It wasn't that Cinder didn't know how to dance.

He had been taught, of course, at some point during his childhood, just like everyone, except maybe for the extremely poor who had no hope of attending formal events. It wasn't that he had forgotten it, either. Cinder knew how to dance about as well or as badly as the next commoner on the off chance he tried.

No, not knowing how to dance wasn't the issue. Cinder could dance.

The issue was just that he couldn't dance nearly well enough to leave a good impression before an entire ballroom of guests who were presently staring at his every move.

Cinder gritted his teeth, focusing hard on his childhood lessons. The steps weren't too complicated on this one, thankfully, but he was painfully aware of how gracelessly he moved. His limbs were stiff from lack of practice, his back tense, and to make it worse, between the heat of the room and the movement, inside his gloves his palms were quickly beginning to sweat.

If only he could at least follow the superior skills of his dance partner, but right now that wasn't an option. The boy who had asked him was a lot of things, but not good at dancing. He was too eager, too hot-blooded, moving too fast for the rhythm; his steps were so wide that Cinder could barely keep up with his shorter legs; and he was all but dragging him along across the dancefloor, no matter how hard Cinder tried to slow them both down for appearance's sake.

All in all, it wasn't a dance, it was a wrestling match. And Cinder was losing.

The music seemed to drag on forever. The stares endured. Cinder wanted to disappear in a hole in the ground. As soon as this dance was over, he was so getting out of here. Disappearing in the crowd, maybe, or just straight-up running out of the palace and hoping the carriage would still be there.

Except when the dance was finally, finally over, Cinder hadn't even had time to gather himself, let alone escape when his partner immediately asked for his hand again. "May I ask for one more?"

May I ask for the sweet embrace of death? Cinder thought, but he gritted his teeth and nodded. He'd just use that extra time to figure out a better escape plan. Maybe find someone else to distract this royal with, or just wait until he got distracted himself. It wasn't like he could dance with just him all night anyway, right?

The next dance was slower, at least. Cinder allowed himself to relax. His eyes roamed the ballroom for doors. One led back to the main entrance, he knew. Others seemed to lead into the palace; he'd stay away from those, or he would only get lost. Still another row, however, opened to the palace garden. He just hoped they were unlocked.

"Who are you?" the royal asked him as they danced. "I've never seen you before."

Cinder groaned inwardly. Oh great, now this guy was making conversation.

And, he realized in shock, he had no idea what to answer.

Tell his true name? Like hell he would. Nobody could know he was here. He was officially staying home, cleaning the house and taking a break. If it came out that he had come to this ball after all—if Hestia and the girls found out—tomorrow all hell would break loose.

So…what? Give a fake name? Avoid the question?

"You must be a prince," the royal continued. "Or a lord from somewhere. Who are you?"

Cinder's eyes darted from side to side, looking for any inspiration for a fake name to give. Then he dropped the thought. A royal would likely know all the important noble houses and quickly figure out if he was making one up.

His gaze flitted to his costume and hit the edge of the mask.

An idea struck him.

"I'm nobody," he said. "Just a guest in a mask."

"That's no answer."

"It's the best answer I can give."

Deep down Cinder had hoped his uncommunicativeness would drive the stranger off already. Far from it. Going by the way his dance partner looked at him, he was all but swooning.

Like a maiden in love. Disgusting.

"What brings you here?" the stranger continued. From the way his eyes shone, it was obvious what answer he expected: that Cinder had come here in the hopes of winning some noble's hand in marriage.

This time Cinder opted for the truth. "My godmother sent me."

"Who's your godmother?"

"I doubt you know her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Awkward silence. Cinder breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe this time he had been charmless enough to shake him off.

But his partner didn't think so at all. Instead he asked him to dance yet another time, and another, and another, without giving Cinder the slightest chance to escape. This situation was getting uncomfortable. At least everyone else was dancing again too, but they still found time to stare at him between their turns and whisper to their companions and partners.

Finally the royal stepped back, and Cinder nearly fell to the floor with relief. "Enough dancing for now," he said.

Yeah, Cinder thought, enough for a lifetime.

"Let's have a drink," the royal continued. "And then I'll show you around the palace. Your own private tour, just you and me."

Cinder would have been suspicious of that line if the boy's tone hadn't been so stupidly pompous. This wasn't a guy with sketchy motivations, he mused. This was just an idiot trying to show off.

He was sorely tempted to excuse himself and run, but he was also parched from all the dancing, and there would be nothing to drink on the carriage ride home. Fine. He could take a drink, and then he could get out of here.

The royal offered him his arm, but Cinder politely ignored it. He fully expected the boy's face to fall in disappointment. But instead all he saw in his features was utter fascination.

How? How could someone be so utterly oblivious about every single sign of rejection? How could one single person be so hopelessly stupid?

"Have you ever been to the palace?" the royal asked as they each picked up a cup. The pompous air was still around him—or rather, it had intensified. Not good. Not good at all.

"No," said Cinder, downing most of his cup in one go.

"I live here," said the royal, looking very proud of himself. "I'm the prince, you know. Someday all of this will be mine."

"Hm," said Cinder, unimpressed. So this was the prince. Poor fool. A whole ballroom full of marriage candidates around him, and he had chosen the one person who wasn't interested in him at all.

"But not just mine," the prince rambled on. "Also my spouse's. So whoever marries me will get really lucky."

"Will they," Cinder answered, pretending to not take the hint.

"Extremely! They'd be prince or princess consort at my side, they'd have power, money, servants, their own palaces..."

Cinder tuned him out, staring at the ornate golden clock on the wall. Another solid two hours before he needed to leave. Once again he was sorely tempted to excuse himself and run for it, but the escape door was on the opposite end of the crowded ballroom. If he ran from here, he wouldn't get far before someone stopped him.

And to think that he could be home right now, curled up with a book in front of the fireplace...

"My lord?"

Cinder gave a start. "I was listening," he lied reflexively.

"Good! You looked like you were spacing out," the prince answered, sounding completely genuine. Cinder suppressed the urge to face-palm. How could a grown adult be this gullible?

"So anyway," the prince continued, "are you coming?"

Cinder sensed his chance. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can."

"Come on! I promise you won't get in trouble."

"That's not—"

"Dancing's boring anyway," the prince cut him off. "The palace is beautiful at this time of year. You should see the decoration! I coordinated it," he added smugly.

"I'm sorry, but I really don't think I have the—"

"The night's still young!" The prince grabbed his arm and pulled him along. "Let's go!"

Would people stop pulling me by the arm already? Cinder thought. He was almost frustrated enough to start putting up a fight. His common sense advised him against it. Lifting a hand against the crown prince in his own palace would alert all the guards, and then he'd surely end up in a dungeon—if not worse.

The rest of the palace was quiet and cooler, which was an improvement from the crowded ballroom. Or would be, if the prince knew how to shut up for longer than half a second. As if turning into a tour guide, he talked about everything, emphasizing the value of every object, the history, and, most of all, how very nice it would be to live here.

Cinder glanced at every clock they passed. Time was dragging at a snail's pace. All the same he tried to memorize their path through the building, just in case he needed to make a run for it quickly.

Oh, he would be so glad once this night was over.

The palace was indeed beautiful, but it wouldn't and wouldn't end. All the rooms were beginning to look the same. The prince's chatter was giving him a headache. How on earth did this idiot never run out of things to talk about? He didn't even notice how little Cinder was saying in return.

Childish. Ignorant. Pompous. And completely, utterly obnoxious.

Why on earth would anyone want to marry this guy?

Cinder looked at the clock again. Half an hour to midnight. Relief flooded him, quickly followed by panic. How in the world was he supposed to find his way out of here?

"Your Highness," he said, forcing out the proper address for someone he didn't respect in the slightest. "I think we should head back to the ballroom. People have to wonder why you're missing."

For a moment it looked like the prince would brush it off again. Then a realization crossed his face, and he nodded. "That's a good idea," he said. "Let's dance again! I'll tell the musicians to play something romantic. Did I mention I can do that?"

Cinder stared miserably into the distance.

The prince led him down a few flights of stairs, and suddenly they were in the ballroom again. Cinder relaxed slightly. From here he would find his way out. He wasn't yet sure how exactly, with this person clinging to him like glue, but he'd figure something out. He had to.

Or else...

The prince did tell the musicians to play a romantic tune. Once again they were dancing. Cinder watched the clock. Twenty-five minutes. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

Not much longer now.

With all the skills he had, Cinder kept them close to the exit while trying to be subtle enough to keep the prince from noticing. At least that part was easy. The thought that someone this thick-skulled would inherit the country someday was concerning.

Five minutes.

"You know," Cinder said, "I have to leave soon."

The prince's face fell, even as his grip on Cinder's hands tightened. "Already?" he asked. "But it's still so early!"

Cinder avoided his eyes. "Can't be helped."

"But it's only midnight! Can't you stay? At least a little longer?"

"No." Cinder tensed under his grip. "I absolutely can't."

"But you'll come back, won't you?"

"Can't promise anything."

"But then how will I see you again?"

Hopefully never, Cinder thought. Never ever.

"I don't know."

"Please, you can't go! Not now!"

One minute.

Cinder held his breath, then the clock began to strike.

"Actually," he said, "I can."

Without a thought about manners or not standing out, he tore himself from the prince's grip and ran.

Guards leaped in his way as he bolted, but he was faster. Not stopping for his coat, he made for the exit, bursting out through the front door, dodging more guards. A blast of cold night air hit him in the face. He lost his footing and nearly fell.

It had snowed more while he had been inside. A thick layer of snow coated the stairs to the entrance, one his dance shoes weren't suited to at all.

But at least the carriage was waiting below.

"Wait!" the prince's voice rang out from inside. "Guards! Stop him!"

The clock was still striking.

He was going to die on these stairs, wasn't he? But if he didn't run now—

Damn it. Damn it all.

Cinder leaped from the door and ran.

His shoes got stuck in the snow. He almost slipped. It slowed him down, but he kept running, running on while the clock continued to strike. Eight. Nine. Ten. Almost there—

His shoe caught in the snow and wouldn't get out.

"Move already, move—"

Eleven.

"Shitshitshitshitshit—"

Cinder yanked his foot out of his shoe, leaped down the last few steps and disappeared into the carriage.

Twelve.

The carriage began to move while his costume disappeared. He was no longer a handsome stranger now. Just Cinder.

A very, very stressed Cinder.

He couldn't wait to get back home and sleep. And then pick a bone with Sugar Plum, whoever she was.

At least, he thought, he'd never have to see this irritation of a prince again. Hopefully. No, certainly.

Never! Ever!