f I had known the moment Ramos had proposed a ball that the next three days were to be this tedious, I would have refused. Or better yet, would have run out of the room and jumped out of the first window I found.

Ever since the words began spreading, the preparation started, accompanied by a building stress. The citizens wondered about the hastiness of the decision, asking the Court Leader as to why he had called for it on such a short notice. But until it was time, we couldn't tell them. Yet, they all came prepared, wearing smiles on their faces and gleeful glints in their eyes. Royal balls were always an address to joy and mirth, and never would it change.

Staring at the magical projection--a screen sewn of magic that fed on my powers, allowing me to see wherever I wanted within my magic's reach-- playing in front of my wall-length mirror, I observed how men and women, both of common and middle and relatively high birth, occupied the ballroom. A simple spell, but it did well in showing all there was to see as some maids attended my hair, the others still arguing about what crown I should wear.

To say the ballroom looked like a scene snatched from a majestic fairytale would not give justice. Even through a magical window, the cascading, golden chandeliers were breath-taking as they reached so low until almost brushing the top of the swaying bodies' head. Golden lights corruscated from the glowing candles. Warm sheens glided against the dance floor, wrapping every guest, glimmering against the gold and silver of dresses. Everything was polished to perfection, giving a unique glint to the room as a glass stairway led to the heart of the castle. And at the far end of the vast dance hall, seated on a raised dais, were the three royal thrones. The space was so large it could accommodate Cantelot's citizens and the neighbouring cities with ease.

From the ceilings, and swirled around the columns, were scattered flowers and twirling, silver vines, adorning perfectly the glass statues standing against the large, french windows.

But even as the hall gave an elegant, soothing vibe, it didn't help much in easing the tension building in my chest. If ever, it only made it worst. Made the anticipation of the moment where there would be no more masks and lies threaten my heart to stop.

After this night, there would be no comeback. With each ticking minute, that moment became closer. And I waited. Waited for the time there would be no more secrets. No more hiding. No more lying.

Sitting in my armchair, wrapped in a satin, scarlet robe, I stared at the outline of my dress hanging on the wall opposite me, next to a cover trove of jewelry. Wrapped in a black, protective fabric, I couldn't even see the color, less to see the design. I wondered, after all, if I should have taken part in designing instead of falling asleep discussing what type of fabric should be used. I would have loved taking head in designing, would have enjoyed the long arguments about what pattern to follow and what shade of silk to add--but preparations and training rendered me powerless.

Standing from the chair seated behind mine, the maid rose, having finished twisting and doing my hair, and I turned to the mirror. I was quite a sight, my raven hair pulled up in an intricate up-do, small silver and golden flowers adorning it, glistening as the soft light brushed them. My hair was pulled, leaving my face clean, only a couple of strands falling on the sides, framing it.

My makeup was ravishing, to say the least, emphasizing the emerald of my eyes and their emperor sharpness; it gave me the air of a queen. Gentle and feminine, yet strong and unbendable.

Reaching the slightly uplifted dais in the closet, I removed my robe as several maids came in, removing the dress from its sheath, and helping me get in it. Tying the lace on and making sure the skirt was in place, they left me to my thoughts. Most likely about to argue, again, on what crown I should wear.

For a first shock, the dress felt light, compared to its size. Wrapped in cream-colored taffeta and silk, the semi-sweetheart neckline trailed to my back, exposing some skin and leaving my shoulders clean where the cape would cascade. The smooth tissues hugged my waist before opening in a slightly puffed skirt. Both gold and silver embroideries swirled the upper half in divine designs, diamond dust gently coating the skirt, allowing it to shine.

It looked breathtaking, for the lack of a better word. And surely more expensive than my own head.

Slipping in my highness heels, I stared at how I fully looked, and for a moment, I felt like a real queen.

My stomach twisted again as I saw the Herald reaching for his scroll through the screen, crossing over the names silently. It was a matter of minutes before the noble families were to be announced, and then, the Armedes dynasty.

The door opened and I turned to see one of the maids holding a cushion supporting a heavy-looking crown.

And as my eyes locked on the diadem, my heart clenched, forlornness washing me like a sudden, cold wave. Because the crown that rested in her arms, the crown that I was supposed to wear as the entire world would know my name, was Mother's favorite crown. The crown she had worn when it was known that she was queen, the crown she chose for each and every royal occasion.

"This is the King's request," she said, and I watched her as she came closer, resting it on my head, a flicker of a memory flashing in front of my eyes.

The memory of the late queen bearing this diadem, Ramos presenting her ruler of Ardoria. And for a moment, I forgot the world in its whole. For a moment, I wished she was here. Wished she could see me as the grown lady she died to let her live. And I wondered if she was watching from the heavens. If she felt proud of whom I was.

The only thing that broke me from my thoughts was the voice of the Herald and the sight of Sorcha, and two young men, standing on the top of the glass stairs.

"Representative of Eziara, Lady Sorcha of the Shimdera house, accompanied by her sons. Lord Énor, future Second Crown, and Lord Deres, second in line."

All eyes turned to the witch and her sons, the resemblance between the three of them striking. Dressed in her champagne gown, Sorcha was the first to walk, a jade-colored cape, sewn of light, emerging from her bare shoulders, trailing a couple of meters behind her and sporting a glistening tree: the Eziaran symbol. Her sons followed, the same scene replaying.

The three of them descended, the attendees bowing one after one as they made their way to the end of the room, standing a couple of meters away from the thrones. Unwavering statues and fixed eyes, they stood, waiting for the union of the entire nobles.

A minute of silence grasped the room, falling like a heavy weight, the chatters and whispers and clings of heels on marble vanishing. Even the buzz of the hectic housemaids ceased; the castle in whole was washed with quiescence like no other. And I stood still as well, giving a minute of silence to the former representative of Rimelia.

Three years ago, their castle was attacked, masked demons infiltrating their sanctuary, butchering them in their sleep. Cantelot had been helpless, and unable to place another family under the threat of Lysithea's armies.

We were not prepared for war, back then.

But the times had changed, and soon, both the Black Queen and her son would pay for every drop of blood they shed.

The muteness shrouding the castle died as the faintest of whispers echoed. And soon, those shy whispers returned to loud, joyful chatters, the sound of clinging glasses resonating. The smiles were back, widely plastered on the watching faces. But Sorcha and her sons remained still and soundless; a tradition during a royal ball.

A soft knock drifted in the air as his knuckles gently met the wood of the door. I had felt his presence as he came closer, and I waited. A wait that didn't last long.

My eyes locked with the reflection of his emeralds on the mirror, and my heart felt relief for the first time that night. He smiled, and so did I, turning to stare at my king. At the father that gazed back with enough adoration in his eyes to drown an ocean.

''You are beautiful,'' he whispered as he came closer, his thumbs gently stroking my cheeks. I could only smile. A smile that was born from the depth of my heart and soul.

He no longer looked like a poisoned king. Instead, he stood with vigor oozing from his aura, dressed in a pair of black, silk pants, a white shirt and jacket. Delicate golden patterns swirled on the cuffs and near the collar, the buttons shaped like glowing suns. His crown rested on his tied, blond hair. But his eyes were the first to catch attention. Because they were a gift from the Gods, such commanding emeralds that held power and dominance in them.

His face still looked gravely young, not past twenty-seven. I already knew that people here aged slowly after eighteen, but his sleeping state stopped his aging. An elder brother he looked like, not a father.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded, even as my stomach twisted and my body willed to crawl and hide in some corner.

He held my right hand tightly, intertwining his fingers with mine as we exited my room and into the brightly lit hallway behind my wing, the magical screen following us with a simple commend.

The maids bustled around us as we stood in the hallway, waiting to have the magic inked on our shoulders; the same magic that would ignite into the royal cape. And through the screen, I observed as the Cardelyons Lords and Lady stood atop the staircase, waiting as the herald read aloud their names.

"Lord Claurod and Lady Daélim of the Cardelyon house, bearers of the Second Crown of Arelesia. And Lord Carter, heir to their throne."

A round of chatters echoed widely in the ballroom that I could hear it from where I stood. Chatters of the observing women that fanned themselves as the Arelesian Lord descended, looking dashing in his dark-blue suit and fully tied hair. I had to admit: he could destroy hearts and not only break them.

The Cardelyon family waltzed their way down the glass stairway until they reached the three thrones, standing alongside the Shimdera house. The only thing that brought my attention back was the familiar voice that echoed with glee.

"You look almost as good as you did on your wedding day, Aragon," chortled Ramos, coming closer to us and pulling my father briefly into his embrace. Then he turned and looked at me, and what I saw in his eyes made my heart warm.

"And you look gorgeous, Celestia. Truly gorgeous."

I could only smile, not finding words to reply with. Ramos had been with me from the first day, preparing me fully for the moment all covers would be blown away.

"It is almost your turn, Ramos, right after the Prelius house," said Father, his hand reaching for mine once again.

"It is, I will see you downstairs," with these words, and a warm smile, Ramos walked towards the entrance to the hall, his ivory robe trailing behind him as his elegantly-carved cane thumped against the floor, the sound echoing with a constant beat.

I stared back at the screen, but this time, Renva, Leon, and Rhia were all standing on the top of the stairs, imperium oozing from their auras and dominating every single presence in the ballroom. The Reagent Bearer of the Second Crown of Nevora descended the stairs first, her scarlet cape billowing and flickering, the flames clacking with synchrony with the thud of her heels. And then, Leon and Rhia followed, catching all attention.

Chatters and twinkling eyes had overtaken the room as Carter descended, but now, connotation of noise echoed from wall to wall, all eyes focused solemnly on the future Lord and Lady of Nevora. It was no secret that every woman fancied the Shadow, I had known it since the days I had spent in the First Norm.

But as Leon strode his way down with such ease and preeminence, well dressed in his black suit, he had every single woman swooning for him. The elegant embroideries ranging from gold to silver on his tunic, and the scarlet of his cravat, contrasted well with his eyes, bringing up strongly the raging blue of his irises.

And even through the screen, I could feel myself drowning in them. Slowly pulled down, losing track of everything.

Rhia shone no less, mantled in her flesh-colored dress tattered with scarlet swirls and designs. But her face stroke me, for it looked like a mirror to Estelle's. So beautiful yet so sharp. A weapon to lull then to destroy.

With each step they took and the closer they got to the thrones, Father and I were guided to the entrance, waiting. A couple of maids came with a rush, a pair of cream white masks in hands.

Another tradition.

The mask was elegant, a perfect compliment to the dress, bearing the same design as the earrings dangling to my shoulders.

"Lord Ramos, Leader of the Higher Courts, advisor of the royal family, representer of the Armedes dynasty, and High Lord of Cantelot," announced the herald as Ramos descended his way. And unlike all others, he had a visible smile plastered on his face, his wise eyes drifting from corner to corner, studying everything and everyone.

With every step he took, my heart pounded heavier, my guts twisting. With every step he took, we were guided to the entrance of the great ballroom, staying slightly behind to not be seen.

And we waited. Waited until Ramos stood mere feet away from the thrones. Waited until another silence washed the palace in its whole. A silence dedicated to us, to the king and queen and heir that couldn't make it that day, seventeen years and a half ago.

And for a moment, my father's grip tightened on my hand, his eyes locking with mine for as long as we could allow. And I realized that he understood. That he had tasted the anguish and dread and fear that were consuming me with each ticking second. Because he had once stood here, perhaps not in the same scenario, but he had felt it all. Both the anticipation and apprehensiveness.

The minute of silence lingered, and I could see the doubts rising in the minds and souls of the attendees. The questions and queries and curiousness as to why the noble families hadn't moved yet. Why the ball had not begun.

And for a moment, I felt the whole world stop as I stared at the Herald. At the awed astonishment and fear as he stared at the light forming on the manuscript he held. At the light Ramos had personally designed to curve our names when the time would strike.

And as the silence engulfed us, I could hear nothing. Nothing but the furious pounding of blood in my ears and the resonating sound of my heels against the marble floor.

Subconsciously, I walked, guided by the king alongside as I stared at the Herald, at the doubt lining his face and aura before he spoke. And I could hear the shock and fear and doubt before he even opened his mouth.

It was as we stood on the top of the staircase did he break the silence. His voice echoed with a clear waviness, all eyes turning to stare at us, studying our each and every inch.

The time had come where there would be no more hiding or running or denying. The moment where all Ardoria, the four whole continents both celebrating and watching through their screens, would know of the return of their king. And his heiress.

"His Supreme Highness, King Aragon of the Armedes house, Ruler of Ardoria, Leader of all courts, Bearer of the golden Sun."

A wave of shocked gasps and staggering auras. And another pause. A pause that drifted all eyes and queries to me.

"And her Royal Highness, Princess Celestia of the Armedes house, daughter of the King and Late Queen, rightful heiress of the golden throne, bearer of the Mark of Aether."

My eyes skimmed between the ocean of faces but they never stopped once. Never focused on any single one. A vague stare, only to study how deep the impact in the watching eyes was. It felt like all Ardoria had gone still, no single voice, not even a whisper, resonated as we walked down the glass stairway, hand in hand, head high and shoulders squared.

From the invisible magic inked on our shoulders, a cape cascaded, trailing for several couples of meters behind us, sporting a sun as bright as gold and a crescent of silver and grace.

One by one, all the attendees fell to their knees as we passed them by, hand over heart, a salute that hadn't been exercised since so long.

A salute to the royal family.

It was mere minutes until we reached the dais, but it felt like an entire eternity. We stood before the three golden thrones, eyes sweeping to the kneeling bodies, both the citizens and the noble houses. And even before I glanced at Ramos's bowed head, I could already see the slight smile tugging at his lips as all covers were blown away. As he watched me, the orphan he had sheltered since the first day, standing in front of the entire world, no longer running of who I was.

My gazes crossed the noble faces, most of them familiar. But there was one I stared at more than any other, my eyes lingering on it as long as I could manage to keep it undetected. And it was Daélim's face that held all my attention, her auburn hair, the color of the sky as the sun settled, glowed under the light of the chandeliers. And her eyes, blazing bronze so similar to her son's, stared back. A beauty divine in its very own way.

I had learned before that both Lady Daélim and Mother were fond friends, and now, I truly understood why Mother loved her as much as one would love her sister. Past the beauty of her face, there was a veracious aura, strong yet gentle as the soft waves under the slight, summer breeze.

Father waved his hand, a motion that signaled well the end of the salute. Like it always had been, the nobles were the first to rise, followed by everyone else.

And as they stood, our masks disappeared in a glistering mist as soft light emerged from underneath us. A light that I knew too well before even looking at it.

Because underneath each of us was traced the symbol marking our right palm. A little more shock spread through the room and I wondered if all those people would make it sane through this night. Before any could speak, father broke the silence, his voice firm and demanding. And everyone listened, for it had been such a long time since they had heard this sound. Since they had watched the king they loved standing in front of them in a night of pure joy.

"It has been a long time since the last time we have stood here, in this same ballroom, all together, my dears. And tonight, I find no words to express how much thankful I am to the Gods to have me alive and between all of you."

A round of cheers and joy and rejoice.