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Coming here had to be the worst decision of Fyodor’s life.
Every year, the royal family hosts a ball for the birthday of the prince, Nikolai Gogol.
And every year, the nobles of the town went absolutely alight with festivity once the announcement was made. Getting an invitation to the ball was a sign of status, and above that, everyone was hoping they’d be able to catch a glimpse of the prince’s face.
This year was a masquerade ball, so it made the attendees all the more eager to be one of the lucky ones that might be chosen to dance with the prince, and see the beauty hidden under the mask.
There were also rumors the Prince was looking for a partner each year, but he’d had no success in any previous year, so everyone wanted to be the lucky individual.
Fyodor was dead set on not going. He’d never been, and he wasn’t planning to change that anytime soon. It all seemed like a humiliation ritual to him, everyone waltzing around, hoping for the prince to come whisper in their ear and swoop them off their feet.
But Fyodor’s sisters, on the other hand, did not have the same opinion. Once the ball was announced they immediately were filled with excitement. They started planning out dresses and picking the most beautiful masks covered in glittering jewels in hopes to catch the attention of the prince.
“Fyodor, you really should go this time! You never come with us.”
That question had weighed on Fyodor after it was asked by his oldest sister. In all honesty, he’d prefer to stay in the comfort of his room, but his sisters seem very, very excited this year, and he knows it’ll disappoint them if he decides to stay home once more.
“Fine.” He says quietly, under his breath. “I’ll go.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
***
That’s how he’s found himself sitting in a carriage with his two sisters. They were both wearing elaborate gowns with layers of tulle, one pink and the other silver, covered in glitter and sparkling gems. The masks on their faces were just as extraordinarily beautiful.
Fyodor himself was quite uncomfortable. Or, that was an understatement, he was in fact very uncomfortable.
He did not look bad, per se, but he’d never worn this style of high class clothing before despite being a noble aristocrat, since he’d never left his house for any events.
Luckily, his sister’s picked his outfit and decorated his mask for him, because he couldn’t be bothered too, and he knew they’d do well.
He was wearing a cinched waist coat embroidered with dark silver designs, and underneath he had a white shirt with flowing sleeves with thin silver chains with small crystals dangling from them. His mask covered the top half of his face, and it was black with decorative lace and violet gems and embroidery, with small chains dangling near his ears. His pants were simple, just black and loose, with a thin silver chain from the waistband to the pocket.
They’d also insisted on braiding a small section of his hair away from his face, and giving him dangling violet earrings that they insisted would complement his eyes.
So now he sat awkwardly, waiting until they arrived at the castle. To say he was nervous was an understatement. He’d never done anything of this manner before, so this was certainly going to be… interesting, at the least.
Soon, they arrive at the castle. Fyodor's sisters immediately burst into giggles and begin gossiping about some of the “cute boys”, as he’s heard. He followed closely behind them, not wanting to become lost in the crowd.
They walk through the front courtyard which is swarming with guests, and into the castle.
Fyodor’s eyes widened. The interior was beautiful. There were fine art pieces hung up everywhere, and huge chandeliers lighting up the vast ballroom in a warm yellow lighting. There was an orchestra playing music as couples waltz.
There were nobles everywhere. Their dresses and suits were all fancy, and very high class. They were dripping with jewelry and bling, and Fyodor was sure each heir was wearing as many family heirlooms as possible to show their status to the prince.
Despite being a noble himself, Fyodor can’t help but feel inferior somewhat. Maybe it’s because he’s had less experience in places like this. And he didn’t wear any heirloom of sorts, having left those for his sisters.
“...Fedya? Are you listening?”
Fyodor blinks rapidly a few times and sees his sister looking at him concernedly, his lips pulled into a frown. He nods quickly. He must’ve not noticed her speaking.
“Alright. I was asking if you’ll be alright on your own, Natalya and I are going for a dance.”
Fyodor pales slightly underneath his mask. Alone?
“Yes, don’t worry about me, Liliya.” He hears himself saying. His sister seems satisfied enough and leaves to go dance with the duke of some county.
Then, he’s alone. Drowning in a sea of people, couples waltzing around him, giggling and laughing on the dance floor.
What does he do now? Stand here and continue to embarrass himself? He knew this was a terrible idea.
He crosses his arms nervously, shrinking in on himself. Now would be a good time to disappear.
Some lady brushes up against him, her eyes bright with colorful makeup and glitter. He recoils instantly. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, probably not the best first impression.
“Would you dance with me?” She says smoothly, her voice sultry. Fyodor’s own voice is stuck in his throat, and before he can respond, another man just suddenly appears from nowhere and remarks, “I’ll take that offer, milady.” The lady giggles and soon they’re gone, presumably dancing together elsewhere.
This might in fact be the worst night of Fyodor’s life.
As he’s standing alone in the middle of the ballroom and getting lost in his own thoughts, a couple almost waltzes into him and he ducks out of the way. That was embarrassing, he nearly got slammed to the floor. He swallows.
He should go home. His sisters won't mind if he takes an early night.
He turns around, about to walk out from the ball, when a gloved hand is softly placed on his shoulder. Goosebumps prickle down Fyodor’s back as he stills.
The person leans in, his lips near Fyodor’s ear. Fyodor can already feel his heartbeat beginning to speed up in anticipation.
“Care for a dance?” Says a low, soft voice. He almost sounds amused, but at the same time, hopeful. As if afraid he might be turned down, and he clearly doesn’t want that.
Fyodor turns around and is struck by a pair of blue and green eyes, with thick white lashes. His face reddens and swallows. He nods nervously, unable to speak. He’s never seen someone with such pretty eyes before.
The man chuckles, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers.
“Let’s not waste any more time then.”
He begins to walk to a more open space with fewer couples in the crowded area, and Fyodor walks quickly behind him.
The man in front of him was… beautiful. Even wearing a mask around his eyes, Fyodor could still tell he was exceptionally good looking.
Fyodor ran his eyes over him as they walked. He had snow white hair hanging down his back in a fluffed braid, decorated with crystals. His suit was beautiful, it was white and covered in lace and pearls and dangling chains, and his mask followed a similar style. His hands were covered in sleek mahogany gloves, contrasting the rest of his outfit.
Once they’d reached a slightly more secluded area, the man stopped walking, turning around once more to face Fyodor.
“Your eyes are beautiful.” He breathes out, without any preamble at all. Fyodor’s cheeks flush pink.
“I could say the same to you.” He says quietly, his voice barely audible over the orchestra and chatter. Of course, the man still hears him. He grins.
“Why, thank you!” He says jovially. He puts arm around Fyodor’s waist, the other still being intertwined with Fyodor’s and held up in the air as they prepare to dance.
“But I must tell you…” He smiles, his eyes sparkling. He glances over Fyodor once more. He looks enchanting. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you, darling.”
Fyodor's cheeks brighten even more and he resists the urge to go run and hide. That was ridiculous, there were so many other beautiful people at the ball tonight. Who was this man? And damn he’s got rizz i cant lie.
“Let us dance now, shall we?” He says cheerily, completely ignoring Fyodor’s flushed red cheeks which are even visible on the lower part of his face.
The man begins to sway, stepping to the side every once in a while. Fyodor awkwardly follows in suit, having never waltzed before.
The man is so gentle as he holds Fyodor’s waist and guides him through the dance. After a few step sequences, the man's lips quirk into a smile.
“Can I spin you?” He asks hopefully. He looks at Fyodor with an almost adoring look in his eyes.
Fyodor's eyes widen and wets his lips nervously, holding the other man’s hand tightly. That was… unexpected. But he’s not entirely opposed and he doesn’t want to disappoint, so he nods slowly.
The man smiles brightly and as the chorus of the orchestra comes to a forte, he lifts Fyodor’s arm over his head and spins him, giggling as he does so.
“You’re so adorable.” He says admiringly. Fyodor looks down, the butterflies in his stomach becoming too overwhelming to maintain eye contact.
“You- you’re, uh,” He clears his throat awkwardly, and the man just watches amusedly. “You’re quite… good-looking, as well.”
“Thank you, I feel so honored.” He says giggling. He continues to waltz with Fyodor, staring straight at him, like he was trying to look beneath his mask.
“I wish I didn’t make this a masquerade ball.” He says under his breath. Fyodor stills for a moment, that sounded… odd.
“What was that?” He says as they continue to dance.
The man looks up. “Oh, nothing! It’s just so annoying how this ball requires masks, isn’t it? I prefer it didn’t.”
Fyodor frowns slightly but doesn’t inquire any further. Maybe he’d just heard wrong.
“Oh, I never did quite catch your name!” The man says, smiling brightly once again.
“Fyodor,” he responds quietly, “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.”
“Ah, Dostoyevsky!” The man grins. “An old noble family. I think I’ve met your sisters, Natalya and Liliya, right?”
Fyodor nods. He’s noticed they’re dancing much closer together than they were before. He can practically feel the heat radiating off the other man’s body.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Have you come to these balls in previous years?” the man asks curiously. Fyodor shakes his head, slightly embarrassed.
“No, I didn't think it would be very enjoyable, unfortunately.” he admits.
The man raises his eyebrows. “Really? I feel as though if you’d only even come one year before I would not need to be hosting these balls anymore.”
Fyodor stops waltzing. He does not need to be hosting balls? What on earth did that mean?
“I’m sorry, I never did catch your name either.” Said Fydor slowly, hesitantly. He’s beginning to suspect something, but he doubts he’s right.
“Me? Oh, I’m Nikolai Gogol! Pleasure to meet you.” He says with a very amused smile. Fyodor’s jaw falls open. That was impossible.
“You’re the prince?” He says, in slight shock. If he really was the prince, why he’d decide to talk to Fyodor of all people was beyond him.
“Yes, I am! I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, or at least catch on quicker.” He says giggling. Fyodor flushes bright red underneath his mask. There was no way.
“That means- when you said-”
“Yes, when I said I needn't have been hosting balls if you showed up, what I meant was you’re going to be my future husband. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He says almost lovingly, spinning Fyodor with him to the chorus of the violins’ behind them.
“I’d never known the meaning of love at first sight before I met you, Fedya.” He says softly, his voice filled with admiration. Then, he lifts his hand off and unclips his mask, revealing his face.
Fyodor's eyes widened. This man was utterly ethereal, gorgeous, stunning. Fyodor couldn’t think of enough words to describe him. His face looked like a doll's, with a perfectly straight nose and defined cheekbones which were both dotted with light freckles. His lips looked soft. So soft. He looked like an angel.
And this angel was telling him he’d fallen in love. With him.
Maybe going to the ball was worth it after all.