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Hardly half an hour into the ball, and already, the Prince wished in vain for it to be over. He couldn't convince his obsessed father to cancel this nonsense, so now he had to put up with vaguely greeting hundreds of "eligible young ladies" from his kingdom.
Princely duties as a whole were a bore, but this was dull as dry toast. Over and over, he bowed politely to his guests, most of whom were around his age, but ladies of all ages were invited here. Some had seen too few winters, or too many.
Father must be desperate. The prince yawned and looked up at the grand clock overhead the ballroom. God spare me, only thirty minutes have passed! Before midnight, I'll be dead on my feet!
He stifled a groan, and plastered on yet another smile at his next guest.
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Cinderella stepped out of her coach and approached the sweeping stairs leading up to the palace doors. Other than the Royal Guards, there was no one in sight.
I must be dreadfully late! She swallowed her fear, and walked as gracefully as her nerves allowed her down the hall, never knowing that the stoic Guards watched her with great interest...
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Every single lady was staring him down, their eagerness hardly subtle, whether propriety demanded it or not. Some men may find it flattering, if not downright ego-boosting, to be the subject of attraction to so many ladies.
But the prince hated it. He knew it wasn't anyone's fault, they couldn't help it. He was their prince, royalty, heir to the throne, and handsome to boot (the Prince wasn't arrogant enough to think that about himself, but after years and years of hearing it over and over, he simply grew accustomed to the idea. Bored by it, really). From the perspective of a commoner or even noble ladies, he was the finest catch in the kingdom, and was up until now, unattainable.
Until the king's wild decision to find the "perfect bride" for his son.
Until this infernal ball.
The Prince had to refrain from rolling his eyes when "Drizella and Anastasia Tremaine" all but ran up to him, batting their eyelashes and clearly doing their best to appear attractive, while only looking ridiculous. Their unconventional looks didn't bother the Prince (he had seen hundreds of lords and ladies from neighboring kingdoms who looked far less appealing), but the sisters' obnoxious attempts at flirting was nearly the final straw. He sighed under his breath and bowed, willing himself to be patient and get this over with.
But.... then, he stopped, and looked up. Off in the shadows, gazing at her surroundings in wonder, though without the slightest glance towards the main attraction of the evening, was a beautiful maiden. She seemed to almost glow with pure light, natural and humble, and yet also clearly the prettiest lady in the entire palace.
The Prince didn't know what caused him to move. He was vaguely aware of his legs moving for him, as he walked toward the mysterious maiden, his heart pounding, wildly wondering if she was every bit as beautiful within as she was without.
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Cinderella could not stop staring at the massive ceilings and pillars of marble. Is this what royalty's like? She envied the king and his son, to be surrounded by such beauty all the time. But perhaps they were too used to it. Such a shame, that such elegance and architecture should go to waste...
Someone tapped on her shoulder. She spun around, startled, half-expecting to face the wrath of her step-mother, but instead found herself face-to-face with the handsomest man she'd ever seen. His eyes were light brown, soft, and curious. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Pardon me, my lady," he said, bowing formally. "But would you do me the honor of joining me for a dance?"
"I-" Cinderella gasped, her heart nearly in her throat. This can't be real! First, I manage to have my first night out at the ball, of all places, and now this handsome stranger wishes to dance?! With me?! But I'm just... "I'm afraid I don't deserve such company, sir," she managed, though her heart screamed to take his hand.
But then, he startled her by taking hold of her hand and kissing it, softly. "Please, my lady, no one would dare think you unworthy to be dancing with me. I certainly do not."
"A-all right," Cinderella said, flustered. She cleared her throat, and curtsied, blushing profusely. "I mean, it would be my honor, sir."
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The Prince knew he was being bold, knew the poor lady clearly was rather frightened at the idea of dancing with him. But something in her eyes, so bright and pure, so full of wonder and happiness, coaxed him to persuade her to swallow her nerves and join him.
When he kissed her hand, a jolt of electricity shot up and down his spine. He had kissed hundreds of hands, gloved and ungloved, pretty and hideous, young and old, but none affected him so strongly as he held, for the briefest moment, the delicate hand of this beautiful creature.
When she shyly took his arm, and he led her to the dance floor, she walked with a more confident air, but retaining that distant, dreamy aura that attracted him so much from the moment he laid eyes on her.
The music started. They looked at one another, then his hand was on her thin waist and he pulled her close to a waltz. The endless, boring faces of "eligible young ladies" vanished in the background. His father's keen, watchful eyes from his private balcony were no longer a nuisance.
Nothing existed, except for her eyes and smile, this ethereal maiden who seemingly came out of thin air...