Chapter 40
The Royal Ball
The royal ballroom was breathtaking.
Carol stood at the top of the grand staircase, Caspian's arm steady beneath her hand, and simply stared.
She had Caroline's memories of this place—vague impressions of past balls, formal events, the glittering spectacle of court life. But memories were nothing compared to actually seeing it with her own eyes.
The ballroom was massive, easily large enough to hold several hundred guests with room to spare. The ceiling soared overhead, painted with elaborate frescoes depicting the history of the Vaelindor dynasty—gods and heroes, battles and triumphs, all rendered in stunning detail and rich colors.
Enormous crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each one holding hundreds of candles that cast warm, dancing light across everything. The glow reflected off the polished marble floors—white veined with gold—making the entire room shimmer.
The walls were adorned with silk tapestries in deep blues and golds, the royal colors, embroidered with intricate patterns. Tall windows draped in velvet lined one side of the ballroom, and through them, Carol could see the palace gardens lit with lanterns.
Nobles filled the space, all dressed in their finest. The women wore gowns in every color imaginable, jewels glittering at their throats and wrists. The men were equally resplendent in formal attire, medals and insignia marking their ranks and houses.
Musicians occupied a raised platform, filling the air with elegant music. Servants moved smoothly through the crowd with trays of wine and delicate refreshments.
It was grander than anything Carol had seen in the North. Frostholme was beautiful in its own right—strong and elegant—but this was opulence on a completely different scale.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Caspian murmured beside her.
"It's incredible," Carol breathed. "Even more beautiful than I remembered."
"The palace spares no expense for royal celebrations," Caspian said. "Especially for the Crown Prince's birthday."
Carol smoothed her hands over her gown—a new creation from the capital's finest dressmaker.
It was a deep emerald green that brought out her eyes, with delicate gold embroidery along the bodice and sleeves.
The cut was specifically designed to accommodate her five-month pregnancy, flowing gracefully over her rounded belly while still looking elegant and fashionable.
She felt beautiful. And judging by the way Caspian had looked at her when she'd emerged from the dressing room earlier, he agreed.
"Ready?" Caspian asked.
Carol took a breath and nodded. "Ready."
They descended the stairs together, and Carol was immediately aware of the attention they drew.
The Duke and Duchess of Vanthorn didn't attend capital events often. Caspian's reputation preceded him—The Butcher of the North, the fearsome warrior who guarded the borders. People whispered and stared, but parted respectfully as they passed.
Carol kept her head high, her hand steady on Caspian's arm.
And then she heard a familiar voice.
"Caroline!"
Carol's head turned, and her heart leaped.
Her family.
Her father, Aldous, stood near one of the massive pillars, his distinguished face breaking into a broad smile when he saw her. Beside him, her mother, Countess Prudence, looked elegant in deep blue silk, her eyes already misty with emotion.
Jasper was there too, tall and handsome in formal black with subtle fire-themed embroidery on his jacket. And Beatrice, beautiful in rose-colored silk, her face lighting up when she spotted Carol.
"Excuse us," Caspian said to a noble who had been approaching them, and guided Carol toward her family.
The moment they were close enough, her mother rushed forward and pulled Carol into a careful hug, mindful of her belly.
"My darling girl," her mother said, her voice thick. "Let me look at you."
She stepped back, hands on Carol's shoulders, studying her face intently.
Carol felt tears prick her own eyes at the genuine love and concern in her mother's expression.
"You look wonderful," Prudence said. "Truly wonderful. And look at you!" Her hands moved to Carol's rounded belly. "Five months now?"
"Yes," Carol said, smiling. "Due in less than four months."
Her father stepped forward and embraced his daughter warmly. "It's good to see you, Caroline. So good."
"It's good to see you too, Father," Carol said.
Jasper grinned and pulled her into a hug next. "Little sister. Still glowing, I see."
"Jasper," Carol laughed.
"No, really," Jasper said, stepping back. "You're positively radiant. I've never seen you look this happy. Pregnancy suits you. Or maybe it's the domesticity."
"Domesticity?" Carol asked.
"You're practically a country wife now," Jasper teased. "Managing estates, collecting pets, glowing with maternal happiness. It's bizarre and wonderful."
"I'm not that domestic," Carol protested.
"You have four pets," Beatrice pointed out, hugging Carol tightly. "Four! And you brought them all to the capital!"
"They're family," Carol said defensively.
"See?" Jasper said to their parents. "Domestic."
Caspian had been watching the reunion with a slight smile. Her father turned to him and extended his hand.
"Your Grace," her father said warmly. "Thank you for taking such good care of our daughter."
"The pleasure is mine, Lord Holloway," Caspian said, shaking his hand. "Caroline has brought... considerable joy to Frostholme."
"And chaos," Jasper added. "From what I saw when we visited."
"Organized chaos," Caspian corrected, and there was definite amusement in his voice.
Her mother moved to Caspian next. "Your Grace, I cannot thank you enough. She looks so well. So happy."
"She makes me happy as well," Caspian said simply.
There was a brief pause, and then Caspian glanced around the ballroom. "If you'll excuse me, I should pay my respects to some of the other nobles. I'll leave Caroline with you for a bit."
He turned to Carol, leaning down to murmur in her ear. "I'll be nearby if you need me."
Carol squeezed his hand. "Thank you."
Caspian bowed to her parents, nodded to her siblings, and then moved off into the crowd with his usual commanding presence.
The moment he was out of earshot, her mother took both of Carol's hands.
"Caroline," she said, her voice earnest. "We've been so worried about you. Your letters over the past few weeks... they seemed different. Happier. But we weren't sure..."
"We haven't been able to visit," her father added, looking apologetic. "Your mother's parents—your grandparents—have been quite ill these past months. Old age, the physicians say."
"Mother has been caring for them," Beatrice explained. "And Father's been managing the estates and businesses. It's been difficult."
"I understand," Carol said immediately. "Truly, I do. You don't need to apologize. How are Grandmother and Grandfather?"
"Stable," her mother said. "Comfortable. But their age... we're doing what we can to keep them comfortable."
"I'm sorry I couldn't visit them," Carol said.
"No, no," her mother said firmly. "You're pregnant. You shouldn't be traveling more than necessary. They understand."
Her father cleared his throat, his expression pained. "Caroline, we also want to apologize for... for the marriage. We know how unhappy you were. How much you didn't want to marry Duke Vanthorn."
Carol's chest tightened.
"We tried," her mother said, her eyes glistening. "We truly tried to find a way out of it. But the Vanthorns are so powerful. Duke Winterhelm insisted, and we... we couldn't refuse. Not without risking everything."
"The scandal was already so significant," her father added quietly. "The spell, the pregnancy, the witnesses. Our hands were tied."
Carol looked at her parents—at the genuine guilt and sorrow in their faces—and felt a wave of emotion.
These weren't Caroline's parents in that moment. They were her parents. People who loved their daughter and had tried to protect her, even when circumstances were beyond their control.
"It's all right," Carol said softly. "I promise, it's all right."
"But you were so miserable," her mother said. "The way you cried at the wedding, how you avoided Duke Vanthorn afterward—"
"That was before," Carol interrupted gently. "Things changed. I changed. And Caspian..." She smiled. "He's wonderful. Truly. I'm very happy with him."
"You mean it?" her father asked, searching her face. "You're not just saying that?"
"I mean it," Carol said firmly. "I love him. He loves me. We're building a life together. A good life. The best life."
She placed her hands on her belly. "And in four months, you're going to have a grandson. Caelan Holloway Vanthorn."
Her mother made a soft sound, reaching out to touch Carol's belly. "A grandson. Oh, Caroline."
Beatrice joined her mother, her hand resting gently on the curve. "I'm going to be an aunt! I'm so excited!"
"You'll spoil him terribly," Carol predicted.
"Absolutely," Beatrice agreed cheerfully. "That's what aunts are for."
Jasper was watching Carol with an expression she couldn't quite read. "You really are different," he said finally. "Not just happy—different. Like a different person entirely."
Carol's heart skipped. "What do you mean?"
“When Bea and I visited you two months ago, you were so changed. It was like the sister I knew had been replaced by someone else."
Carol held very still.
"Someone better," Jasper continued, and his expression softened into a genuine smile. "Someone who's actually happy. Who laughs and jokes and cares about people. I don't know what happened, Caroline, but whatever it was... I'm glad for it."
"Me too," Beatrice added. "The old Caroline would never have admitted she was wrong about Percival. Would never have embraced her marriage. Would never look this content."
Carol felt tears threatening. "I just... I realized what really mattered. And it wasn't what I thought it was."
"Well, I'm grateful," her father said. "Seeing you like this—truly happy with your husband, excited about your child—it's more than we could have hoped for."
Her mother pulled Carol into another hug. "We love you so much, darling. All we've ever wanted is for you to be happy."
"I am," Carol whispered. "I really, truly am."
They stood like that for a moment—family, together, all the old tensions and worries finally easing.
When they separated, Beatrice was wiping her eyes. "Stop making me cry! I'll ruin my cosmetics!"
"Too late," Jasper said, pointing at her smudged kohl.
"Oh, hush," Beatrice said, but she was laughing.
Carol was about to respond when her gaze drifted across the ballroom and landed on a familiar figure.
Honey blonde hair arranged in perfect curls. A pale pink gown that emphasized her delicate beauty. An innocent, sweet expression as she spoke with a group of ladies.
Lucinda Harcourt.
Carol's smile faded slightly.
"Oh," she said. "I see our cousin. I want to speak with her for a bit."
Her mother followed her gaze. "Lucinda? I didn't realize she'd be here."
"She's always at these events," Beatrice said with a slight eye roll. "Always playing the perfect lady."
"I'll just be a moment," Carol said, already stepping away from her family.
"Do you want us to come with you?" Jasper offered.
"No, it's fine," Carol said. "I won't be long."
She moved through the crowd, her eyes never leaving Lucinda's form.
Time for a conversation that was five months overdue.