"It's a masked ball, Princess Catherine," Maiden Ellory said, a bright smile lighting up her face.
She stood behind Catherine, gazing into the mirror. "I've heard whispers from the servants. In all my years of serving you, I've never witnessed a masked ball."
Catherine frowned at her reflection. Ellory brushed color onto her ivory skin and rolled her chestnut hair into soft curls, drawing out the depths of her gray-blue eyes. Yet, despite her beauty, excitement eluded Catherine.
She glanced at Ellory through the mirror. "Isn't the ball meant for me to choose suitors? Why then is it a masked ball?"
Ellory leaned in slightly, her voice low. "A masked ball is much more suitable."
"Why?" Catherine asked, confusion knitting her brow.
"Well," Ellory began, "imagine dancing with a man. You hear his voice and the stories he tells without seeing his face. This way, you can fall for him without being influenced by his appearance."
Catherine shook her head. "But they'll see mine. Is that even fair?"
"Oh no, Princess," Ellory exclaimed, shaking her head. "No one will recognize you with a mask on."
She leaned in closer and whispered again, "Here's the trick: any man who stirs your heart behind that mask will be the one you choose." As she spoke, she returned to styling Catherine's hair, carefully placing seashell pins into the curls. "The mask won't be on forever. By the end of the ball, you'll finally see the face of the one who stirs your heart."
Catherine smiled. "You speak as if this is a thrilling adventure."
"Well, it is," Ellory laughed, her eyes sparkling. "At least for you."
Catherine caught her gaze in the mirror and smiled back. Seeing her joy, Ellory placed a hand on Catherine's shoulder. "I'm so happy you're finally going out. I've been worried sick for you!"
Catherine took Ellory's hand and squeezed it gently. "All thanks to you, who has always been by my side."
Ellory smiled gently. "Seeing how you've stopped writing him letters, I presume you're finally ready to move on?"
Catherine looked away from her reflection, her gaze now fixed on the dancing curtains swaying in the night breeze. She bit her tongue, but it was futile; the tears fell anyway. "It's so hard, Ellory. It's so hard to forget George."
"Oh, Princess," Ellory said softly, dropping the pins onto the table and hugging her from behind. "I am so sorry—so, so sorry you have to go through this."
Catherine sniffed back her tears. "I'm supposed to be a married woman. George had promised to stay by my side. Why did he leave?" She trembled in Ellory's embrace.
"I know," Ellory coaxed gently.
"And my father," Catherine continued, "he doesn't understand the pain I'm going through. No one does. All they care about is the throne."
"I do," whispered Ellory, "I do understand, Princess."
Ellory let Catherine cry into her hands. With each sniffle, she placed a gentle pat on the princess's head. "You can lean on me," she whispered. For the past month, Ellory had watched in worry as Catherine bottled up her emotions. It soothed her to finally see the princess release her tears. "It's going to be alright."
Catherine nodded, finding comfort in Ellory's embrace.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "I'll take that," Ellory said, heading toward the entrance.
Moments later, she returned, squatting next to Catherine and pouting her lips playfully. "What's the message?" Catherine asked, her voice muffled.
Ellory sighed as she began to dry Catherine's tears. "You know your makeup is ruined. We need to address that first."
"Ellory..."
"Oh well, it seems you've been called, Your Highness. We must dress you up because the ball awaits."
°°°°°°°
The ball!
The ball!
Behind the mask, Catherine felt sweat trickle down her face. Her hands clutched together tightly. People began to stream in, all eligible, each wearing different shades of masks.
The crowd frightened her. The only way she had ever pulled through such situations was with George by her side. He had taken her to gatherings, and whenever he noticed her nervousness, he always held her hand.
Now, with him gone, Catherine folded her hands and reminded herself to breathe. "Breathe, Cath. It's going to be okay. You can get through this one ni—"
"Oh, look who's finally here."
She didn't turn; she recognized that voice.
Meredith walked right in front of her, her mask still absent. With her regal features, black hair pulled into a ponytail accented by a white feather pin, and those intent brown eyes, she looked striking. "Oh, sister, I almost feared you would stay in your room."
Next to her stood a girl wearing a mask, probably around Meredith's age. They both laughed, and Catherine clenched her fists in response.
Meredith finally donned her black feather mask, leaning closer to whisper, "I hope you enjoy the ball."
They laughed and sauntered away, leaving Catherine feeling more isolated than before.
Catherine sighed; maybe she should just go back to her room. Perhaps this was a mistake. Not only could she not face the crowd, but she also couldn't face Meredith either.
"If their words make you uncomfortable, just tell me, and I will take care of them."
Catherine stiffened. That voice—she knew it all too well.
She turned and locked eyes with a masked man, and the familiar pang in her chest returned.