You idiot! Why would you burst out at Jack like that?

Zoey snapped her eyes open and stared into the darkness before her. She reached her hand out and quickly encountered a wall. It was rough and cool, like brick. But her mind was too busy berating her earlier actions for her to think about this.

Jack was only looking out for you. He's always looking out for your health and safety. So why, oh why would you yell at him?

"Zoey?"

Whose voice was that?

Zoey blinked several times to adjust her eyes in the dim light. It didn't work, so she rubbed her hand against the brick wall before her some more.

Wait a second... brick? There's no brick on the inside of the house... And I'm standing, not lying down!

Now fully aware of her surroundings, Zoey swung an arm around, bashing it against another brick wall. She hissed as her nerves announced each individual scratch to her brain.

"Where am I?" Zoey asked aloud. She was too afraid of falling back into her self-berating to think any more.

"Zoey?"

Again, her name was whispered. But from where had it come? And who had spoken it?

"Is anybody there?"

For several long minutes, her question was answered with silence. Just as she opened her mouth to try again, a soft breeze lifted her black tresses off her neck.

"Come," the breeze stated quietly in her ear. She turned to the direction the breeze blew and began to tentatively walk forward. Zoey feared running into another wall, and she questioned the plausibility of following a breeze of all things. However, as she was avoiding all thoughts altogether, her mind did not settle very long on the absurdity of this.

As she walked, the breeze suddenly changed direction. At first, Zoey ignored this... until she ran into a wall. Holding her nose and biting her tongue to avoid crying out in pain, she whispered, "Note to self: if the breeze changes directions, so do you."

After this realization, Zoey paid closer attention to the wind. For a long while, it guided her. Finally, towards the end, Zoey began to see the hazy outline of the brick walls that surrounded her. Soon she was enveloped in warm light which came from a single source: a lamppost. Beside the lamppost sat a solid oak door, its wood smooth and glossy. The hinges and door ring were rusty with age and lack of use.

"Come," the breeze whispered again.

Zoey began to reach for the door when her sleeves caught her attention. Instead of the cream-colored pajamas she had worn to bed, her arms were dressed in bright pink lace gloves. They matched her gown, which was long and flowy, as though she wore a pink rose dancing in the wind. Tiny clusters of black threads rose from the silky surface of the dress. Beneath the gown, Zoey caught a glimpse of black heels, their soft appearance making them barely visible in the dim light.

"My hand!" Zoey slipped off the glove and examined her fingers. "It's... healed..." Passively sliding the lace back up her arm, she allowed the brief moment to think about that. However, it was rapidly met with more scolding, so she shook her head to clear away the thoughts. This action brought her attention to her hair. It was clasped loosely in a barrette, her wavy ends dangling and lightly curled. A single rose-pink ribbon rested just above her bangs, its tips hanging close to her shoulders.

"This has to be a dream," Zoey said. Pushing aside the urge to contemplate this some more, she grasped the door ring and heaved it forward. It groaned for a moment, then gave way to a wide, open garden filled with sunlight. Birds whistled merrily in the whispering trees, and crickets chirped lazily in the warm sun. The gravel path was hedged with daffodils and buttercups, making the already bright space shine even more.

Fearful of snagging the lace on the dirt, Zoey lifted the dress from the ground and began down the path. It soon parted into three different directions, two of which led down a hill to a small creek. The third, which disappeared behind a row of hedges, carried the sound of laughter and chatter. She trekked up this path and peered around the corner, careful to not be seen by anyone.

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Beyond the hedges, a party was being held. On the far end from where Zoey stood sat a table laden with an array of delectable snacks and desserts. The desserts were beautifully arranged, from delicate pastries to colorful macarons, and the scent of sweetness hung in the air. Glass bowls filled with punch shimmered with fruity colors, each filled with a different concoction that promised to be both refreshing and delightful. Gentlemen in tailored suits and ladies in elegant gowns milled about gracefully. They engaged in polite conversation, forming small groups, and occasionally acknowledging acquaintances with a nod or a smile before gracefully transitioning to speak with others. Their manners spoke of a refined upbringing and a familiarity with the ways of nobility. Zoey knew she was several leagues beneath them. She began to slip away when a hand touched her elbow.

Jumping, Zoey whipped around to gaze at the one who had tapped her. He had bright brown eyes that shimmered with youth and innocence, and a knotted scar rested upon his left cheekbone. His tousled brown locks were somewhat subdued by a thin circlet of gold. His dark suit was firm and crisp, and his white gloves shown like snow.

"Are you lost, ma'am?" he questioned.

Zoey's face flushed as she stuttered a reply. "No, no, I was just on my way out."

"How come?" he continued. "The party has just begun."

"I... don't really belong here," Zoey answered.

He cocked his head to one side and said, "Oh? You are as handsomely dressed as the queen! How could you possibly not belong?"

Before she could find an excuse to leave, he grasped her hand and whisked her out into the midst of the party. As they walked, several of the people there turned and bowed to him. A few whispered softly, "My prince."

Prince!? He's a prince!?

He led her to a flat area in the grass, where he motioned to the musicians. As they tuned their instruments to begin a waltz, he placed Zoey's hands into the proper positions. A subtle but involuntary flinch escaped Zoey when he rested his hand on her hip, clasping his other around her gloved fingers.

"My name is Prince Edward," he whispered. "Do you know how to dance?"

By this time, Zoey was too numb with shock to speak, so she shook her head in response. He smiled briefly, saying, "Follow my lead."

As the music began, Prince Edward started to lead the dance, his movements both graceful and supportive. He guided Zoey across the grassy dance floor, providing stability whenever she stumbled on her high-heeled shoes. Despite her occasional clumsiness, Prince Edward remained composed and unruffled, showing no sign of frustration or impatience, a gentle smile lighting his face. A few times, Zoey accidentally stepped on his toes, but he never flinched, and he continued to guide her with poise and grace. Gradually, Zoey began to grasp the rhythm and steps of the waltz, and her confidence grew. She became more at ease, and her gaze met Prince Edward's bright eyes with newfound assurance.

"I have never met someone," he murmured, "with two different eye colours."

Allowing herself the confidence to speak back, Zoey answered, "My mother always told me I was unique. I know heterochromia isn't incredibly rare, but I like to think of it as my symbol."

Prince Edward smiled as he further mused. "One green... one hazel... they both remind me of someone."

"Oh?"

"Yes. But I cannot recall who exactly."

Suddenly, Edward twirled Zoey and dipped her. She gripped tightly onto his shoulder, and he chuckled. "I will not drop you," he promised, winking playfully, as if to say, "I am much stronger than I appear." He gracefully brought her back to her feet, and their audience cheered from the sidelines. Zoey again blushed: she hadn't realized the others were watching.

The crowd parted as an elderly woman, decked considerably in emerald jewels, approached the prince. He bowed—Zoey following his example—and said, "Your majesty."

Zoey glanced up at the queen. A bright crown made almost entirely from silver and diamond adorned her white head, glittering in the sunlight. Her face was reasonably firm for belonging to a well-aged woman with many worries throughout her life. Her green eyes sparkled even brighter than the emeralds that bejewelled her gown and hinted at the strength and wisdom she obtained from the hardships of ruling. Her posture, though bent slightly from the weight of the world, still radiated an aura of power and authority. Every move she made was purposeful and fluid and regal, the movements of a natural leader.

"Prince Edward," the woman smiled at him. Turning to Zoey, she said, "And who is this beautiful young lady? I do not recognize her among the court members."

"My name is Zoey McKnight," Zoey bowed.

A soft murmur rose from the gentlemen and ladies, a look of surprise entering the queen's eyes though her face remained stoic. "McKnight...?" Edward breathed, his expression questioning and thoughtful.

Zoey snapped awake. She stared blankly at the ceiling for several long minutes before realizing that whatever she had just experienced was all a dream. She shuffled to the side of her bunk and peered down into the room. The clock read 11:59. Rolling back onto her side, she wondered about the dream. Why had her name caused such a stir? More importantly, who were all those people? As the dream slowly faded from her memory, her mind returning to sleep, the voice that had guided her through the maze returned. She snapped back awake as she recognized it.

Dad!?