A/N: This is just a retelling of the traditional Twelve Dancing princesses story. It's my very first fanfic so any and all reviews are welcome!

The music swelled around her, urging her feet to move faster and her hands to paint pictures in the air. She complied, despite the fact that her breath was gone and her legs trembled. She would dance as long as the music urged as sweetly as it did now.

The dancer's body moved gracefully, like a swan, dipping and swaying and even taking flight. It was hard to believe she was human; she must be a life-sized marionette, to dance as perfectly and as long as she had, and her puppeteer was a master with the strings.

But no, she was a real girl, flesh and blood. And her body was tiring. Oh, please, sweet music, end, for I am a mere mortal, unworthy of such heavenly strains. I cannot keep up with you.

As if the music had heard her silent plea, it began to slow, and then fade away, like a morning mist. Her body never wavering, the dancer slowed in time to the haunting flutes, and, as it disappeared, twisted herself into the most elegant curtsey – feet a complicated knot under her skirt, back arching, hands crossed over her chest. She was met with near-thunderous applause.

The dancer held the curtsey until her instructor mounted the stage. She unfolded herself to take her bows alongside him. Eventually, he tapped her shoulder, a signal to disappear while he earned money from the crowd.

Backstage, her smile disappeared. Fools, she thought, all of them. Well-pampered fools. They applauded because they saw her dance prettily for two hours. What they didn't know, was that she had danced, in secret, against her will, for nearly twenty.

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Catalina had only one complete memory of her life when she was not dancing. That was the day Mr. Rictadore came to the orphanage. She was four years old.

She remembered Rictadore as being a spindly, scary man of questionable age, and he remained the same today. He had stared down his long, thin nose at her as all the little girls her age lined up outside the orphanage per his request. The orphanage headmistress had stood off to the side, and all the other girls peered out the windows, curious as to what the strange man intended to do with ten three- and four-year-olds.

Rictadore pulled a stick of chalk out of his coat pocket. Catalina remembered wondering if they were going to play hopscotch. Instead, he had drawn a single straight line in the rough cobbles and made the girls walk the line with their hands extended straight from their shoulders. Many of them had wobbled and stumbled. Rictadore had sent these girls inside straight away. Catalina had walked the line perfectly balanced. After that, he asked her to do a cartwheel and backwards flips. She had done these easily, for someone had taught her. Now, she supposed that person to be a parent or an older sibling – she couldn't be sure. Only she and one other girl had done what Rictadore asked perfectly. Rictadore had handed the headmistress a bag that rattled, and they had left with him.

From that day on, Rictadore had begun the dance lessons. The other girl was named Melanie, and despite the fact that they were the only two girls in the beginning, she refused to be friends with Catalina. She had stayed stubbornly aloof, and Catalina had been terribly lonely for six long months, before the others girls came. Ever since then, Catalina had danced nonstop.

She trudged past the other girls backstage, not caring if her pointe shoes clapped loudly on the floor. She was so tired. Someone pushed her down into a chair.

"You're done for today," Elizabeth said, ever practical. "You're dead on your feet."

"Poor dear," Violet said. She and her twin sister Lily began unlacing Catalina's shoes. The twins had been the second group of girls to join Rictadore's troupe, and Catalina's first friends.

"It's off to bed with you," Elizabeth continued. "I'll make our apologies and excuses. Just sleep. Ivy, Elle, get her upstairs."

Ivy bounded to Catalina's side and linked their arms. Catalina made no protests; she was far too exhausted. As the two girls led her away, she heard Elizabeth say, "Where on earth is Melanie?"

In her room, Catalina sat gingerly on the edge of her bed; if she were to lay down, she would fall asleep in an instant. Ivy and Elle helped her remove her stockings and tutu, and unpinned her long black hair. As she eased a nightdress over her head, Catalina murmured, "Is it a full moon tonight?"

"Don't worry about it," Elle evaded the question.

"Just go to sleep, Cat," Ivy said, pulling the bedclothes up around Catalina's chin. "We'll take care of things."

"You should sleep, too," Catalina protested weakly. Her eyes were already closing. "You danced all night, too."

"But we slept this afternoon," Ivy countered.

"You ran around doing your job and Melanie's," Elle added. "And then you danced for her, too. So sleep."

With that, the girls left, leaving Catalina to plunge into darkness where no music taunted her aching muscles to movement.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning found Catalina beautifully refreshed, but terribly late.

She burst into the dance studio with her hair undone and spilling down her back, pulling on her ballet shoes while juggling her pointe shoes, and her dress twisted in the back.

"Oh, dear, did you really run through the palace like this?" Clara asked as she tried to untangle the slippery skirt.

"I must have," Catalina said. "I'm sorry girls, I overslept."

Ten pairs of eyes widened at her. Catalina was well-known for rising early, no matter how late she had danced the night before.

"We thought you were off doing your important things," Jessica said for the group. "You really must have been worn out last night."

"Yes, well," Catalina said, snapping her hair back into a neat bun, "until Melanie shows up, I am stuck doing all of her work, too. And the princesses have a lesson today, so let's hurry along."

The girls jumped to their feet and stood in a line at the dance barre, to begin their warming up stretches. Catalina moved down the line, greeting each girl in turn. Ivy, Elle, Jessica, Isabelle, Clara, Julia, Tiana, Elizabeth, Violet and Lily. Counting Catalina and Melanie, they were twelve in all. Twelve beautiful dancers, Rictadore's pride and joy. They were called the Twelve Swans.

As a group, the Twelve Swans was nothing flashy or spectacular, but their talent was unrivaled. Rumor had it that Rictadore had once been a lord who lost his fortune due to bad management. Disgusted with the immoral and tasteless entertainments to be found in nobles' courts, he had used the last of his money to purchase a small studio and travel the kingdom, looking for dancers. Each of the girls were orphaned or abandoned, and had been snatched up by Rictadore no older than the age of five. Their dance lessons were unyielding in their intensity, for Rictadore accepted nothing less than perfection. Once the girls were old enough and trained enough to give an "enthralling" performance, Rictadore began a schedule of performances as rigorous and merciless as his training. They had performed in every nobles' court across the land, and every theatre in between. Their signature dance was the Swan's Ballet, and their name quickly followed.

By now, morning warm-ups had become so routine that Rictadore didn't even bother to show up. Their daily life was the same no matter where they were. They had lessons in the mornings, rehearsal in the afternoons supervised by Rictadore, and performances all night long. Catalina and Melanie, as the two prima ballerinas, led morning lessons while Rictadore caught up on sleep. Melanie had mysteriously disappeared almost three weeks ago, leaving Catalina to do the administration of two and a half people, as Rictadore only ever cared about the money and the dancing. Catalina now had to dance her and Melanie's roles, as none of the other girls knew the part well enough to satisfy Rictadore.

"No word from Melanie the Maleficent?" Isabelle asked as they stretched on the floor.

Catalina shot a glare in her direction, silencing all giggles around the room. Melanie was the black sheep of their unusual family; she never wanted a part of the sisterly affection between the girls. She was mean, vain, disrespectful and narcissistic, and would do whatever it took to stay on top. Melanie had made life extra miserable for the other dancers, but she had done a lot of work, and her absence was reluctantly felt.

"She probably found herself that rich duke she was always going on about," Lily commented.

"It wasn't a duke," her twin, Violet, said. "That wasn't enough status for her. It was at least a king's advisor or higher."

"Yes, how did she put it?" Julia put her nose in the air, stuck out one hip and simpered, "I need a man with influence, not just a pretty sentimental title that is a hundred thousand years old and as influential as the man it was originally given to."

Even Catalina had to smile then. Julia's impression was dead-on. "All right, girls, that's enough. Those of you instructing the princesses today, come with me to the ballroom. The rest of you know what to do."

A collective groan rose from the seven girls remaining downstairs. They were stuck mending, a dreaded chore. Rictadore was very particular when it came to costumes. The four girls going to tutor the princesses were quite glad to be freed, even if it meant more dancing.

Catalina led the way through the intricate maze of halls to the ballroom, followed by Elle, Clara, Tiana and Isabelle. They arrived with just enough time to draw back the curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall before the princesses arrived.

The princesses were the four younger children of the Royal Couple, the eldest being the Crown Prince Luke. They ranged in age from sixteen to five, and despite the fact that they were royals, they were some of the sweetest girls Catalina had ever met. Far nicer than half of the other noble girls they taught to dance, for sure. Unfortunately, the Twelve Swans spent relatively little time at the Royal Palace, and hardly ever saw the princesses.

The four of them entered the ballroom in ways Catalina could only describe as perfectly fitting to their personalities. The eldest, Annabella, entered like a lady: quietly, gliding effortlessly across the polished floor. For all her apparent propriety, Annabella was quite fun once she opened up. The next eldest, Emma, was fourteen, and so beginning the lessons of etiquette and propriety that her sister had already mastered. But she loved dancing; it was by far her very favorite thing to do. While she walked alongside Annabella, her face glowed with happiness, and she clapped her hands excitedly. Brieanna, at twelve, was a dreamer, and consequently appeared as if she'd wandered into the ballroom on accident. Catalina recalled that Brieanna was very good at the slow, mournful ballets. The youngest, Lila, couldn't contain herself at shouted Catalina's name at the top of her voice and hurled herself into the dancer's arms.

"Hello, Your Highnesses," Catalina said as soon as the echo of Lila's shout died down enough for her voice to be heard. "How are you?"

"Ever so much better now that you're back!" the little girl said. "Why did you go away for so long?"

"You know their schedule, Lila," Emma scolded mildly. "They have other little girls to teach, too. They only stay here for the summer."

"I am afraid it is true," Catalina said. "But do you want to know a secret?" At Lila's nod, she continued in a stage whisper, "You are my favorite student."

Lila couldn't help but giggle. The other dancers introduced themselves, and the lesson began.

Catalina led them all together through the warm-ups, and then split the girls for the lesson, keeping the older two, and sending the younger two to the other end of the mirrors with Clara and Isabelle. Annabella and Emma were already wearing their pointe shoes, so she let them run the pointe drills while she worked with Lila and Brieanna. She reviewed what they had learned with their regular dance instructor over the year she had been gone, and reinforced it, before leaving the lesson in Clara and Isabelle's hands.

With the older girls, Tiana had done the same, and was watching them take leaps en pointe. For a long while, Catalina simply watched, taking mental notes. The princesses were excellent dancers; Catalina was sure that if they had been orphans, Rictadore would have snatched them up.

"Annabella, come stand at the mirror," she said eventually. The princess complied.

"When you are doing the grand jeté, you must angle your foot as you land," she said. "You are keeping them too parallel; it is more like fourth position." Catalina demonstrated in the mirror, her movements so precise, the wood in her pointe shoes hardly made a sound.

Annabella tried again, watching her reflection, but again her feet were incorrect, and she wobbled on her landing, off balance. Catalina looked to Elle and Tiana for help, but they were as lost as she.

Catalina sighed, closed her eyes, and performed the move again, focusing on the feeling of her limbs rather than how they looked. She tried again to put it into words, but again the princess struggled.

Catalina's fingers twitched. She shocked herself - her hand longed for Rictadore's long, willowy staff. The staff he used to beat on the girls' feet if they were placed incorrectly, banging in time to the music until the dancer's feet were perfect. The idea of wanting to hurt someone - let alone a princess - was horrifying to Catalina. She thought she might be sick. But it was the only way she knew how to correct footwork.

"All right," she said, trying to hide the wobble in her voice. "Let's try something else. Face the mirror now, Your Highness, and watch your feet. We're going to do this at half speed, slower if we have to. I want you to find the exact spot your footwork starts to differ from mine."

They moved as one, breaking the leap into painfully slow pieces. Annabella's smooth, delicate brow was furrowed in concentration. Suddenly she froze, her knees bent and prepared to leap.

"Right here," she said, wobbling slightly. "My feet aren't as far apart as yours."

"Exactly!" Catalina cried, more excited about the fact that she hadn't become Rictadore than she was about Annabella's grand jeté.

About an hour into the lesson, the grand doors at the far end of the room opened. Catalina heard them but paid no mind, as she was busy steadying Emma as she balanced on one foot en pointe. The sudden touch on her shoulder made her jump, nearly pushing over the princess.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

It was the Crown Prince Luke himself, smiling down at Catalina with his brown eyes shining. She couldn't tell if he was amused at her reaction or not.

"It was my fault, Your Highness," Catalina said demurely, curtseying as best she could with Emma gripping her arm. She was remembering all of Rictadore's sternly enforced lectures on interactions with royalty and nobility.

"No, it wasn't. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn't have scared you like that," Prince Luke said.

Catalina stood waiting for him to say more, but he was looking at her with such an intensity that she stood frozen to her spot. Eventually he said again, "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Catalina heard herself saying. A part of her was screaming that it was wrong, she couldn't say it was the fault of the Crown Prince of all people, but that was not the part controlling her mouth.

He continued to gaze at her, Catalina unable to tear her eyes away from his. He really was quite handsome; she had had so few close encounters with the prince, and so hadn't been able to admire him so closely before. People always said it was so, and one could tell from a distance, but to actually see for herself his high, smooth cheekbones, full lips, and huge expressive eyes - was that flecks of gold around his pupils? - was a different experience entirely. Catalina felt transfixed. Oddly enough, she could tell that he didn't feel at all put off by her staring.

She snapped out of it when the prince spoke again, moving his eyes to encompass the rest of the room. "Anyway, I'm here to get my sisters. We're needed in the throne room."

"Oh, but we've only just begun!" Lila cried.

Prince Luke smiled at his baby sister. "I know, pet. But Father says it's very important."

All the princesses' faces fell. The dancers looked at each other, sparkles in their eyes. It felt good to be so appreciated.

"Don't fret," Elle said, bending down to Lila's level. "You can have a double lesson tomorrow, if you like."

"Yay!" Lila cheered.

"Are you going to the dinner tonight?" Brieanna asked.

"But of course!" Clara said. "What else shall we do but make the young princesses glad and fulfill their every wish?"

The girls giggled at her theatrics. "I look forward to it," Prince Luke said, before ushering his sisters from the ballroom.

"Oooh, Catalina!" Elle squealed as soon as the dancers were alone.

"What?"

"Did you see the way Prince Luke looked at you?" Clara continued.

"Yes, well, what of it?" Catalina asked as she pretended to fuss with her hair in the mirror. "He apologized for scaring me."

"But do you know what it means?" Elle said anxiously.

"That he's a gentleman."

"No!" Tiana joined in. "Well, yes he is, but do you know what his eyes said?"

"That I'm far too high strung?" Catalina could feel her face getting hot.

"It means he likes you!" All three girls cried at once.

"Oh, please," Catalina scoffed, her face on fire.

"Look at her blush!" Clara pointed and laughed.

"It has to be true," Tiana continued, "Whenever we're here, he asks how you are. By name."

By name? No one ever remembered their individual names. "Impossible! He hardly ever speaks to me." Catalina closed the drapes over the mirrors so she couldn't see her blushing face or her hopeful eyes.

"He's finally worked up the courage," Elle said. "Oh, it's so romantic!"

"Admit it, you like him," Clara teased, poking at Catalina until she stopped walking and whirled on them.

"All right!" Catalina threw her hands in the air. "I like him. I have for a while. But it doesn't leave this room! You understand?"

The three nodded eagerly, their grins reaching from ear to ear, but Catalina knew the entire troupe would know before tonight's performance. Tiana hugged her, and Elle clapped her hands as she skipped on ahead.

"Oh, it's so romantic!"