By the time the sun rose on National Founding Day, Annabelle had cycled through twelve emotions and one nervous nosebleed. Her stomach was a swirling storm of dread and excitement, and it felt like she had been awake for days.
Their carriage, draped in silken red fabric and crowned with golden trim, bumped its way through the crowded streets. The procession of noble carriages stretched as far as the eye could see, a slow-moving river of velvet, gold, and pride. Carriages that were once regal now felt like fragile vessels on a stormy sea, stuck behind one another in an endless parade to the palace.
"Oh, this is torture," Annabelle muttered, tapping her fingers on the window. "We're not even moving."
Isaac glanced up from the book he was pretending to read. "The royals are always late, which means we'll never get in until at least an hour after the official start."
"An hour? That's a lot of time for me to reconsider my life choices," Annabelle sighed, leaning back. The traffic was maddening. Carriages honked and pulled at each other, people shouting at their drivers, all trying to squeeze into the same narrow entrance that led to the grand palace.
Annabelle's gaze drifted to the scene unfolding outside. The roads were lined with crowds of onlookers, mostly common folk hoping to catch a glimpse of the palace's elite. They waved handkerchiefs and cheered as if this spectacle could somehow elevate their station. Noblemen leaned out of their carriages, exchanging pleasantries while their horses strained at the reins, clearly eager to get to the event and escape the heat of the summer sun.
"I think it's about time to jump out and walk," Nicholas remarked from across the carriage, an amused grin spreading across his face.
Annabelle's brow furrowed. "You mean... sneak out like common thieves?"
Nicholas shrugged. "Why not? If we don't make it to the ball, we can at least say we saw some of the finer points of street fashion."
Before Annabelle could respond with a sarcastic quip, the carriage lurched forward. The road was finally clearing—only slightly—and the Dorne family's carriage was slowly inching its way toward the majestic palace that loomed in the distance.
And there it was.
The palace.
A marvel of white marble and blue crystal, its towers rose into the sky like ice castles in a dream. The domes glittered with gold vines, the kind that curled and twisted as if they had a life of their own. Blue crystal birds flew above, their wings reflecting the sunlight like shards of glass in a rainbow of colors. The sight was breathtaking, as though the entire palace had been carved from the heavens themselves.
"Is that... is that a chandelier or a palace?" Annabelle whispered in awe.
Her gaze was glued to the building, its sheer grandeur enough to steal anyone's breath. The air seemed charged with magic. She felt small in comparison to the towering marble, like a drop of water on an endless sea.
"More like a wedding cake that married a chandelier," Nicholas replied, eyeing the palace with equal parts distaste and wonder.
"If I lick the walls, do you think it'll taste like sugar?" he continued, half-joking, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Annabelle shot him a warning glance. "Please don't."
Inside the palace, chaos reigned.
The grand hallways were teeming with nobles, all hustling between dressing rooms, guest lounges, and chambers. The servants rushed around, carrying last-minute trinkets, perfume bottles, and elaborate bouquets to prepare for the evening's festivities.
The Dorne family, however, was no ordinary family of nobles. They were swiftly led to their private suite by an overly enthusiastic servant.
Lady Dorne clapped her hands twice. "I want perfume on every wrist, and not a single wrinkle in those suits!"
Isaac, ever the one to remain composed, muttered, "It wont wrinkle," while adjusting the fine cuffs of his navy blue suit. He was the picture of poise, his dirty-brown hair slicked back to military precision.
"I don't want perfume," Ethan muttered from the corner, brushing off a handmaid who tried to wave a perfume bottle near him. His suit was a cool steel blue, perfectly tailored to his lean frame, and he looked... well, mysterious, in a way that suggested he might bite if you got too close.
Annabelle gripped the fabric of her dress nervously. She didn't want to go. It was bad enough that the palace had opened its gates to the likes of her. Why on earth was she being forced into this madness?
"I don't want to go," she declared dramatically, gripping the heavy velvet drapes as if they were her only lifeline. "Mother, please—can't we just skip this? I have... things to do."
Lady Dorne shot her a quick, irritated glance. "At least pretend to be excited, children."
Annabelle rolled her eyes. "Pretending is my specialty."
The family's outfits were no less than showstoppers.
Isaac looked like a business mogul at a gala in his crisp navy suit, the lapels lined with tiny opal stones that caught the light just right. His hair, dark as always, was perfectly slicked back.
Nicholas, on the other hand, looked like a noble peacock in his cobalt blue jacket, adorned with silver foxes embroidered into the hem. He grinned at Annabelle, eyes sparkling with mischief. "For luck," he said, as if it explained everything.
Ethan's steel-blue suit, although simple, was perfectly fitted, hugging his lean form. A single silver earring glinted in his ear as he adjusted the collar. "If I'm forced to go," he muttered, "I'll go mysterious."
Count Dorne, the stoic head of the family, wore a classic royal blue suit with gold cufflinks shaped like swords. His usual serious expression seemed slightly less intimidating, thanks to his impeccable style.
Lady Dorne, ever the elegant matron, wore a flowing gown of moonlight silk, its fabric shimmering with sapphire embroidery. Her pink hair was arranged in an elaborate bun, soft curls escaping around her face.
Annabelle, for once, didn't mind being the center of attention.
She wore a gown that was everything she could have dreamed of. The pale blue fabric shimmered with every movement, and white feathers cascaded from the waist in soft waves. Crystals lined her collar and wrists like dew on a summer morning. Her soft pink curls were braided into an elaborate updo, a crown of ice roses perched on top.
"Look at me," she whispered to herself, turning toward the mirror. "I look like a magical swan princess who got rich off aesthetic candle-making."
Nicholas poked his head in the room, raising an eyebrow. "You look expensive."
"Good," Annabelle replied with a wry smile. "That's my personality today."
As the ballroom doors swung open, a wave of noise and excitement greeted them. Nobles and courtiers floated about like extravagant moths drawn to the light.
Annabelle clutched her mother's arm like a lifeline. "Mother. Mother. Hold my hand. My enemies might be here."
Lady Dorne, too busy admiring her surroundings, replied absently, "They don't know you."
"They will after tonight!"
The ballroom? Stunning.
Chandeliers spun slowly overhead, casting soft rainbow light over the crowd. The floors were a deep black marble veined with gold, and the walls were lined with floating bouquets, each petal glowing softly. The ceiling above was a shifting sky, stars twinkling like constellations. Annabelle nearly fainted at the sight of it.
"This is where rich people make mistakes," she whispered to herself.
And then, it happened.
At first, Annabelle thought people were staring at her. She straightened, pleased with the attention. "I knew it. I'm too beautiful. I'm blinding the masses."
But then, she realized they were all staring at something else.
A hush swept through the room. Annabelle followed the gaze of every eye in the ballroom. There, at the entrance, stood a girl.
And her dress...
It was a crime against fashion.
Patchy brown and green. Slouching at the seams, as though it had been hastily cobbled together from mismatched scraps. A dress that screamed "I lost a bet with a scarecrow." Even her hair was a wild mess, pins sticking out like they were trying to communicate with satellites.
Annabelle's mouth dropped open. "A maid? A kitchen girl?"
But then, she saw her face.
It was so familiar, yet so out of place. Soft, radiant, a mixture of innocence and something more.
Annabelle's heart skipped a beat. Something inside her screamed in warning. Something was wrong.
The whispers began.
"Who wore the ragged dress?" someone hissed.
A voice from the corner of the room muttered, "What's she doing here?"
Annabelle gripped her fan tightly. The questions had already begun. And now, the chaos would unfold.