaking the foundations of the court.
But there was no modest girl, no new face among the palace staff or guests. No hint that this pivotal moment had arrived. Cassie shook the thought away. There was no time to dwell on absences.
The servants worked quickly, arranging tables, adjusting floral displays, and ensuring everything gleamed under the scrutiny of the nobility. Cassie moved with purpose, setting trays of glasses in their designated spots and aligning them with a precision born of discipline.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the first guests beginning to trickle in. The nobles entered with an air of practiced grace, their movements deliberate, their faces set in expressions carefully curated to conceal true intent.
Cassie remained by the edge of the room, her tray in hand, watching as they began to fill the space. A man with sharp, hawkish features strode in, his presence commanding even amid the extravagant surroundings. His gaze swept the room with a keen intensity, making him stand out effortlessly despite the lavish decor. His very posture exuded authority, creating an aura of dominance and control.
He exchanged a brief nod with another figure—Lady Maris of Velor, her pale green gown flowing like water around her as she entered. Her lips curled into a faint sneer as her gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on the Crown Prince’s retinue before moving on.
Cassie’s grip on her tray tightened as she cataloged their interactions. Alvron and Maris barely exchanged pleasantries, but their nods were measured, their movements precise. It wasn’t friendliness—it was coordination.
Other figures began to appear, their elaborate attire shimmering under the light. Each one seemed to bring a different weight to the room: allies, rivals, and those who straddled the line between. Cassie’s gaze darted from one group to the next, observing who greeted whom, who avoided whose eyes, and who lingered on the edges of the gathering.
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Her tray felt heavier as the minutes passed, but she kept her posture steady. The tension in the room was already palpable, each noble carrying unspoken grievances or ambitions beneath their practiced smiles.
Cassie’s focus sharpened as she moved through the ballroom, offering glasses of champagne to the growing crowd. Her eyes scanned the guests not just for signs of tension, but for something—or someone—out of place.
The heroine.
Evelyn had spoken with such certainty about this event. “The ball is where it all begins,” she’d said. “The heroine walks in, and everyone stops. She’s not like the others. She changes everything.”
But there was no sign of her here. No commoner elevated to nobility. No young woman standing awkwardly at the edge of the room, overwhelmed by the grandeur around her. Everyone present wore the confidence of those who had grown up in these halls, their manners polished to a mirror sheen.
A pang of doubt settled in Cassie’s chest. If the heroine wasn’t here, what did that mean?
She offered a glass to a passing noble, her movements automatic as her thoughts churned. Did the heroine’s absence mean the story had shifted? Or had it never followed the path Evelyn had described to begin with?
Her musings were cut short by the sharp jolt of someone bumping into her. The tray wobbled precariously, the glasses clinking in protest as she steadied it with practiced ease.
“Trying too hard to impress, aren’t you?” a voice hissed.
Cassie turned her head slightly to find one of the maids glaring at her, a forced smile plastered across her face as if to mask the venom in her words. The maid’s hands were empty, her task clearly abandoned in favor of causing trouble.
Cassie’s grip tightened on the tray, but she didn’t respond. She adjusted her posture, ensuring the glasses were stable, and resumed her route as if the interruption hadn’t happened.
The maid didn’t follow, but the exchange had drawn a few glances from nearby nobles. Cassie caught the flicker of curiosity in their eyes, the subtle way their conversations shifted in her direction.
She bowed slightly, retreating to the edge of the room with her tray still balanced perfectly. The murmurs that followed her were faint, but she could feel their weight pressing against her like a blade’s edge.
The ballroom continued to fill, the hum of conversation growing louder as more guests arrived. Cassie kept to the periphery, her movements efficient but unobtrusive. The nobles’ laughter rang hollow in her ears, each peal more like a warning than a sign of joy.
From her vantage point, she could see the subtle currents of power playing out across the room. Alvron and Maris had drifted apart but continued to exchange glances across the crowd. The Crown Prince stood near the center, his presence cold and commanding, as if he were daring anyone to challenge his authority.
Cassie’s gaze swept the room once more. Still, no heroine. The absence gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside. Survival came first, and tonight, survival meant staying invisible.
She adjusted her tray, exhaled softly, and prepared herself for the rest of the night.