King Nicholas found himself staying up late at night more and more often. He knew that at his age he shouldn't be doing this; sure his hair wasn't all grey yet, but he could feel the creaks on his bones and the weight of his eyes as time passed. As much as he would have loved to sleep at a reasonable time, he found the thoughts in his mind too much for sleep to handle.

He stared out into the night sky from his private study, hands behind his back. Slowly, he paced back and forth, alternating from looking down at the carpeted floor and then back to the night sky. Too much had been going on for him to even comprehend, and at the same time, too little was being given. 

First, there was the aspect of his daughter being in the enemy's camp. It had already been several weeks since he last dropped her off, yet her letters were sparse and didn't have a lot of new information. Anxiety gripped him as he thought about leaving his only child in the hands of a brother he could never trust. His brows furrowed and his hands tightened around each other at the thought of it. What in the world could be keeping Ingrid from sharing even more information? 

Second, there was the issue of his wife. The very thought of her still caused an ache to spread from his chest to seemingly every part of his body. Technically she was still the queen, but she had been doing everything that would be opposite of what a queen would do. His ministers had urged him almost constantly to divorce her and find a new queen, but how could he even do that when he couldn't keep track of where she was. 

Like a ghost, she went from one place to another daily, never staying in more than one area for longer than 24 hours. Some people said she was with another man, particularly one who was a felon which explained why she was constantly moving to not get caught. Others said she had joined a traveling circus, a few more claimed to have seen her dressed like a gypsy. 

Whatever the truth was, she still had her title and he couldn't strip it from her without her being physically present. For the first few years of her disappearance, he would search for her daily, trying to ignore the embarrassment of being left behind. Now, it only caused more annoyance than sadness, and it already was too much to handle. 

He sighed and sat down at his desk. It faced a large window that reached from the high ceiling to the floor, the moon's soft light being the only light in the room. It created a spotlight on the king, who now leaned back into his velvet chair and rested his weary eyes on the stars. 

After a few seconds, he sat up and pulled out a drawer from the side of the mahogany table, pulling out parchment and ink. He straightened the blank parchment in front of him, dipped his quill into the ink, and began to write before the thoughts in his mind prevented him from doing so. 

Dear Ingrid,

I am writing in now to ask you about what you have been doing there. I know that we have agreed on you writing to me once a week with as much updates as possible, however the letters have become more and more irregular. Are they keeping you very busy? What has happened to that underground tunnel that you mentioned? Since you sent that letter I have ordered the captain of the guard to send a few scouts to search around the Adehane border, looking for possible entrances and exits into that tunnel. It would be very important for you to look into more cracks of their armor and see what else you can use against them. Even if it may seem like a small piece of information, it can still be used in our favor so do not hesitate to send me anything new that you find. 

To answer your question from the last letter, yes we have been doing well here. I am already requesting the captain to ready his troops for imminent battle. When that happens, the first thing you must do is retreat back to Nerea as soon as you can. I will be sending you an escort to help you back home safely, but you must do the first half of it alone. I wish I could have picked you up myself, but that would be unsafe for both of us. I understand that even if you are incredibly brave, this is still a lot to handle for a girl your age. Know that you are doing more than enough, and our kingdom shall always be indebted to you. I miss you dearly and wish you were home soon. 

Please write back as soon as you can. 

Your dear Papa. 

After letting the ink dry, King Nicholas then rang a small bell, which brought in an aid to fold the letter, seal it, and have it sent to the princess. As soon as the aid had left the study, King Nicholas slowly stood up, feeling the weariness in his bones. He glanced once more at the stars, and for a few seconds a memory reappeared in his mind: he was just a small child unaware of the troubles of the world, and he was tracing lines between the stars with his finger, his little brother following him. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head. No time for sentimentality, he thought to himself. That little innocent brother was dead to him now. What mattered the most was Ingrid wrote back, and fast. 

The first thing Ingrid thought of the second she opened her eyes was Isaac, followed by a sucker punch in the gut full of anxiety and confusion. She quickly sat up in bed, placing a hand over her chest and feeling the racing of her heart. "Oh no, oh please no," she muttered under her breath, her mind spinning. She jumped out of bed, not even feeling the coldness of the floor against her feet. Outside the air was calm and peaceful, but inside Ingrid's chamber the stress was more than apparent. 

She paced back and forth from one end of the room to another, alternating from nervously biting her fingers and running her hands through her hair. "Okay, calm down Ingrid, don't overthink this," she said to herself, shaking her head slightly. 

"This is just some sort of confusion, right? You've just gotten used to him being around so you start thinking there's something different, but he's the enemy," she continued on, mentally pushing away any thought of Isaac the very second it entered her mind. 

She looked at her desk and saw a half-finished letter to her father, the ink on the quill already dry from being left out in the open. She rushed towards it and sat down, rereading her words again. "I can't forget why I'm here," she muttered to herself as she reached the end of the letter. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, before glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She took a deep breath as she fixed her hair up into a simple ponytail. "I'm the princess of Nerea, and Nereans hate Adehane," she reminded herself. "Isaac means nothing, and that's how it will always be."

Yet the second she saw Isaac sitting at the dining table with his father waiting for her, the world seemed to spin around her again. It took everything in her to keep a straight face and continue walking towards her seat, rather than just running and hiding from him. Her thoughts battled with one another, confusion piling on top of confusion; yet somehow she managed to sit down across him with a straight face, hoping against all hope that he couldn't tell the extra blush in her cheeks was from him. 

From the corner of her eye she could see that King George was speaking, but the words from his mouth were muffled and unclear, as if she was underwater hearing him. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the spoon to her right; the meal in front of her barely got her attention despite feeling a pang of hunger. 

All she could think of was Isaac sitting in front of her, yet he wasn't looking at her. He looked at his breakfast, or his father, but he barely even glanced at her at all. As much as she didn't want to admit it, Ingrid's stomach felt tight with anxiety. Is he mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Why won't he look at me? Her thoughts tumbled over one another, barely giving her even a second to focus on one. Her mouth felt like sandpaper, her grip on her spoon tightening. 

"Ingrid?" she finally heard King George speak, and she blinked hard as she turned to face him. "Y-yes, uncle?" she heard herself ask; her voice sounded far away, as if she was hearing someone else speak. "Oh, were you not listening?" King George asked, raising his eyebrow in a quizzical manner. 

From the corner of her eye Ingrid saw Isaac finally look at her, and her heart hammered against her chest. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as her mind frantically searched for an answer. "I-I'm sorry, I was distracted," she admitted, looking down at her soup. The desire for the ground to swallow her up felt stronger than ever. She could still feel Isaac staring at her, and she silently begged for him to not think badly of her. 

"Well, I was just telling Isaac about how we plan to hold a ball in celebration of the blue moon. You know what a blue moon is, don't you?"  King George asked. Ingrid gulped hard and nodded, looking up once more. "Yes I do, but did you just say there is going to be a ball?" Ingrid asked, feeling her heart slowly calming down. Right, focus on appearing  normal, she thought to herself. 

"Oh yes, I'm thinking it's also a way for us to further celebrate you being here! A blue moon is such a rare occurrence that we must celebrate it," the king continued. Isaac rolled his eyes. "I honestly think it's a waste of time," he said in a bored tone. "Why must we celebrate it when we can focus on more important things? Balls are just an excuse for people to drink and start affairs," he continued on. 

King George cleared his throat. "I must talk to you after breakfast then," he said through gritted teeth. "But regardless, we will have one in two weeks. Which means that you, Ingrid, must be fitted into a dress and have dancing lessons immediately," the king finished in a determined tone. 

Ingrid dropped her spoon so suddenly it caused a loud clanging sound against the bowl, and the king jumped in surprise. "A dress?! Dancing lessons?!" Ingrid exclaimed. She jumped out of her seat, her eyes wide in disbelief. Isaac groaned and rubbed his temple with his hand. "Here we go," he muttered. 

"I'm sorry uncle but I just cannot go through with that, I'd rather be dragged through the street in my under clothes than wear a dress," Ingrid complained, spitting out the last word like it was poison in her mouth. "And dancing lessons? What is the need for that?!"

"I understand that you don't want a ball, but you're still a guest in my palace and you must respect that you're in Adehane and not in Nerea," the king argued. "And if I say that we are having a ball then that is final. Do you understand?"

"But I.." Ingrid continued, but Isaac waved his hand as if shooing away a fly. "Listen Ingrid, I don't want a ball to happen as much as you. But you're causing too much of a ruckus so early in the morning, can't that wait for later?" Isaac said, shaking his head in disapproval. Ingrid's hatred for dresses overturned the fluttering of her heart over hearing Isaac speak, and she turned to him, hands on her hips in defiance. 

"And I thought you didn't want a ball to happen! Where is that fighting spirit now, huh?" she taunted him. "Well at least I can argue properly and calmly like a normal person," Isaac fought back. "Oh so I'm not normal then?!" Ingrid hotly replied back. What the hell was I thinking, being all flustered over him? she thought to herself angrily. He's just as rude and annoying as he always was!

Suddenly, the king banged his fist on the table, causing their plates to shake and the two to stop and look at him. The king promptly stood up, glaring at them. "A ball is happening in two weeks, and you will be dance partners, and that is final," he announced. "Isaac, come walk with me. Now." 

Ingrid's face went pale, and she sat back down feeling defeated. She put her face in her hands, groaning. Her stomach churned with anxiety. Not only will she have to wear a dress, but she'll have to dance with Isaac. Her heart beat fast and hard against her chest, and she wished more than ever to just tear it out of her. 

As this happened, King George gestured at Isaac to follow him out the dining room. Isaac glanced at Ingrid for a second before standing up; something about the way she was acting seemed different in his eyes. But he tried to push the thought away and quickly followed his father out the dining room.

"What is it?" Isaac asked, walking alongside him. "The ball is a cover up," King George quickly said, pausing to face his son. They were outside the dining room now, far enough for Ingrid to not hear a thing. "There will be a ball, one big enough to get Nerea's attention. We shall invite some of their representatives, and it would make them think that we are cordial with them. It would fool them enough to make them think that we want only peace with them. That would put their guard down, and if they see you and Ingrid dancing, they'd think that we just want peace. But really we shall start the attack just as they are distracted," the king spoke quickly and excitedly as more details of the plan rushed through him. 

"How exactly do we do that?" Isaac asked. "I've set you and Ingrid up as dance partners so that you can get even more intel from her. Sneak into her room if you must, seduce her, do anything you can to get her to tell more secrets. There has to be a better way in to ambush them, and she's our key to that. You cannot disappoint me, understand?" King George turned to his son, placing both hands on his shoulders. 

Isaac nodded, his mind already racing. The thought of getting Ingrid to confess more secrets to use against her, a thought that once excited him, now suddenly made his stomach feel twisted and heavy. He remembered how distraught she looked at the thought of a ball; did this all really affect her that much? Why did that strangely make him feel bad? He grit his teeth and shook his head slightly to dismiss the thought. "I'll do what I can father," Isaac replied in a steady voice. No need for emotions now, he thought. In a game like this, emotions didn't matter. 

"Good, don't let me down," the king said, patting him on the shoulder. Isaac watched his father head towards his study, before walking back to the dining room. He stood by the doorway and watched a very distraught looking Ingrid calm herself down. He heard her muttering to herself, saying such things like "A dress? On me? This is too much," and "Is this all real? Am I dreaming? Please tell me I'm dreaming." He crossed his arms against his chest as he watched her, and he found himself laughing. Had she always been this entertaining to watch? Something about that thought made him feel warm, but he immediately didn't want to think about it the second that thought entered his mind.

"Are you done mentally spinning in circles yet?" he called for her in a sarcastic tone. She quickly turned to him, her brow furrowed. "What does it matter to you?" she snapped back at him. Ingrid quickly stood up and rushed past him, practically stomping out of the room. "Oh come on, it's just a dress for one night, why are you overreacting so much?" Isaac asked her. He couldn't help but find her discomfort amusing. "How would you like to wear a dress and look completely awkward?!" Ingrid argued back, her face looking almost as red as her hair. Why did he find that strangely adorable?

"I really think you're overreacting," Isaac replied back, shrugging nonchalantly. "What's so wrong about wearing a dress and maybe learning how to dance?" Ingrid shook her head defiantly. "It's just stupid! It's a waste of time and I'd rather do anything else," Ingrid complained hotly. 

Smirking, Isaac replied: "Well if you do trip and fall, I'll catch you." In his head he knew he had to start getting past her barriers somehow, but his heart strangely began to race as he said it. Ingrid turned beet red, tried to open her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

With an embarrassed mouse-like squeak Ingrid turned on her heels and practically ran away. Isaac cracked a smile as he watched her leave, but caught himself and shook his head. Whatever kind of confusing feeling this was, he didn't need it now. He turned away and tried to think of something, anything, to distract him from the thought of Ingrid in a dress. Focus, he told himself, trying to ignore the ache in his heart at the thought of hurting Ingrid. None of that matters now, he reminded himself as he walked away.