Chapter 9:
A Dance in the Shadows
The harvest festival transformed Eldoria's capital into a tapestry of light and sound. The palace courtyard blazed with torches, their flames dancing against the twilight, while beyond the gates, the village square pulsed with music and laughter. Nobles mingled under silk canopies, their goblets clinking as they toasted the season, but Alaric's eyes kept straying to the distant glow of the commoners' celebration, where Elara had said the "real heart" of the festival beat.
He stood beside Lysandra on a raised dais, both dressed in Eldoria's royal colors—deep blue and silver. She played her part flawlessly, her smile radiant as she charmed the Valorian envoys, but her hand on his arm was a formality, not a comfort. "Smile, Alaric," she murmured, her voice low. "The court's watching, and so is your father."
Alaric forced a grin, nodding to a passing lord, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Elara's words from the kitchen echoed—There's music, dancing, stories—and he longed to see it, to escape the stifling weight of the court. King Roderic's gaze bore into him from the throne, a reminder of his duty, but the pull of the village square was stronger.
As the nobles began their formal dances, Alaric seized a moment when Lysandra was distracted by Lord Varen's flattery. He slipped away, weaving through the crowd, his cloak pulled close to blend with the shadows. The palace gates were lightly guarded, the sentries distracted by the festival's chaos, and he crossed into the village square with a thrill of rebellion.
The commoners' celebration was a world apart—raw, vibrant, alive. Fiddles and drums filled the air, and villagers spun in circles, their laughter rising like sparks. Stalls overflowed with apples, bread, and cider, shared freely despite the lean harvest. Alaric stood at the edge, an outsider in his own kingdom, until he saw her—Elara, in a simple green dress, her auburn hair loose, swaying to the music with a group of maids.
His breath caught. She was radiant, her smile unguarded, her movements light as if the weight of the palace had lifted. Before he could second-guess himself, he approached, pulling his hood lower. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice soft but unmistakable.
Elara froze, her hazel eyes widening as she recognized him. "Your Highness," she whispered, glancing around. "You shouldn't be here. If anyone sees—"
"Then let's not be seen," he said, a reckless grin breaking through. He took her hand, warm and calloused, and led her to a shadowed corner near a cluster of oaks, where the music was softer but the rhythm still pulsed. The villagers were too caught up in their revelry to notice.
She hesitated, her hand trembling in his, but then she stepped closer, letting him guide her into a simple waltz. Their steps were clumsy at first, the prince trained in courtly dances, the maid in village reels, but they found a rhythm, their bodies swaying to the distant fiddle. "You're mad," she said, her voice a mix of fear and laughter. "A prince, dancing with a maid in the dark."
"Madness feels better than duty," he replied, his eyes locked on hers. "You were right, Elara. This is the heart of it. I've never seen my kingdom like this."
Her smile faltered, a flicker of sadness in her eyes. "It's beautiful, but it's not yours, Alaric. Not really. You belong up there, with her."
The mention of Lysandra stung, but he shook his head. "I don't belong anywhere tonight. Just here, with you."
Her breath hitched, and for a moment, they were still, the music fading as the world narrowed to the space between them. He wanted to pull her closer, to erase the distance of class and crown, but a shadow moved at the edge of his vision—Lord Cassian, his lean figure unmistakable, watching from the crowd.
Alaric's grip on Elara tightened instinctively, but she pulled back, her face pale. "Go," she whispered. "Now, before he spreads this through the court."
He wanted to argue, to stay, but the fear in her eyes stopped him. "I'll find you again," he said, his voice low and fierce. "This isn't the end."
She didn't reply, slipping back into the crowd as he retreated to the palace, his heart pounding. Cassian's gaze followed him, a predator's smile curling his lips, and Alaric knew the dance had cost him more than a moment's freedom. It had lit a spark that could burn them all.