Chapter 1
Charlotte’s curly brown hair was soaked with sweat. She stood behind a grand display case, in a dark hallway, breathing hard.
*‘At the end of this hallway is the Prince…’*
Charlotte’s heart pounded. Her soft brown eyes—like walnut wood—sparkled under the starlight. Her cheeks were flushed pink with both tension and hope.
A few months ago, news came that a prince in another country had been murdered. The prince was known for his enchanting greenish eyes, his brilliant mind, and a smile that curved like a fox’s tail. His death had covered Europe in sorrow.
**Thump, thump, thump.**
Charlotte placed her fingertips on the cold stone wall and walked slowly down the hallway. She mustn’t be seen. Her reflection in the glass of the display case showed her face: gentle like a pet rabbit, but with a determined look.
“Hah…”
Her steps finally brought her to the heavy door at the end of the hallway. Her heart beat so fast it seemed it might stop time.
She was about to meet him.
The prince who visited her every night beyond death’s border, like a majestic tree in a summer forest. He always left without a trace at dawn.
*Creak—*
Charlotte tightened her fingers, and the heavy door groaned an old hidden creak. Before her spread a breathtaking view: a high ceiling that seemed to touch the sky, and windows holding the night sky and the full moon. Where the moonlight fell, Charlotte saw…
“…Leopold.”
My… Prince of Dawn’s light.
Charlotte’s voice, mixed with tears, woke the cold air into life.
**1814, England, outskirts of London — Brantwood.**
The gallery party at Count Oslo’s manor—he had returned from Greece with many art pieces—was like a meeting place for well-bred young people. The gallery corridors, decorated with marble walls and sculptures, were filled with conversations among eligible young men and women and their guardians.
“Charlotte, remember what we practiced just now? Soon, when Helena begins playing the piano… then—”
With white hair and a slightly stooped posture, Lady Elicia, Charlotte’s aunt and the guardian of the Augusta sisters, whispered to Charlotte. Her hat had violet decorations.
“Of course, Aunt. Did I get this beautiful fan just for nothing?” Charlotte replied, fanning a feathered fan. Her face was cute, and her curly brown hair lovely, but compared to her famous and beautiful sisters, Charlotte was plain. Knowing the rumors about herself, she had begged her parents to let her have the most splendid fan, saying it would be fair if the plain one got something beautiful.
“Yes, Charlotte. Don’t forget. Fan in hand, and then slowly twirl—ping-greh-reu…”
Lady Elicia spoke in musical tones, and her face, though aged, showed a mischievous smile. Charlotte quickly echoed her aunt:
“The hand not holding the fan goes to the forehead, take care with the back, and the bottom moves back.”
Charlotte exaggerated her movements, waving the fan dramatically. Seeing Charlotte’s performance, smile lines deepened on Lady Elicia’s face.
“That’s right, Charlotte. This week at the ball, you’ll finally dance!”
Encouraged by Aunt Elicia, Charlotte imagined a gentleman catching her eye. She prepared a shy smile, hiding behind her fan.
*‘If things go well today, someone may ask me to dance this weekend. I won’t just watch my older and younger sisters dance from the wall—I’ll finally take someone’s hand…’*
Charlotte remembered the empty dance cards she used to carry on her wrist. **(The *Programme Du Bal*—a card listing those who asked a lady to dance.)**
Then Charlotte saw a tall man at the main staircase in the gallery. While the crowd was busy greeting and talking, he stood alone, quietly looking at a painting on the wall. He had a strong build, slightly proud and tight lips, eyes partly shaded. There was a noble air about him.
*‘Ah!’*
He turned his head slightly. Charlotte froze. Her fan paused. She had practiced a shy smile, but instead her mouth fell open. His dark brown hair lay softly beside his brow. His green-grey eyes were sad, beautiful. The beauty of his soft eyes and sharp jaw made Charlotte inhale sharply.
*‘My goodness…’*
Their eyes met briefly, and time seemed to stop. He wore a fine suit and polished boots. He looked toward Charlotte from across the gallery, then slowly looked back at a painting again.
**Thump, thump, thump.**
Her heart pounding, Charlotte blinked. But the tall man had gone. He was no longer standing on the staircase.
“Oh my, where did he go? I saw him just a moment ago…”
Charlotte looked around in surprise.
“Aunt Elicia, did you see the gentleman standing in the hallway?” she asked. “He was so handsome and elegant!”
Aunt Elicia squinted and looked around.
“Hmm? My eyesight isn’t so good these days…”
“Oh dear, how handsome he was! I’ve never seen someone so handsome—not even at Bianca’s debut ball last month. I wonder if he is new here, Aunt?”
Charlotte nudged her aunt’s shoulder excitedly. Lady Elicia leaned on her cane and answered:
“If you don’t know him, then either he’s new here or else he’s already promised to someone, dear Charlotte.”
“Ah…” Charlotte said softly.
That made sense. But still, it seemed strange that a man so handsome would have no ladies following him.
Lady Elicia lowered her voice and asked:
“Charlotte, it seems our plan must begin now.”
Charlotte raised her head. She saw Helena, the second daughter of the Augstas, take her place at the gallery piano.
—
Helena, blonde with blue eyes and porcelain doll beauty, began to play the piano. Beside her, her younger sister Bianca—also blonde—started singing in a beautiful voice.
Everyone, men and women alike, turned their eyes toward the Augusta sisters.
‘The Augusta sisters are all beautiful and talented.’
‘The eldest is already betrothed. Now, the men of Brantwood will compete for Helena and Bianca.’
‘The third Augusta daughter has also made her debut, right? The brown-haired young lady.’
‘Ah, that mischievous Charlotte Augusta? She really doesn’t act like an Augusta. There must be a reason she still has no suitors, even after her third season in society.’
Charlotte’s chest stung at the whispers. Among her bright older and younger sisters—the sunflowers—Charlotte felt like a wildflower. Pretty, but overlooked. People sometimes called her the ugly duckling among swans, the black sheep among lambs.
*‘Today, I will make someone notice me.’*
Suppressing her hurt, Charlotte stood in front of a marble pedestal in the corridor. She saw men and women in formal dress gathered like chess pieces, watching her sisters’ performance.
‘One, two… move the fan quickly…’
She repeated Aunt Elicia’s special technique in her mind. Then she drew a deep breath and started breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling.
“Hah, hah…”
Her heavy breathing drew attention. Several people around her began to turn and look.
Charlotte forced out words:
“Oh dear, I suddenly… can’t breathe… my dress…”
*‘Don’t fall until someone is close enough to help you!’*
Aunt Elicia’s voice rang in her mind. Charlotte tried to act like she was about to faint but timed it so she could see if a gentleman came forward. More people noticed now, asking if she was all right.
*‘Now—slowly—twirl and collapse!’*
She saw someone’s polished boot coming toward her. She placed one hand to her forehead, the other clutched the marble pedestal behind.
Then she began to collapse slowly.
In her dim vision she saw the tall handsome man again, standing at the far end of the gallery, looking at a painting.
*‘That’s him—just then…’*
Her focus broken, Charlotte misstepped. Before the helper could reach her, she fell, sitting on the floor.
“O my, whatever shall we do for her!” cried some ladies. The Augusta sisters’ music stopped amid the commotion. And then—
**Thud.**
Charlotte’s heart sank. The marble statue she had been leaning toward wobbled and began to fall. One statue knocked over another, like dominoes in the grand gallery of Count Oslo.
“Ooh, no!”
Charlotte cried out and tried to stand.
**Thud.**
The last statue fell with a crash and shattered, sending a loud crack through the quiet hall. The crowd was stunned.
Seems Aunt Elicia’s idea for drawing attention worked. In that hushed gallery, everyone stared at Charlotte—now clearly visible, no longer pretending to be fainting but sitting there with dignity.
—
