Unwanted Spotlight

Lady Evelyn Lancaster had expected the competition to be insufferable, but she hadn't expected it to be this exhausting. Three weeks had passed since she arrived at Averleigh Palace, and the absurdity of the selection process only grew more unbearable. She had perfected the art of dodging unnecessary participation—arriving late to events, feigning ignorance of social expectations, and putting in just enough effort to avoid outright dismissal. But some obligations couldn't be avoided.

Tonight was one of them. A grand royal banquet, attended by nobility, foreign dignitaries, and the royal family.

The ballroom was a vision of opulence, its gilded chandeliers casting warm light over polished marble floors. Towering floral arrangements filled the air with the scent of roses and jasmine, while uniformed attendants moved effortlessly between guests, refilling crystal goblets with aged wine. The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the soft melody of a string quartet playing in the background.

The contestants were expected to impress. Charm, wit, grace—every interaction tonight was a performance. Every word was an opportunity to prove themselves worthy of standing beside Prince Alexander.

Evelyn, draped in an emerald-green gown that one of the palace attendants had practically thrown at her, stood near the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of wine. The corset was a touch too tight for her liking, and she had already decided she would remove the infernal thing the moment she could slip away.

She had long since mastered the art of looking engaged while doing the bare minimum. Smile when necessary. Nod thoughtfully. Offer vague but polite responses. It was a careful balance—just enough participation to avoid scrutiny, but not enough to actually care.

Across the room, the other contestants fluttered about like jeweled birds, their laughter light and effortless as they curried favor with nobles and, more importantly, with the prince himself. Lady Magaret, ever the picture of perfection, twirled gracefully in conversation with a high-ranking duke, her golden gown shimmering under the candlelight. Lady Camila, one of the quieter contestants, watched the crowd with a calculating expression, undoubtedly weighing her next move. Others danced, flattered, and subtly vied for Alexander's attention.

Evelyn exhaled softly, fingers tightening around her goblet. She hadn't come here to compete, and yet, no matter how much she distanced herself, the tension in the air made it clear—her refusal to engage made her a curiosity. An anomaly. A problem.

A low voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"You look like you'd rather be anywhere else."

The deep, amused tone startled her. She turned and found herself staring up at Prince Alexander. Dressed in an impeccably tailored midnight-blue suit, silver embroidery lining the cuffs of his sleeves, he looked every bit the part of a fairytale prince. Candlelight glinted off the golden signet ring on his finger. Unfortunately, despite her determination to remain unimpressed, Evelyn had to admit that he wore the role well.

"I would rather be anywhere else," she admitted, swirling her wine.

His lips quirked upward. "Then why haven't you left?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Because that would be rude."

"Ah, so you do care about etiquette."

"No," she corrected, "I just don't want to deal with the consequences."

He chuckled, a quiet sound barely audible over the music.

Their interactions had been brief over the last few weeks, consisting of nothing more than polite greetings and the occasional forced exchange. Unlike the other contestants, Evelyn had made no effort to seek him out. And unlike Alexander, she had nothing to prove.

Yet, as she studied him now, she noticed something—he looked just as tired of this evening as she did.

Before she could say anything else, the queen's voice rang through the hall.

"It is time for the first dance."

The ballroom fell into a hush as guests turned toward the center of the room, where musicians awaited. It was tradition for Prince Alexander to open the first dance, usually with a contestant of his choosing.

Evelyn exhaled in relief. The dance would provide the perfect distraction, allowing her to slip away unnoticed.

But then

"Dance with me."

Her head snapped toward Alexander.

"Excuse me?"

His expression was unreadable. "You dislike these events, and I'm not particularly fond of them either. But people are watching, and if I must dance, I'd rather do so with someone who won't try to impress me."

Evelyn hesitated. She could feel the eyes of the other contestants on her, sharp and assessing. If she agreed, she would draw their ire.

Then again… what did she care?

With a sigh, she placed her hand in his. "Fine. But if you step on my toes, I will retaliate."

His quiet laughter followed them onto the dance floor.

The moment their hands touched, a ripple of reaction spread across the ballroom. The queen, seated beside King Aldric, arched a single brow in interest. The royal advisors whispered among themselves. The other contestants—particularly Lady Magaret—watched with barely concealed irritation.

The musicians struck the first note.

Prince Alexander placed one hand at Evelyn's waist, the other keeping her hand in his as he guided her into the first step of the waltz. His movements were effortless, practiced. He had done this a thousand times before.

Evelyn, on the other hand, had not.

"Try to keep up," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear as they turned.

She shot him a glare but forced herself to follow his lead. "I can dance, Your Highness. I just choose not to."

"Of course," he said, his tone teasing.

Their steps moved in perfect time with the music, swirling across the marble floor. Around them, the guests watched with keen interest, whispers rippling through the room.

"She's never made an effort before," someone murmured.

"Why her?" another whispered.

Evelyn could feel the weight of their stares, but she refused to let it bother her. She had long since mastered the art of ignoring people's expectations.

"You seem quite used to this," she noted as he spun her gracefully.

"I should be," Alexander said dryly. "I was practically waltzing before I could walk."

She smirked. "A prince's burden."

"You have no idea."

His tone had shifted, a hint of something else—fatigue, perhaps? Frustration? Evelyn couldn't quite tell. She glanced up at him, searching his expression.

"You don't enjoy this, do you?" she asked.

His grip tightened slightly. "Let's just say I'd rather be anywhere else."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "Then why haven't you left?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Because that would be rude."

She startled at the response—her own words, thrown back at her.

For a moment, their eyes met, and something passed between them. A shared understanding, fleeting yet undeniable.

But then

The song ended.

The ballroom erupted into applause as Alexander released her hand, stepping back with a polite nod. Evelyn mirrored the gesture, keeping her expression unreadable.

"Thank you for the dance, Lady Evelyn," he said, his voice carrying across the room.

"My pleasure, Your Highness."

As she turned to leave, she felt the weight of multiple stares pressing against her. The other contestants, the nobles, even the queen herself—every single one of them was now looking at her differently.

With a sinking feeling, Evelyn realized she had just unknowingly placed a target on her back.