A week had passed since I began my lessons with the prince. Every day was a whirlwind of new experiences, new rules, and new expectations. The mornings were dedicated to learning how to read and write, a skill I never thought I'd be able to master. The prince had been patient with me, guiding my clumsy hands as I tried to form letters with a quill, correcting my mistakes gently, and praising me when I succeeded. Some mornings were easier than others, and some afternoons I left the study room with a hand cramping and a mind buzzing from the effort.
The rest of the week was dedicated to etiquette and dance lessons. Etiquette was a strange, foreign language of manners and postures. I had to remember where to place my hands when I entered a room, how to bow properly to the royal family, how to eat without looking like I was devouring the food, and even how to sit so gracefully I didn't disturb the chair beneath me.
The etiquette teacher, a strict older woman with sharp eyes and a booming voice, made no effort to hide her frustration.
"Lady Elara!" she would snap if my back wasn't perfectly straight or my hands weren't folded correctly. "How do you expect to become a proper lady if you cannot even manage a simple bow?"
I tried my best. I truly did. I repeated the movements over and over, mirrored her in front of a tall window, and even whispered the rules to myself at night. But no matter what I did, it never seemed enough.
Then came the dance lessons. Oh, the dance lessons. I had two left feet at best, and dancing like a proper lady—or a noble—was an entirely new language my body refused to understand. The teacher, a thin woman with a rigid posture and an unwavering frown, would demonstrate the steps, gliding across the floor as if she were floating on air. Then it was my turn.
"Again!" she would demand, arms crossed. "No, no, no! Step properly! Feel the rhythm! Do you not hear the music in your feet?"
I tried. I really did. I stepped forward, I twirled, I even tried to count in my head, but somehow, my left foot always ended up where my right should be. Sometimes I collided with my own feet entirely. Sometimes I tripped on the hem of my simple dress. And every time I fell or stumbled, the teacher's sigh was like a dagger.
"Lady Elara! Again!"
By the end of the week, my arms and legs were sore, my head spinning from counting steps and holding postures, and my confidence had shrunk to nothing. It was the last day of the week, and I was facing another dance lesson.
The music began, soft and slow, the notes floating like ribbons through the practice hall. The teacher demonstrated one more sequence: a simple turn, a step forward, a side step, then a bow. She looked at me, her eyes sharp. "Try it again, Lady Elara. You must get it right this time."
I nodded, took a deep breath, and tried.
Step forward. Trip. Twirl. Collapse. Bow? Not even close.
"Lady Elara!" the teacher shrieked. "You cannot move like that! Again!"
I felt my face burn with embarrassment. Sweat dripped down my temples, my chest heaved with exhaustion, and my legs shook from the effort. I tried again. Step forward, twirl, side step—stumble. Collapse.
"Again!" she yelled.
My hands clenched at my sides. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her I couldn't, that I had never danced a step in my life, that I wasn't made for this! But before I could, she turned away to demonstrate a turn to one of the other students. The moment her back was turned, I quietly slipped out of line, careful not to make a sound.
My heart pounded as I tiptoed toward the door. One careful glance over my shoulder confirmed she was still teaching the others. With my simple dress swaying around my legs, I slipped through the doorway and out into the cool air of the castle corridor.
I didn't stop until I reached the garden. The sunlight spilled across the courtyard, warm and soothing. I wandered past the hedges, and instead of the usual moonlit calm, I followed a path that led me down toward a beach bordering the palace grounds—a place I had only glimpsed from afar. The sand was soft under my bare feet, the sound of the gentle waves lapping at the shore calming my frayed nerves. I sank onto a large rock, watching the flowers that bloomed along the edges of the sand sway lightly in the breeze.
For the first time that day, I felt a small spark of peace. The salty air filled my lungs, the soft warmth of the sun kissed my skin, and I let my shoulders drop in relief. It felt… possible to just be me for a moment.
Then a familiar voice called out from behind me.
"Good afternoon, Lady Elara. Why are you not in dance practice?"
I froze, recognizing the tone immediately. The prince. He stepped onto the sand, hands clasped behind his back, blue hair catching the sunlight. He looked as if he had been walking alone, not in the formalities of the palace hall, yet he carried the same quiet authority he always did.
"I… I'm tired," I admitted quietly, my gaze dropping to the sand. "I… I ran away for a bit."
He sighed, a deep, measured sound. "You should not hide, Elara. Running does not solve your troubles."
"I know…" I mumbled. "But I just… I needed a moment."
He studied me for a long moment, his eyes softening. Then he extended a hand toward me. "Come on. Up. Stand."
I hesitated, then placed my hand in his. His grip was firm but gentle. With his other hand at my side, he guided me to my feet. "Follow my lead," he said.
I blinked, unsure what he meant. He motioned for me to stand closer, aligning our bodies. Then, slowly, he began to move.
Step by step, he guided me across the sand, showing me how to shift my weight, where to place my feet, and how to follow the rhythm. His hand at my back, his other hand holding mine, he adjusted my posture carefully.
"See? One step at a time," he instructed gently. "No rushing. Listen to the rhythm of the music in your feet."
There was no music, not yet. Just the waves and the wind, and somehow, it felt enough. I tried, awkwardly at first, stumbling a little as I followed his lead. He didn't scold me. Instead, he steadied me, giving quiet instructions and small corrections.
"Turn slowly," he murmured. "Relax your shoulders. Trust your feet."
I closed my eyes briefly and let the motions take over. With his hand guiding mine, I began to feel the rhythm in my steps. Not perfectly, not gracefully, but I moved, and each time I stumbled slightly, he caught me and encouraged me to try again.
"It's not perfect," he said softly. "And it doesn't have to be. The goal is to learn. To feel. To keep moving."
I opened my eyes, watching the sunlight glint off his hair as we moved across the sand. The waves reflected in his eyes, and for the first time during dance lessons, I didn't feel like I was failing.
I let out a small laugh, embarrassed but relieved. "I… I'm actually moving."
He smiled faintly. "Yes. And that's what matters. Each step is a success. Each stumble is just part of learning. Now again, one more time."
And so we danced across the sand, slowly, clumsily, but together. I felt my body relaxing in a way I hadn't all week. The sun warmed my back, the wind whipped softly around us, and for a moment, it felt as if the weight of the palace, the lessons, and the impossible expectations were nowhere to be found.
"Good," he said after a while, lowering my hand gently. "That will be enough for today. You've learned more than you think."
I nodded, heart still racing from the effort, but also from the small spark of confidence he had given me. "Thank you, Your Highness."
"You're welcome, Elara," he replied. "And remember—don't fear mistakes. Even in dancing, in life, there are always steps to learn, and it's the courage to try that matters most."
I took a deep breath, letting the sea air fill my lungs. For the first time in a long week, I felt like I could face the lessons again, but this time with a little more hope—and maybe even a little grace.