The soft strains of the orchestra faded as Prince Harry's hand slipped from mine, our second dance concluding. I stood there, my chest tight with an unfamiliar cocktail of emotions—exhilaration, wariness, and a gnawing sense of unease. The prince's cryptic remarks echoed in my mind, each word a puzzle piece that refused to fit into any coherent picture. I could feel Selly's eyes on me like daggers. She hated me, thought I was stealing her precious prince. Were it not for the crowd in attendance, she'd be throwing a tantrum and demanding Harry dances with her instead.
As I stepped away from the dance floor, a sea of faces turned towards me. Some wore masks of cordiality, others made no effort to conceal their disdain. A statuesque blonde approached, her emerald gown shimmering under the
