Chapter 6: The Winter Ball
1037 Words
The North Pole had its own traditions, ones that stretched back centuries, long before Nicholas had inherited the role of Santa Claus. One of the most extravagant was the Winter Ball, a grand celebration held each December before the final days of Christmas preparation.
It was a night of shimmering lights, music, and laughter—a brief moment of celebration before the chaos of Christmas Eve. The elves anticipated it all year long, eager for a night of joy before the final holiday rush.
Nicholas?
He hated it.
The Winter Ball was just another pointless distraction, an event forced upon him by old traditions. It meant dressing up, pretending to be interested in small talk, and tolerating elves who suddenly thought they were entitled to dance and socialize rather than work.
Unfortunately, skipping it wasn’t an option.
And this year, there was something worse than the usual pleasantries and traditions.
This year, there was Alina.
The grand hall had been transformed into something out of a fairy tale. Snowflake-shaped lanterns floated above, casting a soft silver glow over the crystal walls. Ice sculptures lined the room, enchanted to sparkle with shifting colors. The elves, usually covered in sawdust and paint, had traded their work uniforms for elegant winter attire, their pointed hats replaced by delicate accessories.
Nicholas stood at the far end of the room, dressed in a tailored black coat lined with silver embroidery. His usual scowl was firmly in place as he sipped his drink, watching the festivities unfold with barely concealed irritation.
The music played. The laughter filled the hall.
And then she arrived.
Nicholas didn’t realize he had gone still until Bernard muttered beside him, “Careful, boss. You’re staring.”
Nicholas snapped out of it and turned sharply. “I am not.”
Bernard chuckled. “Sure.”
But Nicholas was staring.
Alina stepped into the ballroom, dressed in a gown the color of moonlit frost, the soft silver fabric catching the light as she moved. Her chestnut hair was loosely braided, with a few strands framing her face, and she looked… different.
Not because of the dress. Not because of the way the entire room had subtly turned to look at her.
She looked happy.
And for some reason, that irritated Nicholas more than he cared to admit.
As the evening wore on, Nicholas avoided her.
He didn’t know why, but something about seeing her like this—so carefree, so untouched by the weight of the world—unnerved him. He had spent weeks building walls between them, and yet, somehow, she kept slipping through the cracks.
But avoiding her didn’t mean not noticing her.
He noticed the way she laughed easily with the elves, how they seemed drawn to her warmth like a fire in the middle of a snowstorm.
He noticed how she twirled absentmindedly to the music, completely at ease.
And he definitely noticed when one of the workshop workers—a tall, irritatingly handsome elf named Elias—asked her to dance.
Nicholas’s grip on his glass tightened.
She said yes.
Of course, she did.
She let Elias lead her onto the dance floor, her silver dress swaying as she moved effortlessly to the music. Nicholas hated it. He hated how natural she looked, how she fit into this world of celebration while he stood on the sidelines like a ghost.
“You’re scowling harder than usual,” Bernard commented.
Nicholas drained his drink and muttered, “I’m leaving.”
Bernard smirked. “Because Alina’s dancing with Elias?”
Nicholas shot him a glare. “Because this entire night is a waste of time.”
Bernard just shook his head, muttering something about “fools who don’t know when they’re jealous”, but Nicholas ignored him.
He turned to leave, fully intending to put as much distance between himself and this night as possible.
But then—
“Leaving already?”
Nicholas froze.
Alina stood behind him, breathless from dancing, a teasing glint in her eyes.
He masked his reaction instantly. “I have better things to do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like brooding alone in your office?”
“Exactly.”
Alina chuckled, then took a step closer. “Dance with me.”
Nicholas blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.” She crossed her arms. “One dance. Unless you’re too afraid?”
Nicholas scoffed. “I don’t dance.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I don’t.”
Alina tilted her head, studying him. “I think you can. You just don’t like doing things that make you… human.”
Nicholas felt something twist in his chest. “I’m not human,” he muttered.
Alina smiled softly. “Then prove it. One dance.”
Nicholas should have walked away.
He should have laughed, ignored her, left her standing there with her infuriatingly kind eyes and her knowing smile.
But instead—
He took her hand.
And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Nicholas Claus danced.
The music swelled around them, slow and graceful. Alina moved effortlessly, leading as much as he did, as if she wasn’t the least bit surprised that he knew exactly how to match her steps.
“You’re better at this than you let on,” she murmured.
Nicholas smirked slightly. “I told you, I don’t dance. That doesn’t mean I can’t.”
Alina chuckled. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to admit you’re actually good at something fun.”
He rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.
For a moment, the rest of the ballroom faded. The elves, the decorations, the distractions—it all blurred into the background. It was just them, moving through the soft glow of the lanterns, the cold air forgotten in the warmth between them.
Nicholas had spent years avoiding moments like this. Moments that made him feel.
But with Alina in his arms, her touch light but steady, her eyes filled with something unreadable—
He realized he might be losing that battle.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he wanted to win.
- Writer
