Chapter 50: The Last Ball
"The grand chandelier needs to be lowered," she called out to one of the assistant supervisors. "By three feet. I want it bright enough to see every face, but not so bright it looks like interrogation."
"Yes, Mistress."
The palace was alive with anticipation.
Outside the ballroom, in the great courtyards, carriages began to arrive.
The sound of horses’ hooves on stone. The creak of expensive suspension systems. The careful steps of liveried footmen as they helped passengers descend.
The nobility was arriving.
Dukes and duchesses from the northern provinces, their carriages bearing the sigils of ancient houses. Wealthy merchant families from the coastal cities, dripping in jewels that probably cost more than small villages. Minor lords and their wives, hoping that proximity to power might elevate their status. Knights and military commanders and scholars and artists, everyone who mattered in the realm had been invited.
It was a spectacle of power and wealth and carefully maintained hierarchy.
And underneath it all was hunger.
The hunger of ambitious families trying to forge alliances with the throne. The hunger of the noble daughters trying to secure their futures. The hunger of the Dragon Kings, though no one dared speak of it openly—trying to break a curse that had haunted them for two centuries.
***
The preparation chambers reserved for the noble daughters were a cacophony of activity.
Servants moved through the rooms like bees in a hive, each one focused on their specific task. Some were doing hair...braiding, curling, arranging intricate patterns with jeweled pins. Others were applying makeup, careful strokes of kohl around eyes, rouge on cheeks, tinting lips a fashionable shade of deep rose. Still others were adjusting gowns, making final alterations, ensuring every seam was perfect, every hem hung just right.
The air smelled of perfume and hair oils and the nervous sweat of twenty young women preparing for what might be the most important night of their lives.
Lady Isolde sat before a full-length mirror in her private preparation room, examining her reflection with the satisfaction of someone who knew she looked perfect.
Her pale blue gown was a masterpiece....silk from the eastern kingdoms, so fine it seemed to shimmer like water in the candlelight. The bodice was tailored to her form with precision, showing off her slender waist and graceful neck. The skirts fell in perfect waves to the floor, where they pooled like liquid sapphire.
Her hair was arranged in an elaborate style, blonde curls piled high, woven with small diamonds that caught the light. Her skin was powdered to porcelain perfection. Her eyes were lined with kohl, making them appear even larger and colder than they naturally were.
She looked like royalty.
Like someone born to wear a crown.
"You look beautiful, my lady," her personal maid said, adjusting a final pin.
"I know," Isolde said, not taking her eyes from her reflection. "Tonight, everything changes."
There was absolute certainty in her voice. Not hope. Certainty.
***
In another preparation chamber, Lady Celeste sat rigid in a chair while a servant worked on her hair.
Her gown was lovely...pale rose silk, flattering and demure, but her hands were trembling as she gripped the armrests of the chair.
"Please be careful with the curls," she said, her voice uncertain. "They’ve been giving me trouble all week."
"Of course, my lady," the servant said soothingly, but Celeste could hear the dismissal in her tone. The servant was just doing her job. She didn’t care about Celeste’s appearance beyond accomplishing the task.
Celeste looked at herself in the mirror and felt the familiar spiral of doubt begin.
Will I be pretty enough? Will the kings even notice me? Will I say something stupid? Will I trip while dancing?
She’d been asking herself these questions all month. A month of standing before the kings and being found wanting.
Tonight was the last chance.
And she was terrified she would fail.
***
Lady Vivienne sat calmly in her chair, allowing her maid to arrange her dark hair in an elegant updo. Her gown was a deep emerald, a bold choice that made her pale eyes seem almost luminous.
She studied her own reflection with the analytical gaze of someone examining a chess piece.
She was beautiful. She knew this. She had been told it her entire life.
But beauty had not been enough.
Charm had not been enough.
Status had not been enough.
A month of being displayed before the kings like merchandise had taught her one thing: the Kings of Dragons were not interested in beauty, charm, or status.
They were interested in something else.
Something none of them had.
Vivienne made a mental note to send word to her father. It was time to consider withdrawing from the Selection. To admit defeat and redirect her energies elsewhere.
There was no point in continuing a game she could not win.
***
Lady Seraphine stood before the mirror in her preparation chamber, watching her maid put the finishing touches on her copper-red hair.
Her gown was stunning...a rich burgundy that brought out the amber in her eyes, but she felt exhausted just looking at herself.
A month.
They had been here for a month.
And what had changed? Nothing. The kings still looked at them with the same indifference. The council still seemed content to parade them out like livestock. The realm was still on the brink of collapse due to the curse.
And she was still... here.
One more night, she told herself. One more night of pretending to hope. One more night of smiling while inside you’re screaming.
"You look lovely, my lady," her maid said.
"Thank you," Seraphine replied, though she barely heard the words.
At the center of the preparation area, a cluster of younger daughters were chattering nervously, trying to bolster each other’s confidence.
But the nervousness was palpable. Real. Desperate.
They could all feel it.
This was the last chance.
After tonight, if none of them had successfully captured the kings’ attention, the Selection might be deemed a failure. The girls would be sent home. And the kingdom would be left to grapple with a curse that showed no signs of breaking.
The weight of that knowledge was suffocating.