His hair is short and black and ruffled, his posture immaculate even as mine slinks. There’s a moment that feels like years as my eyes drink him in—impossible and out of reach, tall and dark against so much white marble. He shows almost nothing on his noble’s mask of icy impassivity. There are no feelings behind his obsidian eyes. It’s a familiar look.

The first time he saw me at the Spring Welcoming, his eyes were the exact same. Cold. Impervious.

He’s looking at me like he looks at every other noble—with barely hidden disdain. No hint of warmth. Every emotion I’d seen in his eyes once before is now crushed to nothingness.

The prince is silent, his hand gripping the railing. He couldn’t speak to me, even if he still wanted to—I wouldn’t hear him this far down. It would echo too much. It would be lost. A thousand things flood my mouth and jockey for first place: I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I didn’t mean to hurt you—

but we did. and if it meant our heart, we would hurt you again. does that alone make us a monster?

The high collar of his coat hides his mouth as he turns away, and I’m left with nothing. Nothing but the taste of ash in my mouth.

Here is how my unlife falls apart—one high-heeled step at a time.

Clad in a strangely simple blue dress, modest as can be, I’ve never felt more naked. My lip tint makes my lips feel gummy, useless, and I half wish it would seal my mouth shut so I couldn’t make an ass of myself tonight. As I wander toward the banquet hall and the sounds of socializing nobles and faintly cheery instruments become louder, my breathing starts to fragment. I scoff at myself—even after my training, even after attending these things more than once, I still get nervous.

No one is ever really ready.

With the ghost of Y’shennria at my side, I lift my head high and walk in.

The heat always hits you first—the heat of a hundred bodies packed in close. The smell hits you second—every conceivable floral scent floating through the air and mixing with the smell of sweat and alcohol. This much hasn’t changed. And the noise—the noise is a sea of soft and loud voices, of waves and dips and murmurs and roils. The clink of wineglasses on trays, the flash of the candlelight off grand jewelry. Every noble is draped in the most decadent silks and gems, and I’m wearing nothing but a borrowed dress and my own bravado.