The ballroom buzzed with chatter, laughter, and music, but to me, it felt distant—like I was watching it all through a veil. The prince had retreated, disappearing into the crowd with his mask back in place, a perfect porcelain smile glued to his lips. But I couldn't stop thinking about the body. The cloth. The insignia.
Every step I took seemed to echo in the vast, gilded room. I could feel eyes on me—calculating, observing, and I wondered if they knew. If they suspected. If the prince's game was a little more dangerous than they realized.
I wasn't the only one who noticed.
Cinderella was dancing with yet another nobleman, her smile radiant, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that didn't quite match the sparkling world around her. She looked too fragile, too perfect, like porcelain ready to crack.
I moved through the crowd, my eyes scanning the sea of masks. It wasn't hard to pick out the prince's figure again, tall and commanding, his presence impossible to ignore. But this time, I wasn't content to watch from a distance. I needed answers. I needed to know why he had been involved with the shoemaker's death—and what that cloth meant.
I pushed through the dancers and slipped into the corridors behind the grand ballroom, where the palace's opulence gave way to cold stone walls and dimly lit halls. It was quieter here, but the stillness only made the tension thicker.
At the far end of the hall, a door cracked open, and I caught a glimpse of the prince—his back to me, speaking in low tones to a figure I couldn't make out.
Instincts kicked in. I crept forward, my heart pounding in my chest. Every step felt like it echoed through the silence. I needed to hear this conversation. I needed to understand what they were planning.
"I told you this would happen," the voice from inside said, low and rough. It was a woman's voice, sharp and biting. "You were too careless with her. The girl doesn't belong here. She doesn't know what she's walking into."
I froze. The words hit me like a blow.
"Don't you worry about her," the prince responded, his voice smooth as always. "She'll be fine. She'll play her part. All of them will."
I peeked around the door frame, just enough to catch the edge of his face. He was standing by a large window, his back to the room, his posture relaxed—too relaxed for someone who had just been speaking about life and death. The woman's face was shadowed, her features hidden in the dim light.
"What if the girl is different?" the woman pressed, her tone hard. "You know the risks. If she finds out..."
"Then she'll understand why this has to happen," the prince said, his voice lowering into something cold and almost imperceptible. "If she doesn't, well... we'll deal with it."
The woman laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "I'll make sure she understands, then. But I don't like where this is going."
"You'll learn to. Everyone does, eventually."
I had heard enough.
I backed away slowly, my heart thumping in my chest as I turned on my heel and quickly retreated down the hallway. I didn't stop until I was outside in the cool night air, standing on the steps that led down to the garden.
I could still feel the weight of what I'd heard. The prince wasn't just a player in some grand romance. He was planning something—something dangerous, something dark. And I had a sinking feeling it involved Cinderella more than anyone realized.
I pulled my cloak tighter around me, trying to shake off the chill of the night and the weight of the secret I had just uncovered.
A voice broke through the silence.
"You're not in the ballroom."
I turned, startled. Standing there, just outside the garden gates, was Cinderella. Her dress shimmered in the moonlight, her hair still perfectly in place. But her expression was... different. Tighter. More uncertain.
"I needed some air," I said quickly, wiping my hands on the fabric of my cloak. I stepped toward her, but I could see it now—the edge in her eyes, the flicker of doubt.
"Red," she said, taking a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's going on? You've been acting strange since we got here. What did you hear?"
My stomach twisted. For a moment, I considered telling her. The prince, the plans, the danger that surrounded her like a storm. But then I remembered the cold, calculating way he'd spoken. How he'd used her as if she were nothing more than a piece in a game.
"Nothing," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired. You know how these things are."
She didn't seem convinced, but she nodded slowly. "I thought you might be, but—" She paused, then glanced back toward the ballroom. "Something's not right, Red. I can feel it. And I don't think it's just the people here."
Her voice was filled with a quiet desperation, and I realized—she wasn't as naive as I had thought. She could sense it, too.
I took a deep breath. "I know. And I think we need to be careful, Cinderella."
"Careful?" she echoed, her eyes narrowing. "Careful of what?"
Of him, I wanted to say. Of the prince and his twisted game, of the lies he had wrapped around her like a cocoon. But instead, I shook my head and gave her a reassuring smile.
"Careful of everything."
And just as I spoke, the sound of the clock tower chimed, its low tolls echoing through the air, the first warning of midnight creeping closer.
I knew then—everything was about to change.