The prince wasn't what I expected.
I should have seen it earlier—the way the mask slipped just a little too perfectly into place, how he held himself like every movement was rehearsed, practiced. Even his smile, though dazzling, was calculated. Not a hint of warmth, not a flicker of real human emotion.
But there he was, standing at the edge of the ballroom, surrounded by a crowd of glittering nobles. His eyes found mine immediately, sharp, focused, as though he'd been waiting for me.
"Red," he said, his voice rich and smooth, like velvet sliding over glass. "I was hoping you'd come."
I didn't move immediately, unsure if it was an invitation or a command. He stepped forward, closing the space between us with practiced ease. There was a moment of silence before I spoke.
"What is it you want from me, Prince?" I asked, my voice colder than I intended.
The smile never left his lips, but there was something strange in his gaze. Calculating. Hungry.
"Not much," he said, his eyes flicking to Cinderella, who had been swept away by another dance partner. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing the girl. She's quite... something."
I glanced at Cinderella, now spinning elegantly in her partner's arms. The way she moved, the way she fit perfectly into the glittering world around her—was it really her, or was it the magic that had taken root in her? The way people fawned over her made my stomach twist.
"She's not just a showpiece," I said, unable to keep the sharpness out of my voice. "She's a person."
The prince chuckled softly, as though I were some child speaking out of turn. "Oh, of course. But in the end, everyone here is a piece of the puzzle. We all fit, don't we?"
I wanted to argue. To challenge him. But the words stuck in my throat. It felt like the walls around me were closing in, the air thick with something I couldn't define. The prince's eyes were still on me, and I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing against me, probing, testing.
Before I could respond, a shadow fell over us. A servant, one of the palace attendants, approached us with a bow. "Your Highness," he said, "there's been a situation. A body has been found."
The prince's expression never wavered. "A body?"
The attendant nodded. "Yes, a shoemaker. In the forest. Near the road. It appears he was attacked."
My stomach tightened. The shoemaker. The same one I'd found earlier, dead on the path, his body discarded like a piece of trash.
"And his tools?" I asked quickly, before I could stop myself.
The prince turned his gaze back to me. "Yes, his tools were found with him. Why?"
I swallowed. "No reason. Just... curious."
The prince's smile deepened. "Curiosity is dangerous, Red. Be careful where it leads you."
I didn't respond, my mind already racing. I had to get to the body. I had to see for myself.
The prince turned to the servant. "Show her to the body," he ordered, his tone sharp. "Let's see if our guest's curiosity is warranted."
I nodded, though every part of me was screaming to get out of the palace, away from him, away from the circus of masks and lies. But I couldn't. Not yet.
The servant led me through the labyrinth of corridors, past rooms filled with more masks—painted faces of nobility, of beauty, of charm, hiding who they really were.
We arrived at the back courtyard, where the body lay under a canopy of twisted vines and trees. The blood had already begun to congeal, staining the dirt beneath him.
The body was the same. The shoemaker. His clothes, torn. His shoes, missing. His hand still clenched around the same pouch I'd seen earlier.
I crouched beside him, ignoring the servant's presence. My eyes scanned his body. There were no new injuries, nothing that hadn't been there before. But as I opened his hand, I noticed something different.
A scrap of cloth.
It was small—just a sliver—but it was enough to catch my attention. It wasn't torn, not like the rest of his clothing. It was clean, pressed, like someone had placed it there intentionally.
I unfolded it carefully, my fingers trembling as I recognized the insignia—an intricate pattern of threads woven into the fabric.
"That's the prince's crest," the servant said, his voice cold, almost robotic. "It's from his personal collection."
I froze.
The prince.
The realization hit me like a slap.
"Why is this here?" I asked, my voice low.
The servant shrugged. "No idea. But I imagine the prince would know."
My head spun. The pieces were starting to come together. The prince's crest. The shoemaker. The body in the road. It was all connected. But why?
I looked back at the servant. "You'll tell no one about this," I said, my voice sharp. "No one."
He nodded quickly. "Of course, Miss. I'll inform His Highness immediately."
I stood, moving quickly back toward the palace. The servant followed silently behind me, but I hardly noticed him. My mind was elsewhere, piecing together the mystery. The prince had known the shoemaker. He had somehow been involved in this, maybe in a way I didn't fully understand yet.
And there was one thing that gnawed at me: the insignia. What was its purpose?
As I entered the ballroom once more, the weight of the mystery settled heavily in my chest. The prince's mask was slipping. And I was getting closer to seeing the truth beneath.