It all seems too easy for a second as I scurry into the grand entryway of the palace. But then I remember the hard part is still yet to come. After securing my mask, I pin the clutch to my side and do my best to walk gracefully in my mother’s heels.
Music and laughter float out from the ballroom as I draw near. The delicate tune calms my racing heart, if only for a moment. When I step inside, an usher greets me and points out the locations of the refreshments. I head over to the linen tables and grab a glass of punch, praying I don’t spill it on myself as I look around the room. For the past week, Charlotte and I have both done our homework, trying to devise a plan that would give me the best chances of picking Prince Aston’s line. But I can already tell it’s not going to be as easy as I’d hoped.
All the men are dressed in smart suits, in varying shades of black or blue or gray. And with the masks on, it’s difficult to tell them apart. But I remember that Prince Aston had dark hair, and he was a strapping six feet, three inches tall. That detail alone should make him easy to spot, but as it turns out, there are a lot of tall men here this evening.
I find a few potentials that I suspect might be him, but I still can’t be sure. For all I know, those men might not even be princes. They could just be regular old Joes.
Across the room, I spot Narcissa and the girls in the dresses they picked out for the ball, and I freeze. They’re scanning the room, faces obscured by masks, but no doubt their eyes are just as shrewd. I’m convinced when they pass over me, the whole charade will come to an abrupt end, but their attention only lingers on me for a second before they move onto someone else.
Just to be safe, I slip behind a group of people to avoid their attention until the speed dating begins. But it isn’t likely they’d recognize me anyway. Lavinia made a point to ensure I wouldn’t get any bright ideas by tearing my dress to shreds. But with my hair and makeup done, I could be just about anyone. The truth is, Narcissa would never expect me to disobey her like this. In her mind, I’m still home scrubbing the floors. And as soon as I get back to the manor, that’s exactly what I’ll have to do.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I listen carefully when the king makes an appearance at the podium they’ve set up just for him. Like magic, a hush falls over the entire room in a matter of seconds.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our first ever charity bachelor event. As you are aware, we have gathered here this evening to raise money for the worthwhile cause of feeding impoverished communities around the world. Every donation made this evening will be distributed amongst the Sky Relief Project recipients, and your pounds can make a great deal of difference in a family’s life. Throughout the evening, we will be collecting donations, and I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves as we dine, drink, and dance in celebration of this event.
“We are about to commence the speed dating, so at this time, I would like to invite those who have purchased a charity ticket for a bachelor to form a line in the corridor. From there, you will be escorted into the white drawing room on your turn. For everyone else, let’s commence the evening with our first dance, shall we?”
A throng of masked women rush toward the corridor, attempting to maintain their grace while they quietly gush over which prince they are hoping to meet this evening. I slip into the crowd, noting that Narcissa, Lavinia, and Magnolia have already pushed their way to the front. That comes as a relief because it means they’ll be so focused on meeting the prince that their attention won’t be on me when it’s my turn.
The royal security checks our tickets, allowing us to enter the line in the corridor just outside the white drawing room. Leading the women in batches of twenty at a time, the line slowly crawls forward as I listen to the eager chatter around me. There are a lot of us, and I never considered how that could put me at a disadvantage. The prince will have spoken with a large number of women before he even gets to me. He’s likely to be tired and maybe not as receptive as I’d hoped. This plan seems to be less certain with every passing minute, but I’m trying my best to stay positive.
When my group is finally called forward, a million fleeting thoughts enter my mind as they lead us inside, and I get a glimpse of the bachelors. At the front of the room, ten royal princes from around the world are already sitting with their current dates in the staging area. The sections are divided by gold partitions with a small ornate table and a chair for the women beside each man. We can see enough of them to discern general features like skin tone and hair color, but the mystery beneath the mask remains. This is our time to choose a line, and we must all choose wisely.
I study the princes while other women push their way through, determined to get to the line they’ve decided on. But the longer I examine the men myself, the less sure I am. They’re all sitting down, and at this angle, it’s difficult to discern their height. Six of them have dark hair, a couple of which I eliminate straight away based on the shade alone. But the rest is uncertain.
“That’s him.” A woman in front of me hisses to her friend. “I think that’s Prince Aston. I’ve seen him wear those shoes before.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She nods enthusiastically.
“You better be right.”
For lack of a better plan, I follow them into the line they believe to be Prince Aston’s. There are still a handful of women in front of me, which means I won’t see the prince for a while. I use every minute of that time to tweak and rehearse the speech I’ve prepared. And before I know it, I’m only one person away from meeting the man himself. But when I notice the woman in front of me, I don’t recognize her. At some point, the other two women disappeared. They were certain this was Prince Aston’s line, but now I can’t see them anywhere. I’m starting to second-guess myself when the line facilitator gestures me forward.
“Your turn, madam.”
“What? Oh...” I stumble forward—not gracefully, I might add—and force my legs to move in the direction of the prince. But now I’m questioning everything. Is this really him?
He stands to greet me, his frame towering over me like a skyscraper. When he doesn’t bother to extend his hand as I’ve seen some of the other princes do, I try to remember royal etiquette. In the process, I wind up doing the most awkward curtsy of all time while I struggle to find my voice.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.”
I swear I could almost see him grimace, and he doesn’t reply in kind, but instead, simply nods. I find it odd, and as we sit down opposite each other, I’m not sure if I should just blurt out why I’m really here or wait for him to speak first.
As it turns out, the latter doesn’t seem to be an option. Judging by his tense posture and the raw disinterest radiating off him, I’m convinced he couldn’t care less about any of this.
It irks me, but at the same time, I’m flushing under his intense regard. The eyes peering down at me through the mask are a sharp, steely gray, and suddenly, I can’t seem to recall the color of Prince Aston’s eyes.
Aware that the clock is ticking, and we still haven’t spoken, I cross my legs and force myself to get on with what I came here to do.
“Your Royal Highness, I must confess that I came here this evening with an ulterior motive.”