Chapter 5 The Waltz and the Storm

The Grand Ballroom of Valdoria Palace was not merely a room; it was a performance of power. Its vaulted ceiling blazed with chandeliers that rained golden light over marble floors, where intricate crimson and gold mosaics depicted Klbasian victories. Crimson silk drapes, heavy and opulent, framed towering arches that opened onto terraces, allowing the scents of jasmine and rosewater to drift in and mingle with the expensive perfumes of the kingdom's elite.

On a gilded balcony, a string quartet played a traditional Klbasian waltz, its haunting, ancient melody weaving through the clink of crystal goblets and the soft, calculated laughter. Tables groaned under platters of honeyed figs, saffron-spiced lamb, and delicate rose-petal pastries.

For Prince Tarkan, the splendor was a gilded cage, and he was its prize exhibit. Standing beside Queen Faya, his bronze skin luminous in a tailored black suit, he played his part. His smile was a well-honed weapon, his nods were perfectly timed, but his deep brown eyes, trained to charm, flickered with a restless hunger, scanning the sea of silks and polished medals for the only thing that mattered.

Earlier, in a candlelit anteroom...

Princess Myar had ambushed Mia Ritchard with a whirlwind of effusive energy. Radiant in a flowing emerald gown, with sapphire pins sparkling in her dark curls, Myar had gasped dramatically at Mia's appearance.

"Mia, you are a crime," she'd declared, circling her friend. "It should be illegal to look that breathtaking."

Mia's crimson gown clung to her slender frame, its long sleeves accentuating her inherent grace. The bold hue was a tongue of fire against the palace's polite pastels. Her blond hair cascaded in soft waves, catching the candlelight like spun gold, and her blue eyes-luminous as Klbasian sapphires-shimmered with a nervous energy that only made her more captivating. Her porcelain face, delicate yet striking, held a beauty so pure it seemed to still the air.

"That gown is pure fire," Myar continued, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "With your eyes and that hair... you're not just a guest, you're an event. Tarkan is going to lose his mind."

Mia smoothed the silk of her gown, her cheeks flushing to match its crimson hue. "Myar, I shouldn't be here. I'm a student, a former nanny's daughter. What if someone objects?"

Myar waved a dismissive hand, her grin defiant. "You are my oldest friend and my guest. Let them object. Besides," she added, her voice softening, "Tarkan has been a brooding mess since yesterday. He needs this. He needs you. Don't you want to finally clear the air?"

Mia's blue eyes darkened. "It's not that simple. My mother lives in terror of the Queen. And after four years of his... European life... he's a stranger."

Myar stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. "He is still the boy who snuck us figs in the library. Give him a chance to explain himself. And honestly, Mia, you are far too beautiful to hide tonight. You belong in the light."

Mia managed a shaky smile, her heart a battlefield of dread and a treacherous flicker of hope. "I'll try, Myar. For you."

Myar linked arms with her, leading her toward the ballroom's roar. "Good. Now let's make an entrance. My friends are dying to meet the girl from the stories."

Earlier, in Tarkan's chambers...

Ramzi adjusted the prince's silk tie, his movements precise and economical. "The Ferrand family is critical tonight, Your Highness," he said, his voice a low, measured warning. "Lady Lamar's father holds three seats on the trade council. The Queen expects you to court her favor, not just her company."

Tarkan stared into the gilded mirror, but he didn't see his own reflection. He saw a girl with sapphire eyes. "I know my role, Ramzi. But my heart is not in it." He paused, his voice dropping. "Did you see Mia at the ceremony? Her hair, her eyes... she's more beautiful than I even remembered."

Ramzi's hands stilled. "I did, sir. Miss Ritchard is... exceptionally striking. Which is precisely why pursuing her now, with the Queen's plans in motion, would be an act of profound recklessness."

"Damn the plans," Tarkan cut in, his frustration raw. "I just want to understand why. Four years, Ramzi, not one word. Was it my fault? Did Mother interfere?"

Ramzi's tone softened. "I do not know, sir. But Lady Lamar is not a woman to be ignored, and the Queen's expectations are ironclad."

Tarkan nodded, his jaw tight. "I will play my part tonight. But if I see Mia... I cannot promise I will stay away."

Ramzi sighed, the sound of a man bracing for a storm he knew he couldn't stop. "Then tread lightly, Your Highness. This palace is a maze of consequences."

In the ballroom, Queen Faya's voice pierced Tarkan's thoughts, cool and smooth as velvet. "Tarkan, my dear, allow me to introduce Baroness Ferrand." The baroness, a woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, inclined her head. "And her daughter, Lady Lamar."

Lady Lamar was a vision of curated perfection. Tall and regal in a sapphire gown that shimmered like deep water, her dark hair was swept into a flawless chignon. Her features were striking, composed, and intelligent. She was the ideal match, a flawless, cold statue of nobility.

"Your Highness," she said, her voice clear and warm. "It's a delight to welcome your home. I trust your time abroad was fruitful?"

Tarkan bowed, his smile practiced. "It was, Lady Lamar. But Klbas calls me back." His gaze lingered on her, performing his part. "You have grown into a remarkable woman."

Lamar's smile was polished, her dark eyes assessing. "Thank you, Your Highness. I hope to serve Klbas as diligently as my family has. Perhaps we can find common ground tonight?"

"I look forward to it," he said, his charm on autopilot, his eyes already drifting back to the crowd.

And then he saw her.

Mia stepped through a far archway, and for Tarkan, the entire, glittering ballroom seemed to hold its breath. Her crimson gown was a blaze of passionate color in a sea of polite pastels. Her blond hair glowed like a halo, framing her porcelain face, and her blue eyes, wide with a devastating mix of uncertainty and defiance, caught the chandelier's light. She was breathtaking. A flame in a world of shadows. He heard the collective gasp from a nearby group of nobles. "My gods, who is that?" one whispered. Myar, standing among them, simply grinned.

Tarkan's breath caught. Myar's mischievous glance confirmed it. Everything else-Queen Faya's monologue, Lady Lamar's polite inquiry, the haunting waltz-it all evaporated. There was only Mia.

"Excuse me," Tarkan said, his voice abrupt. He saw his mother's flicker of sharp irritation and Lamar's polite confusion, but he didn't care. "I must have a word with my sister."

He wove through the throng, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He reached her, her beauty even more radiant up close. Her sapphire eyes met his, a storm of panic and longing raging within them. He offered his hand. "May I have this dance?"

Mia hesitated, her gaze flickering from his outstretched hand to his face. "Your Highness," she whispered, her voice trembling. "This isn't wise."

"Just Tarkan," he murmured, his fingers gently closing around hers, warm and steady and sure. "With you, it is always just Tarkan."

He drew her onto the dance floor as the quartet shifted seamlessly into a slower, more intimate Klbasian waltz, a melody that spoke of ancient, tragic love songs. Mia's posture was rigid, her hand in a betrayal she couldn't prevent. She kept her eyes averted, but he could see the glint of suppressed emotion in their sapphire depths.

He guided her through the steps, his voice low, for her ears alone. "You are stunning tonight, Mia. That gown, those eyes... you have stolen all the air from this room."

A flush deepened the crimson of her cheeks. "Don't, Tarkan," she said, her voice firm but wavering. "We can't do this."

"I need to talk to you," he pressed, his hand a steady, warm pressure on the small of her back. "Yesterday, you shut me out. Why? Why was there no answer, not a single letter, for four years?"

She swallowed, her mother's warning, a cold echo in her heart. You'll end in ashes. "I had nothing to say," she whispered, the lie tasting like poison. "You were leaving. What was there to hold onto?"

His grip tightened, his voice raw. "Us, Mia. The library. That kiss. It meant everything to me. Look me in the eye and tell me it meant nothing to you. Say the words, and I will walk away right now."

Her breath hitched. Her gaze flew to his, and in their sapphire depths, he saw her resolve betray her. "It was a mistake," she said, her voice cracking. "You were a prince chasing a fleeting thrill. I was a fool to let you."

Her words were a dagger, twisting the four-year-old wound of his pride. The waltz softened, but he didn't release her. He stepped closer, his voice an urgent whisper. "This isn't over. Come with me-somewhere we can talk. Truly talk."

Mia shook her head, blond strands catching the light. "My mother's job. My scholarship. You don't understand the cost, Tarkan."

His expression softened, but his resolve held. "I will not let anyone hurt you. Trust me." He offered his hand again. After a moment of agonizing hesitation that felt like a lifetime, she took it.

He led her to his private office. The heavy oak doors closed with a soft, definitive thud, sealing them in a world of leather-bound books, cedar-scented air, and flickering lamplight.

"This was reckless," Mia breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. "My mother could lose everything."

He stepped close, his bronze skin taut with emotion. "And my life? Did you ever think of that? Did you believe those tabloid stories? Did you think I was happy?" His voice dropped, raw and wounded. "Every city, every party, every woman-they were nothing because they were not you. Your eyes, your hair, your mind... you have haunted me for four years."

She closed her eyes, torn. "Stop. You can't say these things. You're engaged. I saw the stories ,the affairs."

His jaw tightened. "Arranged dates. Distractions. None of it was real." He stepped closer still, his breath warm against her skin. "You are real, Mia. The library, our secret kingdom, that kiss-that was real. You are everything."

She shook her head, tears finally welling in her sapphire eyes. "You're a fool. Your mother will never allow this. I am nobody."

He reached out, his touch impossibly tender as he brushed a golden strand from her face. "You are everything to me. And I will not be her pawn, not when my own heart is at stake. His voice softened. "Tell me you don't feel this, Mia. Tell me you don't remember."

Her resolve crumbled to dust. "I remember," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Of course, I remember. But it's impossible, Tarkan. It always has been."

The air between them crackled, their words fading into a pull stronger than years of duty or fear. His face drew closer, and he claimed her mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss-a storm of frustration, loneliness, and furious longing. It was not the gentle vow of the library; it was a brand of ownership, a desperate reclamation. Mia's world narrowed to heat and pulse as she felt the surrender of a four-year siege on her heart. She kissed him back, four years of denial dissolving in his arms.

CRASH.

The door burst open.

"Tarkan! What is the meaning of this?"

Queen Faya's voice sliced the air like a shard of ice. Mia froze, pulling back, her lips tingling, her eyes wide with panic. The Queen's gaze blazed, her silver gown a stark, cold contrast to Mia's vibrant crimson. Behind her, Ramzi stood frozen, his face a mask of conflicted duty and dreadful resignation. The storm had finally broken.

In the ballroom, Lady Lamar had watched it all. She had seen Mia's stunning entrance, the way the room's energy had shifted. She had seen Tarkan abandon her side without a second thought. And as she watched him lead the girl in the crimson dress from the dance floor, her polite smile never wavered, but her dark eyes narrowed with a cold, calculating light. So, she thought, this is the ghost from the past. Interesting