Johann shuffled his feet and fidgeted with the small box in his hands. "I didn't think they'd forget this year, Hans. I would have gotten you something more, but I didn't think." He held out the box.

They were the only two left in the large room that once all twelve princes shared. By now six had left married to duchesses and queens. The place felt empty even when it was full these days, the gaping hollow of a throat waiting to be full sobs. Hans' shoes echoed on the high ceilings and gilded walls and made the place sound haunted.

The thirteenth prince stood before the mirror that evening, dressing for a ball. He'd waited, fussing over his shoes and his epaulettes until the rest of his brothers had left, wanting the place to himself.

Hans unwrapped Johann's box. A brightly-colored cravat was nestled in tissue-thin paper.

"I hope you like it," said Johann.

"It's beautiful! Thank you," Hans said. He took off his yellow necktie and replaced it with the new one, a deep, vibrant pink, perhaps magenta or fuchsia, one of those brilliant colors that needed a brilliant name.

They'd forgotten his birthday that year, but for the first time, it didn't bother Hans. There was to be a ball that evening. When he first heard the announcement, he pretended it was all in his honor. There would be a banner across the gate to the palace, with his name in giant gold letters, and the crowd would applaud when he entered. A vivid imagination made an excellent antidote to reality.

"It's fun to get dressed for these events, don't you think?" Hans smiled. He enjoyed putting on a mask so perfect no one could guess at the man beneath.

Johann snorted. "Easy for you to say." Hans' older brother had gawky limbs, a weak chin, and could retreat so far into himself that no one could see him clearly. Despite this, his parents – usually so shallow – idolized the boy, who was now more than old enough to be a man. They idolized him so much Johann often wondered if he were worthy of the praise and shied from it like their words were a mirror forcing sunlight into his eyes.

Hans squared his broad shoulders, beaming at the compliment. Taking pleasure in Johann's awkwardness grated at him, but he found himself doing it more and more often these days.

"Think of it this way, brother," Hans said, "you're a prince of the Southern Isles and you can do no wrong. No matter what the people at the ball do or say, you are in the right."

Johann gave him an awkward smile. He really was quite charming when he forgot his words, and Hans envied his ability to smile without a mask.

Hans ran his gloved fingers over his admiral's insignia. "I don't think you're supposed to wear a pink cravat with your uniform," Johann said and shifted his feet.

"Well I don't care." Hans dusted off the final gold button. "Maybe you should try caring a little less about such silly things. It might do you good."

"Why?"

"Because what others think of you doesn't matter." Hans searched his reflection for flaws. He found none. "If you see yourself as brave and handsome, that's what the world will see. If you only see a small, scared man, that's all you will ever be. Simple as that."

It was a standard inspirational speech, and Johann thanked him for it, but of course none of it was true.

Hans lost sight of Johann as soon as they were announced in the ballroom. The crowd of shining people at these events always disoriented Hans: a man spent what felt like an age smoothing and polishing himself, and he felt like a king before his mirror, only to discover there were hundreds exactly the same.

A roaring laugh cut through the music. Prince Anton stood a head taller than most of the people in the room, surrounded by wilting women in bright dresses. His brother's legs were braced far apart, a soldier at attention, taking up as much space as possible. White teeth glinted underneath a perfect dark moustache.

Hans let his mask down for an indulgent moment and slouched against the wall. He hadn't known his brother had returned so early from his triumphant tour of the country. Another night spent in Anton's shadow was going to be less than pleasant.

Prince Gerhardt watched Anton's adoring crowd from afar. The wiry blond spent evenings such as this circling the ballroom like a vulture, making certain all was going according to plan. Hans shifted uncomfortably as his brother's gaze fell on him. Then the beady grey eyes went to Anton again, the Southern Isles' newest war hero, returned in triumph.

"I don't understand it. A man pierces a few folks with his sword, he thinks he has it made?" said a soft voice, with a lilting accent from the south.

"Sorry?" Hans turned towards the sound. The woman was wearing a red dress. Her waves of brown hair fell to strong shoulders. She rested a white fan on her chest.

"I don't understand why so many women can't keep their eyes off the tall soldier, that's all."

"He is a hero," Hans said in his sweetest syrupy voice. "He fought for the Southern Isles in the Winter Wars with France and Prussia."

The young woman placed a hand over her mouth and gasped. "If all that is true, I suppose I must meet him. Men who kill each other really are the best kind, don't you think so, Sir..."

He bowed. "Hans, milady."

"PrinceHans?" All the sarcasm melted from her voice.

"Yes, Prince Anton is my brother," Hans said. Anton laughed again, the sound carrying throughout the room.

"How lucky you must be," she drawled, and the two of them started laughing at once. Hans bit down on his glove to muffle the sound.

"Do you have any brothers and sisters, milady?"

She shook her head. "None at all."

"You're the lucky one," Hans looked back at the dancing couples and tried to keep bitterness from his voice.

"I think so, sometimes," she said. "At others I wonder if more family might have made me less lonely."

The dance ended, and a stocky blond man walked up to the lady in red. "May I request this dance?"

"No, thank you, sir." She curtseyed. "I'll wait out this one."

When he moved on, she faced Hans. "I fear that something I said has upset you, Your Majesty."

Hans shook his head. "Only that loneliness comes in many shapes and forms, milady, being alone only one of them."

Silence fell between them as the band began a waltz. Hans picked out shapes in the shadows on the floor.

"I understand there are beautiful gardens at the palace, Your Majesty." She held her chin high while talking to Hans, as if his status made no difference to her. For a moment, Hans wondered if she were royal herself, masquerading as a simple noblewoman while away from home.

"There are, yes. May I have the honor of escorting you?" He bowed again, and he knew the words sounded dry as chalk in his mouth, though he was more than happy to escape from Anton's laughter and Gerhardt's darting eyes.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

He took the strange woman's arm and skirted the crowd to the glass doors at the end of the ballroom. They walked in silence, and the longer it lasted, the thinner Hans' lips became. She hadn't noticed. All dolled up in his gold braid and insignia, and this woman hadn't said a thing about his new rank. Anton's uniform went noticed, of course. Maybe Hans seemed like a joke: burly Anton made a convincing soldier, but perhaps the littlest brother only looked as though he were playing dress-up in an admiral's clothes.

"What do you think, milady?" he asked. At first sight, the gardens seemed in a sorry state. They had not yet thrown off winter's frost, and the setting sun threw them into darkness. But behind them, right over the sea, the sun bled down to the horizon in brilliant red and orange.

"Beautiful," the lady said, more to herself than to Hans. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"It is," he said and watched his breath swirl in the cold air. They stood there a long time, and the colors in the sky faded away. "Are you at all cold, milady?" He started to pull the jacket from his shoulders.

"I'm not, but thank you." The woman was leaning over a flowerpot.

"What is it?"

"The first growth of spring." She was right. A tiny green sprout pushed up through the dirt. "The gardens are beautiful. Thank you for showing me, Prince Hans."

"You're most welcome. I trust you're not cold?" he started removing his jacket again, deliberately shining his insignia in the light that spilled from the ballroom.

"Prince Hans, I am perfectly aware of your new appointment as Admiral of the Royal Navy. My father brought me up to date on all the developments at the court of the Southern Isles when we arrived."

"He mentioned me?" He couldn't help his voice rising at the end of the question.

"I hope you understand that your military position means very little to me, Your Majesty."

"I gathered as much," Hans said and straightened his jacket again. He wanted to ask what did mean something to her, and why she thought she had a right to dismiss his newfound identity. All he said was, "Would you care to dance?"

"Yes, I would, thank you, Your Majesty."

Hans led the woman back inside, and they joined the spinning couples. He moved stiffly, feeling like nothing more than a gear in a mechanical clock, a smile painted on his face. How dare this woman question the importance of his appointment. How dare she undermine his confidence, when he didn't ever know her name, and he was now sure it wasn't a name worth knowing. How dare she dance with him. He would find a polite excuse to be rid of her as soon as the dance ended.

But as they danced, something very odd happened. The lady inclined her head toward his, and her breath warmed Hans' skin. Her fingers gripped his tighter than protocol dictated. He longed to pull his hands free of his gloves and touch her skin. No wonder she had not felt cold in the evening air – warmth surrounded her everywhere she went. His cheeks began to flush.

"May I ask your name, milady?"

"Countess Juliana."

Hans wanted to ask Juliana what she had dreamed of as a lonely child, what kept her up late at night, nose pressed to the window of her room. He wanted to tell her all about watching the tide rise and fall every night, and hoping it would carry him away. But the song ended, and Gerhardt tapped on his shoulder.

"Hans, might I speak to you for a minute?"

Hans bowed to Juliana. "May I ask your leave, Countess?"

"Of course." She sounded ill at ease. It must have been Gerhardt's beady eyes.

Gerhardt led Hans to a small room adjacent to the ballroom. "Are you having a good time, brother?" he asked coldly, tapping his long nails on a lacquered desktop.

Hans knew that the question was a trick, somehow, but all he knew to say was, "Yes."

"Shame."

"What did I do wrong, brother?"

Gerhardt sat down in a chair against the wall. "Sit, Hans, please."

"I don't want to."

Hans felt rather than saw Gerhardt rolling his eyes. "As you wish. Do you know what the ball tonight is celebrating, little brother?"

"No one told me."

"It's to celebrate Johann."

"Really?" Hans smiled. "That's wonderful! You ought to tell Anton as much; he seems to think the party is about him."

"You're right." Gerhardt lingered on the words in surprise, as if Hans having a reasonable idea shocked the speed from his mind. "Anton should leave."

"Good." Hans grinned.

"As should you."

"What? What have I done?" Hans threw open his arms. He hated Gerhardt at times like this, when he beat around the bush to come to his punishment, twisting Hans around his little finger with words. "I hardly spent any time in the ballroom tonight. Ask anyone: I was in the gardens with Countess Juliana."

"You see," he groaned. "That's just it."

"What's just it?" Hans felt fire in his belly running upwards like nausea.

"Countess Juliana..." Gerhardt said. Hans' eyes had adjusted to the darkness of the room and saw his brother stroke his chin. "She's getting engaged. To Johann. The sooner the better."

The color drained from Hans' face. "She said nothing of it."

"She doesn't know if it yet. Neither does Johann. But you will agree that he has very few prospects, as does a woman of Juliana's... usual temperament. I arranged for them to meet this evening. Now, little brother, don't you see that you're in the way?"

Hans held his hands behind his back and inclined his head forwards. "Perhaps I am not, Gerhardt. Perhaps Johann and your plans for him are in my way."

Gerhardt cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think, little brother? You who've been given the appointment as admiral you asked for, which I did not have to approve. You think you deserve more? And all tonight."

Hans bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. "I'll leave now, if that's what you want."

"Good," Gerhardt said. He stood and walked towards the ballroom.

"G-Gerhardt?" Hans said, and he hated the feeble sound of his voice.

"Yes?" The thin man stood in the doorway, silhouetted with light from the ballroom.

"It's my birthday."

"Happy Birthday, Hans," he said, and closed the door.