"Has the princess made her selection?"
"It's the Prince of Brookewood. I heard they're one of the strongest vampire clans. How lucky of her."
"I think he's the lucky one—out of all the suitors, she picked him."
"And she only danced with him!"
The voices swirled around her, biting into her like cold wind.
Margaret wished she could scream.
Instead, she closed her eyes and bit down on her lip.
She wanted to vanish. To hide. To be anywhere but here.
But she couldn't.
Not after being caught in a scandal—a scandal orchestrated by the Prince of Brookewood.
Oh, what was she supposed to do?
She didn't want to face the crowd.
She didn't want to see their faces.
A hand closed around hers, she didn't have to open her eyes to recognize her mother, "Maggie dear, are you alright? Is this what you want?
Of course, this wasn't what she wanted.
The small crowd had already pushed her and Prince Harry back into the ballroom. No announcement had been made—but the rumor had spread.
They had kissed.
Her parents had been surprised—if only for a moment. They loved her, yes. But they weren't in her head. They didn't know what she was thinking.
They must've believed, like everyone else, that she had kissed him on purpose. That it was her way of showing she had made her selection.
"Margaret," her mother called gently.
She opened her eyes.
"Yes. This is is what I want," she said quietly, her gaze fixed straight ahead, locked on the crowd.
She didn't look at her mother.
She couldn't.
If she did, she'd tremble. She'd break. She'd say the truth out loud—exactly what she wanted to do.
But it was a scandal now.
And she loved her parents too much to stain their names.
They had worked so hard to build peace in this world. What would people think of them if she spoke up? If she said the Prince of Brookewood had forced himself on her?
No one knew that.
To them, she had been kissing the prince in the shadows of the balcony.
And so, to the world... it was clear.
She had made her selection.
Margaret's legs wobbled, but she clasped her hands together to steady herself.
Beside her, Prince Harry stood proudly, facing the crowd with bright enthusiasm. He looked happy—charming, even—and to the people watching, it was a perfect match.
"Do you need some time? To think this through?" her mother's voice reached her again, gentle but concerned.
Yes, she needed time.
Because, she didn't want this at all.
Queen Madeline's eyes narrowed as she studied her daughter's pale face. "Margaret, you can tell me," she said softly.
Could she?
Margaret wanted to scream. None of this would've happened if they hadn't thrown this ball against her will. She had only come because the plans had changed so suddenly. But now, she regretted it all.
How was she supposed to save herself from this?
She didn't want to marry—not him, not anyone.
But when she looked into her mother's worried eyes, her shoulders sagged.
"Yes. I am fine" she whispered.
Queen Madeline's brows creased. She knew something was wrong. She knew her daughter well—Margaret wasn't the type to stir scandal. The Queen was still processing everything, yet the entire guests were already whispering that her daughter had made her selection.
And Margaret wasn't denying it.
She didn't need to. The Queen could see it in her—the way she stood, stiff and silent. She was protecting her family's name.
Queen Madeline glanced at Prince Harry. He was from a respected bloodline. Strong. Politically useful. He could protect Margaret.
Maybe this wasn't a bad match.
Maybe it was good.
But still, something felt wrong.
"Please, Mother," Margaret said quietly. "Make the announcement."
The Queen nodded, slowly turning to the crowd. She raised her voice with practiced grace, declaring the princess had made her choice.
But even as she spoke, her lips trembled.
Queen Madeline didn't want to force her daughter into something she didn't want. As she looked out at the cheering crowd, she silently prayed she wasn't making a terrible mistake.
The ballroom erupted with applause, hailing the soon-to-be husband and wife. Announcements would follow soon—discreet preparations between both families until a wedding day was set.
The feast began. Dishes were served, goblets filled, and the guests drank in celebration.
But Margaret slipped away.
She didn't need to remain in the ballroom anymore. Her presence wasn't required—and even if it was, she didn't care.
She just needed to escape.
Her shoulders trembled as the first tear slipped down her cheek.
How had this become her reality?
What was she supposed to do now?
The quiet tears grew into soft sobs. She gathered her gown and broke into a run.
Her cries echoed down the empty hallway. She didn't care where she was going. She just knew she couldn't stay there.
Soon, the guests would leave. The ball would end—it was nearly midnight. But Margaret couldn't stay, not when her heart felt like it had been torn apart
Then she came to an abrupt stop.
Her whole body shook as she lifted her head—only to find herself standing before the grey door.