TW: Masquarade Balls and Fairy Tales, Random Princess/Medieval AU

On her eighteenth birthday, Princess Zoeya of the Mushroom kingdom received a beautiful red dress and a party invitation.

It took her three tries to open the envelope her parent handed to her – her hands were shaking with excitement such that she couldn't even get a grip on the seal. It'd always been her dream to attend a party, any party, and here, at last, was her escape.

Her father smiled adoringly at her mismatched socks and ragged hair, a gesture which she returned in kind. He may have been overprotective enough to keep her inside the castle walls her entire life, but then he was a man with many enemies, and with the rebellions and battles outside the gates she was sure he had his reasons. If nothing else, King Barry was a just man.

Zoey's eyes scanned the page she'd finally managed to extract with alarming speed. "Papa," she cried, bouncing on her toes, "is it true? Are we really going to go to the midsummer masquerade?" She paused, eyebrows knitting together for just a moment. "I can accept, right? This isn't a prank?"

Barry ruffled her hair. "No, it's not a prank, I assure you. This evening you shall have the most beautiful coach in the land, along with an exquisite gown, and you will finally get to go to the annual ball like I know you've always wanted."

The princess felt as though she might explode. She'd seen the distant lights of the party once a year every midsummer for as long as she could remember, had even strained her ears to catch the low mumble of the crowd – but alas, it was held just outside the castle's limits, and so she had not been able to attend.

"Well then," she cried, skipping in a small circle and giggling, "I've got to do my hair and makeup and put on the dress and crickey! There's so much to do!"

She began to rush down the hall, but before she could get too far the King's voice halted her. "Zoey, don't leave just yet. You've forgotten the most important thing."

She popped back around the corner. "And what's that?"

Barry reached into one of his long red robes and withdrew a small box tied up with a bow. He handed it to his daughter, who promptly tore of the ribbon and removed the cover. Inside lay a beautifully intricate mask of deep gold, beaded and embroidered by an expert hand. "It's a masked ball," he said, smiling in that way that she loved so much, that way that made his eyes crinkle up at the corners. "You wouldn't want to arrive without a costume."

"Yes, yes, thanks so much," she practically yelled, pulling him into something between a hug and an impromptu dance. "But now I really have to go get ready!"

With a heart lighter than it had been in years, she called to her Ladies-In-Waiting, who helped her to step into her gown. Daisy, the women who had been her nanny for years and was the mother figure she'd always craved since the death of her own, pinned her hair up in a complicated mesh of curls before tying the mask securely in place. "Well," she said, admiring her handy work, "you look amazing, dear. But then you've still got an hour till the party and a carriage ride after that – try not to ruin it."

Zoey was too excited to be indignant; she gave her a cheerful promise of caution before squeezing into her short heels. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, dressed up as she was, and was hit by a wave of nerves. Yes, this was what she'd always dreamed, but could she handle it? She'd been told of the descent beyond the walls, the rebel forces and the constant fighting - if this ball meant her emergence into the real world, would she even like it?

But she didn't dwell too hard on the matter, because just then her father came to visit her and she was thrown all over again into an excited flurry.

By the time they were ready to climb into the carriage she'd worked herself into almost hysteria. "Zoey my dear," the king told her as they approached the mansion the ball was annually held in, "if you're this worried we can always turn back."

"No," she cried, panicked now, "definitely not! This is me being excited, I swear. The midsummer's ball is huge and crazy awesome and absolutely everyone's allowed to come – I'm just so happy I get to be one of the everyones, for once!"

If she noticed her father's frown at the mention of her previous unhappiness, she made no mention of it. At that moment the carriage bumped to a stop, and she pressed her face to the window. "Wait, this isn't the party – you didn't lie to me, did you?" She turned, expression horrified.

"No no," he reassured, "but if you noticed, I am not wearing a mask. The king traditionally does not. I figured that if you were to arrive with me your anonymity would be ruined, and where, might I ask, would the fun in that be?"

Zoey's eyes lit up as she realized what he meant. "So where are we now," she asked, voice filled with anticipation.

"Just around the corner from the Market Square. Travel straight down the street and take your first right – but then, I trust you can follow the sounds of a good time. I'll be arriving later; I trust you can entertain yourself. Meet me at eleven here, alright?" He watched as she climbed down the tiny steps and hopped to the ground, gazing in amazement at the streets she'd only ever seen from the tiny castle windows.

"One more thing," Barry called after her, and she paused. "There are lots of strangers at this party, as well as members of my guard. Have a good time and know you are safe in their hands, but recognize that unknown people can be dangerous. The entire kingdom is here, remember that. And if you have any problems, find me."

The princess nodded eagerly, raising a hand to wave goodbye as she followed the instructions to the square strung all the way through with silver lights. Zoey couldn't help it – as she rounded the corner and emerged into Market Square, she gasped with delight.

There were more people than she'd ever seen in her entire life spread out across the streets. Everywhere she looked she saw different types of partygoers of various classes and heights and looks. To her surprise, amongst this crowd even her elegant dress didn't stand out; it was a welcome change from the immediate bowing and brownnosing she got back at the castle when she walked in the room.

It took her a few moments to collect herself enough to step into the throng. As it was she crashed into three different people and stepped on several toes; there was just too much to see, too much to take it! It was, after all, her first time out of the castle in, well, ever.

So intense was her focus on trying to see everything that she quite forgot to watch where she was walking - it was this mistake that led to accident number four.

"Well," said the man she'd walked headfirst into, "that's certainly one way to make an introduction."

He offered a slender hand to steady herself on. Everything about him was long and thin – she got the impression that a gust of wind might blow him over. The suite he wore hugged his tall frame, and Zoey noted with approval that he was impeccably dressed in a deep and velvety black.

Continuing her investigation of the stranger, she saw that he was not wearing one mask but two. A length of cloth hid the lower half of his face, while perched on his slightly crooked nose (it looked as though he had broken in it some long ago alteration) was the one bright spot on his entire person. His mask was pure white, such a starched color that she had to blink her eyes rapidly to adjust them to it. In the twinkling lights of the festival, she could faintly see an intricate spiderweb of purple threading itself in peculiar designs. The corners winged just besides his eyes, which, she could see through the holes, were a startling and vivid shade of violet.

In the semi-darkness, they almost seemed to glow.

The strange man coughed, and Zoey blushed maroon as she realized she been standing there dumbfounded with his hand in her grasp for rather longer than one typically needed to steady oneself.

With an embarrassed laugh, she pulled away. Her hand felt warm where his skin had met hers – she decided that she liked the feeling.

"Sorry," she said, brushing herself off, "there's a lot to take in here. I got a bit, uh, distracted."

The man raised an eyebrow in bemusement. "It's quite alright," he said, in a voice that was wonderfully deep. "No harm done, I assure you. Now, if you're sure you're alright," he made a move as if to turn, and she suddenly realized she wished him to stay.

"Wait," she cried, almost even surprising herself (but then she had been told time and time again that she was an expert at leaping in without looking, so that wasn't quite true), and he glanced curiously at her. "Um," she stuttered, face red once more, "well, this is a party, isn't it? Do you want to dance with me?"

He tilted his head, and although she couldn't be sure, through the folds of the cloth it almost looked like he was smiling. "So non-traditional. Well, you're very interesting, I'll give you that." He held out his hand once more, and she took it. "Yes, then, let's dance."

Zoey was pulled into a brisk waltz by the taller stranger – as the world spun around her, she began to giggle. "I'm sorry," she said, still chuckling, "it's just that I've never seen all the noblemen dressed up like this. They're usually always so coiffed and stiff! They look just like little mushrooms, lined up in rows around the dancefloor."

To her immense surprise, the man also let out a short laugh. No one at the castle ever laughed at her jokes – in fact, she'd been told that she couldn't tell them anymore, since they weren't proper. It seemed to her that nothing fun ever was.

"I can see your point," he said, shaking his head. "They looked rather stuffed, don't they."

She grinned as they spun again, only to immediately grimace instead as she felt the point of her heel crunch on his well-shined shoes. "Sorry," she apologized, looking down, "I never was much good at dancing."

But her companion only corrected their position and began the steps again. "I think you're very good, actually," he said, guiding her feet more carefully this time. "You're just very passionate. That's not a bad way to be."

They lapsed into comfortable silence, and as the song progressed she found her trepidation about her clumsiness fading. Sure she managed to clip his toes a couple more times, but nothing worse had happened, and he was, after all, still there. It was easy, twirling with him; something about his steady hand, his luminescent eyes, made her feel extraordinarily safe.

She only had to let him patiently guide her movement as she thought of other things. The twinkling strings of lights caught wonderfully on the folds of her dress as it flared up when she spun. The effect was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

So engrossed was she in this train of thought that it took her a few moments to register that the song was over, that they had slowed to a sway. Everywhere people were leaving the dance floor, heading towards the tables piled high with food and the small stalls set up for vendors. "Sorry," she hastily apologized, spreading her hands wide. "I didn't realize we'd stopped dancing! I, uh, I got distracted."

The stranger shrugged. "Fair enough. It is, after all, a beautiful gown. I've never seen beading so fine."

Somewhere in her mind warning bells went off – she didn't want him questioning too far into just where she'd gotten the funds for the finery. "You sound like you've seen lots of dresses," she observed hesitantly, unsure of how to change the subject.

Fortunately her new friend didn't seem interested in elaborating either. "I've seen lots of things," he said, vaguely. "Although clothing is not my area of expertise by any stretch of the imagination."

Zoey latched onto this new topic of conversation with what she hoped was the proper amount of princess-ly grace. "Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow, "then what is?"

She saw the mask twitch; he seemed to be smirking. "I'm something of a magician."

For some reason, she got the impression that magician was not the world he wanted to use. It sounded like it left a bad taste in his mouth, but she let it go in an effort to not pry. "So, what then? Can you do magic tricks?"

Zoey knew that all real magic (spells, potions, and the like) was frowned upon in the Mushroom Kingdoms, which was in part the reason for the rebellions, but tricks and illusions were still freely practiced.

"Ah," he said, voice low and full of amusement and mystery, "tricks." He reached a hand towards her face; she had a moment of panic before she realized he was stretching towards her ear. When he brought his hand to himself, a golden coin was securely pinched between two fingers. "You couldcall them tricks, I suppose."

There again was the inflection that told her he'd rather be spitting the words, but she ignored it for a second time. She didn't want to scare him off by asking invasive questions, after all. Instead, she clapped her hands together and lightheartedly bounced onto her toes. "Can you do anything else?"

He seemed to be on the verge of answering her when he was interrupted by a loud trumpet call. Several others joined the fanfare, and the crowd parted to make a small path. Out of the very same carriage she had traveled in stepped her father, the king. "Ah," the stranger said, unreadable gaze following King Barry's entrance. "Royalty."

Zoey didn't like the way he said that. It wasn't quite scornful, but it was close enough to irritate her. "What, do you have a problem with my- the king?" She had to remind herself not to mention her particular relationship with the monarch currently striding confidently not twenty feet from them. It wouldn't due to give herself away now, not when for the first time someone was talking to her as an equal and not as the heir to the land.

"Not a problem, exactly," the man said, as they strolled away from the main crowd of the party, and the bustle of the throng around the new arrival. "But it's not as if King Barry is without his major flaws."

The princess' hands had curled into fists under the fabric of her dress. "He's a perfectly nice and respectable person."

He leaned against a pillar holding up one of the numerous strings of lights. "You sound as if you've met him directly," he told her, but (to her relief) seemed to respect her obvious wish to not be questioned further. "However, I'm not debating his respectability. I've seen kings far more and far less worthy of holding a throne. I'm debating his decisions, and his reasoning behind them. If you don't do that, you'll never have a monarchy worth trusting."

Zoey had backed up now, suspicion filling her stare. "So are you a rebel, then? Do you work for Jeff, of the brown mushrooms?"

"Well if I was," he said, playing casually with a string dangling from the pole and reminding her heavily of a cat, "then I'd hardly admit it in present company." He caught the string between two fingers. "But to answer your question, and at the risk of sounding heavily cliché, I do not work for Jeff, or for the brown mushrooms. I work for no one but myself."

This statement perked her head up, and she looked him over again in a new light. This time she saw things she hadn't noticed before – how his hands, though slender and soft, were deft and quick moving, how those softly glowing purple eyes scanned their surroundings with the practice of someone who was used to uncertain situations, and how, when she leaned in close, he smelled of forests and ancient worlds and sulfur and the unknown.

Something about him set her insides to bubbling; it was a wonder she had not noticed it earlier. All the little parts of her that she had so carefully tucked away, the parts that longed for the outdoors and fire and all the things so often called unproper suddenly came roaring back, full force. The gaze she fixed on the man now was appraising. "Who exactly are you," she asked, folding her arms.

He only inclined his head slightly and gave her one of his maybe-smiles. At her frown, he shook his head/ "To be fair, you haven't told me who you are, either."

"Well," she said, barely resisting the urge to stick her tongue out, "no, I haven't, and now I definitely won't."

The man shrugged indifferently, and for a just a moment she got the impression he already knew exactly who she was, and exactly what she was doing there. But no, that was impossible; she shook the feeling off. "That's alright," he said, "I wouldn't expect you to offer me any information I haven't given myself. Plus, this way I can remember you only as the beautiful redhead with the gorgeous dress."

"There you go with the clothing talk again," Zoey said, smiling. "Perhaps I'll just think of you as the strange tailor who was incredibly dodgy about his other hobbies."

"Fair enough," he said, letting out an amused snort. "I haven't exactly told you anything to convince you I'm not."

Zoey hummed happily. "Dress designer by night, professional magician-slash-spy-slash-sometimes-rebel-slash-something-or-other by day. Sound about right?"

Again she got a snippet of that deliciously rumbling laugh. "Christ. I'm glad that version of me keeps so busy, keeps him on his toes." He held out a hand. "So, impeccably dressed fire-haired mystery girl, would you like a last dance?"

As she stretched out her fingers to touch his, the clock began to ring out the eleventh hour. In shock, she retracted her grip. How had it gotten so late?

"In any other situation I'd say yes," she said, already backing towards the road she'd arrived from, "but I'm pretty sure that silly clock's telling me it's time to go."

The stranger let his hand fall. "So you're Cinderella? Not even a glass slipper for me, though," he said, quietly. His earlier humor had vanished to be replaced by that quietly alert gaze.

Zoey shook her head. "Unfortunately, no."

"Well then," he replied, putting his hand behind his back, "I have something for you, instead." For just a moment she could have sworn she saw a faint glow of purple light, but it was gone before she could get a good glimpse of it. When he pulled his fingers out from behind his back again, she saw that clutched daintily between them was a flower.

He held it out to her. "A token of my appreciation for filling this night with good conversation and far more interest than I could have expected. Perhaps, if I am very lucky, I shall see you again."

She took the bloom, smiling at its stately violet tint. Before she could get out a thank you, the final gong of the bell chimed, echoing in the buzzing night air. With an apologetic smile and a wave of farewell, she dashed back down the side road she had come from and slipped into the carriage waiting just around the corner.

When her father questioned her satisfied grin and the bud in her grasp, she merely smiled. The mysterious man was a memory for only her, after all. She even had a distinct feeling she would see him again.

The petals of the flower glistened softly as she rode back towards the home she had always know, her mind filled with thoughts of mysterious strangers and the world outside the castle walls. She did not notice her father's thoughtful stare, nor anything else at all. And if, when she glanced back at the lights of the square before the cart rounded a bend, she noticed the brief flash of purple illumination flickering in farewell, she did not mention it.

Credit to onlyshipleftstanding on tumblr