I hope you've missed me! Ball part one, part two out as soon as I can crank it. And of course, big beautiful thank you to miss sevenzeroseven, recipient of the best beta in the multiverse award (nominated eighty-seven times, won eighty-eight). Now without further ado!

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Ophelia Finch, 20, Lumetierre

Ophelia rarely loved her wardrobe but tonight's dress seemed to draw out a special kind of nausea from her.

"Aren't you a sight to behold," her maid sighed as she laced up the back of her gown. "You're a vision, Miss Ophelia."

"Oh, you're too kind, Evelyn," she replied with a glittering, red-lipped smile. The girl in the mirror grinned back at her, looking glossy and beautiful like a china doll.

"The prince is a lucky man," Evelyn remarked as she reached for the necklace pooled on the table. "He has his pick of any lady here, but you're by far the most beautiful."

"That's so nice of you to say. Of course, the girls here are all stunning," Ophelia giggled, dismissing the compliment with a flutter of her hand. "Evelyn, what do you think of this dress? Are you sure it's the right one?"

The monstrosity in question was an enormous tent of sparkling gold brocade that nipped in at the waist for a fitted bodice, encrusted at the swooping neckline with even huger gemstones. It must have been over ten pounds of pure decadence; for Ophelia, who was 5'3 on a good day, it was not an easy thing to move in. Not to mention, the corset waist was decidedly crushing and she was a little short of breath already. Looked like she wouldn't be eating tonight.

"Of course, dear, you look a treat," Evelyn gushed. "It's just your style, don't you think?"

Right. She was Ophelia Finch, and Ophelia Finch liked dresses like this. She opted for a delighted little laugh and a shake of her head to deflect the compliment.

"Now, to complete the look—,"

Before she could even process the feeling of fingers against her throat, she jerked away, hands flying up to cover her neck.

"That's okay!" Ophelia blurted out, taking a step back. "That's okay. I can put the necklace on myself. Thank you, though."

"Well, alright." Evelyn gave her an alarmed look as she hesitantly put the necklace in her waiting hand. "I'll go get your shoes for you, then."

"Perfect, I appreciate it!" She kept her smile up until Evelyn had disappeared to go retrieve the shoes, before letting it drop. She swallowed shakily, willing her heart rate to slow. She'd already checked Evelyn's potential much earlier and she knew it was full of light. Hardly a shadow to fear. You're being irrational, she scolded herself, rubbing the base of her throat.

The necklace was heavy and cold as she laid it across her collar bones. Each massive twinkling stone seemed to add another pound to her. The matching earrings were already starting to hurt a bit, but she ignored the tugging pain. This was what it took. Sacrifices had to be made.

"Here come the shoes!" Evelyn said cheerfully, bustling over with a pair of strappy gold heels.

Ophelia smiled and let her maid kneel down to help her put her shoes on. Normally, she'd resist the assistance, but she wasn't sure she could even find her own foot in all of the excess fabric, much less sit down or bend over to get it on.

A knock sounded at the door and Ophelia froze, her breath catching before she remembered where she was. Third Well, she was jumping at shadows today.

"Enter!" she called, inflecting her trademark brightness into her voice.

The girl who poked her head in was one of the other Lumetierren girls. Elena, if she recalled correctly, the sculptor. She couldn't help but enviously eye Elena's much simpler dress and jewelry.

"Hi, Ophelia Finch!" the girl said with the hushed awe that often accompanied her name. "You look amazing, wow!"

"Thank you, you too!" she said with a smile sweet as sugar. "Elena, right?"

"Yeah, wow, I can't believe you remembered!" The girl gulped, clearly gathering the courage to ask something. An autograph, usually. Ophelia began scanning the room for a pen. "Um, me and some of the other girls were wondering if you'd like to walk down to the ballroom with us?"

"Oh!" She paused, considering it. Would Ophelia say yes to such a proposal? On the one hand, it could dispel some of her celebrity mystique. On the other, she certainly couldn't look antisocial in front of Verelys' elite. Normally she'd just stick with Santino or one of the girls he liked to follow her around. She almost wished he was here if only to remind her what to do.

"It's okay if you don't want to," Elena said, eyes widening at her hesitation. "We just thought we'd ask, since—,"

"Thank you for asking, I'd love to," she said firmly. She hoped she'd made the right choice, and anyway the glow of soft happiness that illuminated her chest eased any worries she had about it.

"Great! Okay, we'll be outside, then. Take all the time you need!" Elena said, backing out.

Ophelia took a final look at her reflection. The girl in the mirror looked so tiny and insignificant, swallowed in burnished gold, outshone by a million sparkling crystals, burdened by pounds of luxury. An overwhelming urge to cry lurked at the back of her throat. It was always like this before the big events, where all she wanted to do was throw everything off and crawl into her bed and hide. These days, Ophelia Finch felt so claustrophobic to be.

But she couldn't hide from this. These were the sacrifices she had to make. And besides, so many people had it worse than having to wear a gold dress and make nice with strangers for a few hours.

She flashed herself a dazzling smile, wishing she felt half as confident as she looked, and then turned to go, bidding Evelyn a brief farewell as she slipped out the door. The dress was just as cumbersome as she'd suspected; she had a feeling if she turned a corner too fast, the sheer momentum a dress of this mass would gather would send her to the ground.

"Sorry to make you wait," Ophelia greeted the other girls, carefully navigating over to join them. "I don't think I've met most of you, I'm Ophelia Finch."

"I'm Luisa," the closest girl volunteered. Ophelia didn't need to check her potential to see the transparent kindness written all over her face. Her dress was subtle, a gauzy dark blue that was speckled with silver stones that looked like the night sky. Ophelia thought to herself that she would've chosen a dress like that if she'd had the choice.

A girl in a stunning floral two-piece, with what looked like fresh flowers tucked into her curly hair, raised a hand in a timid wave. "I'm Celestina. It's really nice to meet you."

"Celestina and I are big fans of your music," Luisa confided with a smile. "I think I've listened to Candy Hearts about a thousand times."

Ophelia was sure she was being genuine but it made her heart fall a little. Candy Hearts was her most recent album, and she'd only written two songs on it. Most of it was chosen by Santino in order to market bubblegum-pop sex appeal.

"I'm so glad you like it," she said anyway, nodding in acknowledgment. She turned to the other members of their little group. "Elena, I met on the platform. And you are?"

The final girl, dark-haired and pale, dressed in a misty-grey dress with a romantic silhouette, dipped her chin, not making eye contact. "Min-hye. Pleasure to meet you."

There was a brief moment where Ophelia felt her smile falter just a little with her interest. There was no question that she had to take a reading on this girl, she just had to figure out how to get close enough that she could make contact.

Then, remembering her audience, she beamed at Min-hye twice as brilliantly.

"You as well!" she said sweetly. "We should get going. This is so exciting, don't you guys think?"

"I honestly can't believe we're here," Elena exclaimed, hurrying and almost stumbling trying to stay next to Ophelia. "Since the five of us all have suites in the North Tower, I thought it would be fun for us to walk together."

"For sure!" Ophelia agreed absently. Min-hye had naturally fallen behind the rest of them with Celestina, and she wanted to figure out how to get back there without drawing attention. Perhaps she should just wait until they got to the ballroom and there was less attention.

"Oh, gosh, do you need help?" Elena asked as they approached the staircase.

Ophelia laughed, reaching for the handrail. "I think I'll be fine, but I'm so sorry if I fall and crush one of you. This dress is kind of hard to move in."

"We can take it slow," Luisa said with a grin. Her eyes lit up as the sound of music floated into the stone stairwell. "Do you all hear that?"

"Does that mean we're late?" Celestina asked Luisa, eyes wide. "Mr. Augustin said to meet outside the ball during the first song."

"No, but it means we're about to be," Elena said nervously. "We should hurry up."

"You're right, let's go." Ophelia gritted her teeth and gave up on descending the stairs gracefully. No one was even here to notice, but they would notice if she was late for the welcome ball. She wasn't going to risk it getting back to Santino.

She gathered as much of her skirt in bunches as she could to make it easier to move, and picked up her pace considerably. The stone was slippery under her heels, but Ophelia successfully avoided faceplanting, right up until the end. She felt the exact moment that she missed the final stair and the way her heart jumped into her throat.

But just as quickly, she felt a hand at her elbow steadying her, as if having predicted her fall.

"Be careful," was all Min-hye said softly, releasing her with a lingering look. "You could hurt your ankles if you took a fall in those shoes."

"The dangers of glamour," Ophelia said shakily, trying to gather herself. "We all suffer for it, right?"

Min-hye let slip a tiny, secret smile lifted the hem of her gown a few inches to reveal a silken slipper, noticeably without a dagger-sharp heel.

"Lucky," Ophelia mumbled without thinking. When Min-hye's eyebrow quirked, she quickly covered it with a dainty giggle. "But I don't think I'd trade. I'm obsessed with this outfit. I mean, have you seen the way this dress twirls?"

Min-hye's answering smile was placating at best. Ophelia tried not to feel tiny.

They joined up with the rest of the Selected in the hallway, a buzzing crowd of silks and tulle and glitter. With a glance, Ophelia could tell that her dress was unmatched in size, girth-wise, but to her surprise, she wasn't sure she was going to be the center of attention, as she'd expected from a dress this outrageous. One statuesque girl had long braids woven with gold threads, and the open back of her dress dripped with strings of beads and gems. She had to be from Coranzorre, based on the daring lacy cutouts in the dress.

The albino girl standing to the side in silver-embroidered navy velvet looked like a painting rather than a person, with dreamy lavender-grey eyes. There was another girl with wild curls and a seemingly-permanent glare, wearing a dress that looked like an elegant tornado of tulle, like red and black smoke materialized in fabric; another in a stark white jumpsuit and cape that seemed to glow in the dimmed light. One bizarre Selected (who had to be Alundish) was wearing a dress that seemed to be more scrap metal than dress.

But by far, the most striking dress had to be on the girl in mirrored sunglasses. At first glance, it was the deepest navy, bordering on black, but when she turned, a thousand dusky shades of amethyst and indigo caught the light. The fabric seemed weightless, moving entrancingly through the air like ink in water; the cut structured in the bodice and softly draped in the skirt and sleeves, with curved metallic teeth framing the bust and hip. Ophelia had never seen anything like it—and it looked like she wasn't the only one.

"She's from Ethotaur," Luisa whispered at her side. "I was in the carriage with her, her name is Mika."

"Her dress is incredible," Elena murmured bitterly. "Can't believe they wasted it on some Etho."

Ophelia mostly wanted to laugh. If she thought she looked ridiculous before, Mika's dress was making her look like a cheap tacky grab for attention. It didn't get any more obvious that a massive golden glitter mountain, and yet she still wasn't going to be the star of the show. It was humbling and relieving in equal amounts, but Santino wouldn't be happy about it.

Just then, the princess's secretary materialized out of a side corridor, looking harried.

"Queue up, ladies, it's time for your entrance," Mr. Augustin said, clapping his hands. "Quickly, now! Move it! The first song is about to end!"

As the orchestra played the final strain of the piece, the Selected rushed to line up. In the commotion, Ophelia was jostled away from the girls of the North Tower and ended up behind a tall, tanned girl in a flowing lavender jumpsuit, who did a double-take upon glimpsing her.

"Ophelia Finch?" she blurted out, just as the doors opened and the procession into the ballroom began.

"Presenting the honored Selected of the Hyalus Empire," Mr. Augustin announced as they paraded in, "—here to compete for the hand of His Royal Highness the Heir Apparent, Crown Prince Silas Morinth Gaffrey of Verelys the Eleventh Well, son of Alastor, son of Morinth of the Most Noble and Transparent House Gaffrey."

The gathered Verelysian elite, resplendent in the latest fashions, applauded politely. Ophelia could feel hundreds of eyes on her as she passed and whispers being exchanged behind gloved hands but kept her chin resolutely high and her smile undaunted by the scrutiny. No one would leave tonight saying that Ophelia Finch hadn't conducted herself with the utmost grace, in spite of a dress that looked like a dragon's hoard.

"His Royal Highness will now address his honored Selected and welcome them to Verelys."

Ophelia's eye was drawn up to the balcony overlooking the room, as Prince Silas stepped out, stiff like a statue, but dashing nonetheless. The silver embroidery on his jacket caught the light, as did the matching epaulets, and the cut of his jacket emphasized his broad chest. The pale blue sash that matched the flag of Verelys hanging from the balcony railing was pinned with silver medals that clinked as he moved. On his head was a coronet made entirely of delicate glass arches. Even from here, she could feel the white-hot burn of his stare, entirely different from Princess Stelle's ice-cold one.

"Good evening. To the newest guests of Castle Verelys, my Selected, on behalf of myself and my family, a warmest welcome. To old friends returning to celebrate this new chapter in my life with me, your support is appreciated. But to all the friends of Verelys present, I thank you, one and all for being here tonight."

It was a speech with very little substance, as far as Ophelia could tell. Prince Silas had a voice low in his chest that was easy to listen to, with that special upper-crust Verelysian twist, but his words were empty. Ophelia would know. She'd sung songs just like this, where every soulless word belonged to some else, start to finish. She wouldn't have been surprised if this speech was handed to him an hour before the ball.

The prince sloughed his way through compliments to his sister, acknowledgment of the hard work to prepare for the event, and even a brief recognition for his friends, for coming all the way to Verelys to help facilitate the experience.

"And now, before the night begins, it is my pleasure to invite you all to a toast." Silas picked up a glass of something light and shimmering gold.

Around the Selected, waiters stepped forward with trays of what looked like sweetwater, and Ophelia took a glass with the others.

The prince took a deep breath, his piercing eyes searching the room. Ophelia caught his gaze for the briefest moment before it swept on, relentless like a stormy sea.

"To my future wife: you are somewhere in this room and it will be my eternal joy to find and get to know you. I promise to stay by your side and cherish you forever."

Despite herself, despite knowing those words were entirely manufactured, Ophelia couldn't help the slight sigh her heart gave. Silas, to his credit, was very handsome in his intensity. He certainly wouldn't be difficult to fall in love with at the surface level. But everything was riding on the scan. Time and time again, experience had proved to her that a handsome exterior meant nothing when it came to kindness.

Some of his intensity eased and his expression lightened up to match. For a brief moment, he almost looked approachable. "To the rest of my contestants, thank you for being willing to put yourself in a place of vulnerability. You are truly demonstrating your loyalty to our great empire. I look forward to getting to know you all as friends and allies. Make all of your nations proud."

He raised his glass to the room. "To the success of this Selection, and the happy future it will bring our great empire. To Hyalus."

"To Hyalus," Ophelia repeated, the words echoing through the crowd. Beside her, Elena drank heartily, downing the glass in almost a single gulp. For herself, she put her mouth at the rim and tipped it backward but allowed no alcohol to pass through her lips.

The band in the corner started up again, and the crowd began to mix and mingle, spilling forward to meet the Selected. In the turmoil, it was impossible to see where her acquaintances had gone off to. Ophelia found a nice waiter to hand her glass of sweetwater off to, untouched aside from the carmine lipstick print she'd left, and then went looking for her companions. Verelysian nobles shot her smiles as she passed by, some even leaning over to try and strike up a conversation. But she politely deflected their attempts as she searched for the girls of the North Tower.

"Excuse me, Miss Ophelia?" someone said in Lumelir.

She turned at the sound of the voice, a kind refusal already on her lips until she found herself looking back at Lord Fitzcameron Torrid, sketching a neat bow with a grand swish of gauzy pink fabric.

"May I have this dance?" He asked, beaming. Well, perhaps she could delay her search for a second. He was a lord, after all.

"Of course," she said, belatedly dropping into a shallow curtsy. "I'd be honored."

She took his offered hand and he swept her onto the dance floor. His hold on her was barely there, hands almost floating above the points of contact, breezy and loose. She was surprised by the delicate sheer gloves he wore, which subtly but effectively blocked her Sensing, but with the whole ensemble going on, it was definitely not out of place.

"Tell me about your outfit tonight," she encouraged with a smile as he led them through the beginning of a waltz. Perhaps there'd be an opening to get skin-to-skin contact so she could Sense. She'd tried in the carriage, too, but he'd somehow neatly evaded all her attempts to touch him, despite being entirely oblivious to her intentions.

"Oh, this old thing?" Lord Fitzcameron asked, affecting bashfulness.

The outfit in question was seemingly comprised of a number of billowing blush layers of increasingly sheer fabrics that shimmered in the candlelight like sunlight on water. He wore a peachy silk shirt embroidered with crystals, tucked into billowing satin pants that just barely allow slippered feet to be seen.

At the waist was an elaborately-jeweled gold belt, studded with stones in shades of saffron and sunset and rose. Finally, over the whole number was a gauzy champagne-pink chiffon cape that trailed behind him on the ground like an elegant veil. Ophelia dared to say he might have shown every single Selected up, especially adding the glimmering rings, the dewy rose eyepaint, and the delicately-dangling earrings. He looked like an ethereal sunset prince and Ophelia couldn't be more awed (or jealous).

"It's absolutely show-stopping," Ophelia said honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Oh, stop!" Lord Fitzcameron gushed. "Now you're just embarrassing me. Besides, look at you! I mean, clearly you came to play, way to go for it! You must ask Silas if you blinded him in the crowd during his speech, I'm sure it was the only thing he could see up on that balcony."

Ophelia found herself laughing. "I'll make sure to do that. Yes, I'm aware the dress is… a lot. Clearly."

"No such thing as too much," he said sagely. "I've had quite some experience with the so-called 'too much' on my fashion journey, and let me advise you that it's better to be too much in the wrong way than not enough in the right way. Being a visual atrocity is much superior to being forgettable."

Ophelia was sure that rule applied if you had the confidence of ten thousand men packed in one rose-swathed body, but she was not sure it applied to her. Still, she thanked him for the advice.

"I'm surprised you asked me to dance, actually," Ophelia said thoughtfully. "As I recall, you seemed quite smitten with Melissandre in the carriage. Isn't she your first choice?"

"Why, Miss Ophelia, don't sell yourself short! I'm a very lucky man to be dancing here with you. Men and women alike would kill to be me right now," he said huffily. "Besides, do you think this is my first time wooing a lady? I'm trying to play hard to get. Make her jealous and whatnot."

"Considering I doubt she's even watching right now, I'm not sure it's working," Ophelia told him, and he laughed.

"Well, I also made it my goal to dance with every girl tonight," he explained, and then stopped to amend his statement. "Actually—and don't mention this later—but I challenged Silas to a race to dance with every single Selected tonight. I wasn't sure he'd actually bother putting himself out there otherwise, but he loves a bit of competition."

That made her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Very shrewd of you," she commented, and he laughed again.

"I know how to trick my own cousin into socializing, I've been doing it for ten years. But that's all the tasty little tidbits you're getting tonight," Lord Fitzcameron sang cheerfully. "No more cheating from me! You'll just have to talk to Silas himself to find everything else out yourself!"

"Thank you, Your Luminosity," she replied with a grin, nodding her head respectfully.

"Oh, just Fitz is fine," he assured her. "I think we'll be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months. Let's put the formalities aside, shall we? After all, I'll be rooting for you on Lumetierre's behalf!"

"Can I be expecting any more of your help in the future?" she asked.

"Well, perhaps I could be persuaded," he said with a sly little grin. "We'll see, Miss Ophelia. But do come to me if there's anything I can do. All the Lume girls should."

"I'll spread the word," she agreed, smiling. "And I anticipate some memorable nights with you in the future."

"Oh, do you now?" he said, eyes lighting up as he waggled his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean, you rascal," she laughed. "I've heard you to be the life of the party around here."

"Why, you silver-tongued charmer," Fitz quipped, theatrically fanning a hand. "Yes, I should certainly hope so. But of course, it would be impolite to hog you all to myself tonight, and I can't let my cousin get a headstart on me."

The song was winding down to an end and Ophelia recognized his smooth offer for what it was: an escape.

"I understand completely, My L—Fitz," she said, twirling as the final bars played out. "It's been a pleasure. Thank you for your time."

"And likewise," he beamed. "Do come find me if you need anything! And have a good rest of your night!"

He went to release her hand in order to do the final bow, and she seized the fleeting opportunity as a sliver of skin at his wrist became visible. Her fingers brushed his wrist for the briefest moment, but then he snatched his hand back, quick as lightning.

"Ah, ah, ah." He wagged his finger, chastising. "Nice try. Sensing, is it, Miss Finch? Valiant attempt, but I don't take too kindly to shortcuts."

Her cheeks flooded with heat and she sank into a hurried curtsy, mind racing. How had he known what she was doing? She'd never been called out like this before. "I—of course, I apologize—˘um, I didn't mean to offend, My Lord, I just—,"

"You don't need to explain," Fitz said with a cheeky wink. "Anyway, I daresay that will work much better on my cousin. He's not as perceptive as I am, you see. So best of luck to you! I'll see you later."

He flounced off, that crooked grin unfazed as he went to seek out his next partner, and Ophelia was left, stomach plummeting, on the edge of the dance floor.

This was a potential disaster. Fitz was a lord. He could take her down with this little information. Who would believe her over the heir to Lumetierre? Her breathing became shallow. Oh, no, no, no, no, no… Santino is going to murder me.

Someone cleared their throat politely. "Excuse me, Miss Ophelia, would you—?"

"No, thank you," she mumbled to the hand extending to her. Her skin felt too tight. Her corset was crushing. She needed to breathe. "Sorry—um—excuse me, I need—,"

She flashed a hollow smile and then fled the interaction, heart pounding. Her palms were sweaty, no matter how much she wiped them on her skirt. She swallowed with considerable difficulty. Drink, she thought to herself, navigating clumsily through the crowd. Water.

The punchbowl was mostly unattended, and she headed for it like it was a life preserver. Grabbing one of those little glass goblets, she gulped the fruity drink down without a second thought, relishing in the cool relief for her dry throat. Eleven Wells.

"Dancing a little strenuous tonight?" came a voice. She looked up and internally groaned. Just my luck.

"Your Highness," Ophelia greeted cheerily, attempting to hitch up her smile. "My apologies, I didn't see you there."

"Ah, well, nonetheless: here I am," Prince Faris said, with a weird sort-of flourish of the wrist. After a beat, he visibly winced at himself. Ophelia blinked.

"Here you are indeed," she repeated, eyebrows raised. Certainly not what she expected from the famed Blank Prince. What was his game here? "Are you...having a good time, Prince Faris?"

"Oh, well, certainly," he said, nodding quickly. "Balls. Who doesn't love them, right?"

If possible, Ophelia's eyebrows crept even higher as he went bright pink. However, feeling merciful, she didn't wait to watch him torment himself over the gaffe. Her celebrity smile returned in full force.

"I agree wholeheartedly, Your Highness. Meeting new people is so fun." And then, because she was extra inclined to make a good impression tonight, she took the plunge: "Sorry to be abrupt, but I don't suppose you'd like to dance?"

"Yes!" he blurted out, and then looked generally embarrassed at himself. "I mean, that is to say, I'd love to."

"Great. Then lead the way," she said with a smile, taking his hand. His hold, as his hands settled into place, wasn't as light as Fitz's, but were still gentle; steady, and dependable where Fitz had been loose and barely there.

"Sorry, by the way. I've probably made a fool of myself already," Faris muttered as they stepped into the throng. "I'm not usually this… scattered, I promise."

"Not at all," she said kindly. "Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you're a fan?"

"No, just accurate," he confessed, ducking his head. "I know you probably get a thousand interactions like this a week, so I'm sorry, but I really am a fan."

The sigh she silenced echoed a hundred thousand other ones. Great. Another person here with something to take from her. Royal or not, fans always approached her waiting for her to give them what they wanted: that celebrity experience, that act that they'd fallen in love with.

"It's an honor to have a fan in the royal family," she said without missing a beat. "I had no idea."

As she spoke, she squeezed his hand in hers, taking the opportunity to do a quick scan. Immediately, bright light flooded her Sense, warm and bright and tasting like honeyed tea. It was nearly blinding. Now that was a rarity—such pure potential. Perhaps she took back what she said about fans and taking. Someone with so little shadow couldn't possibly be bad.

"I'm not sure how you would," Prince Faris was saying as she returned to reality. "I'm not exactly known for being chatty with the public."

"Well, I'm glad I know now," she said. "And thank you so much for supporting me."

"Actually, I'd like to thank you for supporting me," he said with pink cheeks.

That nearly stopped her in her tracks. "Me? What are you thanking me for?"

"Your music really comforted me for the last few years," he said with a shrug. "It was what I needed."

What a cryptic thing to hear from a prince. She studied his guileless blue eyes and the gentleness of his expression. The genuine gratitude shone out of his face like sun rays. So unapologetic. It wracked her with guilt.

"Well, I'm glad I could help in some way," she responded anyway. "Music can be so healing." How can you say I helped you when I can't even help myself?

"You must really love it," he said, tilting his head. "I guess, it's like art is for me, right?"

That almost made her chuckle, this time bitterly. It had been a long time since music had been her comfort.

"You're an artist?" she said instead of answering. "I didn't know that."

"Sculpture, mostly," he agreed. "Glasswork."

"Of course." She nodded. "You'll have to show me sometime. Any of your work up in the castle halls?"

His grin was purely bitter. "Not yet. Maybe one day."

"I look forward to that day then."

A gloved hand on her shoulder caused her to stop in confusion. Faris' eyes locked on something behind her, and his eyes shuttered even as his mouth smiled.

"May I cut in?" a familiar voice asked politely. Goosebumps broke out on her arms.

"Of course," Faris agreed, stepping back and releasing her. "Miss Finch, I hope to speak to you again soon."

Ophelia turned to find herself staring up at the crown prince and suddenly felt very small. Faris and Fitz were no slouches in the height department, but there was something different about the way the prince carried it. She resisted the urge to shrink back from him.

"It would be an honor," she added belatedly, curtsying. She stared resolutely at the bump in his nose bridge rather than face his fierce gaze.

Prince Silas replaced his brother and took her hand and waist. This time, the hold was heavier and more certain, yet she didn't feel trapped. It wasn't Faris's quiet support or Fitz's airy guidance. This was firm direction, even while taking cues from her. Strong and flexible, and unmistakably polite. Still, frustratingly enough, the gloves thwarted her yet again.

"Sorry to interrupt, I'm trying to make sure I get to all my Selected. Miss Ophelia, right?" he said. He offered no smile, so Ophelia psyched herself up to redouble her forced cheer. She was going to be sunny enough for both of them if it killed her, damn it.

"Yes, of Lumetierre!" she said brightly, shooting a megawatt grin. "I'm a pop singer, have you heard of me?"

"I'm sure you know my brother's a fan," he answered briefly. It almost seemed like he wasn't looking at her, but just slightly above her. Not that she could talk—she couldn't even look him in the eyes. What a pair they were. "I confess, I haven't listened to your music myself."

"Oh, well, that's alright," she chuckled. "I've only really started to gain traction in the last two years."

He didn't even bother to offer a response to that, and she internally sighed. Okay, triple on the cheer. She allowed him to brace both hands at her waist and lift her up and over, as per the rules of the dance. Despite the dress, he didn't seem to struggle with her weight. Probably because she was literally a foot shorter.

"What about you, Your Highness?" she asked, sunny as she could muster as she touched down. "What do you do in your free time? Dance, clearly, you're wonderful at this."

That actually seemed to land home somewhere beyond his stiff expression, which softened with surprise.

"Uh, not really, actually. I mean, I was trained in dance as a kid. But it's been a long time since I've danced outside of balls," he said with a shrug.

"Trained in dance?" she repeated coaxingly. "Just ballroom? Or other styles?"

"Ballet," Prince Silas answered, and then looked startled, as if he hadn't intended to answer honestly. "...Actually, all my siblings did it with me as children. I was never much good at it, Stelle was the little prodigy. But I kept doing it since it was important to my—,"

Something dark stole over his face then, and his expression tightened up again. "Well, anyway, I quit a long time ago," he said briskly. "These days I just train or work with my father."

"Makes sense. You must have a lot to do these days with the Selection and preparing for your coronation," she said. "Do you enjoy your work, Your Highness?"

"Work is work," he said simply. "Do you enjoy yours?"

"My work is—," he dipped her low and her words faltered, "—well, it's as you said. Work is work. But I do enjoy music more than I think I'd enjoy anything else."

"That's lucky, then," he said. "It's always been an expectation that I'd do my work, so I do. I don't think it's going to get much better than that."

Ophelia was suddenly struck with empathy for Prince Silas. Although his words were detached and neutral, she knew the exhaustion of being trapped in your work. Everyone watched you constantly, waiting for you to fail. Perhaps they were more similar than she'd realized. She mustered the courage to lift her gaze to lock eyes with him, and really, his gaze wasn't so intimidating after all. He was just a man, just a person in a crown.

"Is it lonely being a prince?" she asked without thinking. His eyes actually dipped to meet hers for the first time.

"It is how it is," Prince Silas said, which was a non-answer if she'd ever heard one. He seemed to realize that too because he pursed his lips and added, "I have friends and family, and now I've got a Selection. Could I still be lonely with all these people around?"

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, of course.

"I guess not," she answered instead, smiling. "It's good that you have people close to you. And I hope that I might be one of them when all of this is over."

"I...hope so too," he said slowly. Then all of sudden he smiled for the first time since she'd seen him.

It was miraculous, the way his face transformed with it. Previously severe, cold features opened up to reveal a smile more genuine and boyish than she would have expected. It made him look much younger, like someone within reach. Her heart leaped with surprise and something else she didn't want to think about because it's just a smile, idiot, you've barely spoken to him and you haven't even scanned him yet, don't get carried away or you know what will happen.

"Thank you for dancing with me," he said as the song faded out, slipping his gloved hands from her grasp and tucking them behind his back as he bowed. "I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Ophelia."

"Likewise, Your Highness," she said, curtsying. And then before she lost will, she reached out to clasp his bare wrist and say imploringly, "Best of luck to you, Prince Silas."

His eyes flashed, startled, but without suspicion. He perceived the action as overly touchy, not Sensing, luckily. So he had no idea when her Sense brushed him in the half a second of contact.

Roiling malevolence and snarling, snapping shadows seeped into her mind, bringing an onslaught of ink-spill darkness that clawed its way across her Sense, dragging the taste of old pennies through her mouth. She'd barely had a second to see the reading, but she knew she'd felt lurking rage and dredged up bitterness that swirled with something seething and malicious. Ophelia recoiled, dropping his wrist as though he'd burned her.

"Er, thank you," he said awkwardly, pulling out of her grasp. He made to leave and then glanced back. Her expression must have given something away because he tilted his head curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she managed as she took a step back. "Good evening, Your Highness. Sorry if—well, good evening."

As she retreated back into the crowd, this time to look for the North Tower girls for real, she rubbed her arms to dispel the goosebumps that had broken out on her skin. It wasn't that she'd never seen shadows like that—she'd taken Santino's reading every day. But she'd never Sensed shadows quite so agitated like they were alive and hungry under his skin. It shouldn't have been as shocking as it was. But her heart had leaped before it looked, and now the cold water she'd plunged into was sending her reeling.

The scan was just potential. It wasn't a definitive judgment. It was a way to read possibilities of the way an individual might go in their lives. A heavy shadow read didn't mean that a person was certainly bad, only that they had the potential to do damage given something about their lives. Maybe trauma, maybe motive. Even if Prince Silas had a strong shadow read, she hadn't gotten a good look at the rest of his potential. She needed more time before she could be sure about him.

Still, Ophelia didn't stop thinking about white-hot eyes and boyish smiles and roiling shadows for the rest of the night.

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Thank you for reading and I'll see you next time for parte dos :)