1711, Opera d'Ghislaine, Kestramore City

       As soon as she took a breath of fresh air, the pain in Catarina's chest alleviated, and she finally let out a sigh of relief.

The cool night breeze gently caressed her hair, as soft as a lover's touch, and she would rather remain outside than to go inside again.

Besides, the city was much more entertaining to watch anyways. There were hundreds of stalls and shops on the side of the road, all exquisitely decorated with bright golden lanterns, and they glittered in the distance like a million fireflies.

Her gaze slowly travelled down towards her long and narrow fingers, tightly wrapped around the cold metal railings.
Catarina had always thought that her fingers were particularly pretty, but as her tutor once said, they were pretty but practically useless.

    She could not play the pianoforte, nor could she paint. She was not bright enough to write rivetting heart rending plays that would suit Cosmina's elite taste, and cooking was definitely not her forte.

Two years have passed since the sweet eggs incident, and she only made one improvement, which is to break the eggs in a bowl before pouring them into the pan. They still ended up as burnt bits anyways.

  No words could describe how much Catarina abhorred her tutor. There must be something that she is good at, something that she has not tried before.

Eventhough she has yet to discover this revolutionary talent of hers, Catarina thought that she was nowhere near as talentless as the tutor made her seem to be. Afterall, being pretty is a talent, is it not?

         "Should I try to sing ?" Catarina murmured to herself. She could still remember Lavinia Olivier's ungodly rendition of Vie Sandr il Amalia in the Prince's piano room, and she was certain that she could do better than that. At the very least, she had to be better than Lavinia Olivier.

After ensuring that there was no one at the balcony other than her, she opened her mouth and began to sing.

       Julian was about to push the balcony door open when he heard the sound of a faint singing.

It was very slow and sweet, unlike anything he had ever heard of before. Julian recognised the song to be Vie Sandr il Amalia, but it sounded very different from what he was used to listening.

          He discreetly pushed the door open, and the singing became all the more audible to him.

And then he saw her, standing all alone at the end of the balcony, her face only barely illuminated by the pale moonlight.

Julian's heart skipped a beat. How could someone be so beautiful ? His previous affections, the ones that he tried to hard to conceal, had begun to resurface.

    Her black eyes twinkled in the dark as she sang to her heart's content, and for once, she seemed to unequivocally happy. And then, those pair of glimmering onyx eyes flickered towards him.

           "Your Highness," she stammered out, eyes wide open in shock, as if she had been caught doing a crime red-handed. "Please forgive me, I did not see you there. You must've suffered listening to my awful voice.."

           "No, not at all," Julian burst out a bit too energetically. "Your singing is perfectly fine, so please, do not stop."

Catarina stared at him, visibly stunned. Silence lingered in the air, and the atmosphere simultaneously felt heavier.

Julian swallowed hard.

And then, she started to laugh. The sound was muffled as she had already covered her mouth with her hands, but Julian could still see how amused she was. Those onyx eyes were curved like a pair of crescent moons, brimming with joy and life.

        "Thank you for comforting me, Your Highness," Catarina chuckled. "But I know that my singing is nowhere near that. Perhaps you should say that to Lady Marguerite le Prince.."

          "Why would I say that to her ?" Julian questioned in return, and Catarina let out an awkward laugh. She had mentioned Marguerite's name out of spite, hoping to incite a reaction out of him, but here he was, pretending to be ignorant.

           "She is a much better singer," she retorted. "I can still remember your duet with her the other day. It was a truly beautiful performance. It is something that would incite both envy and ardent admiration."

           "So what if she is the better singer?"

Catarina let out a scoff, and turned to face Julian, almost seething in anger. "So you agree that she is the better singer ?"

Julian frowned in disbelief, unable to comprehend the absurdity of this situation. "I do not care even if she is best singer in the entire world. Why can't you see, Catarina ?"

Catarina looked away, mumbling under her breath, "But you still admit that she is better than me."

          Those words did not escape Julian's attention. In the spur of the moment, he reached for Catarina's hand, intertwining her fingers with his own.

            "Why can't you see how fond I am of you ?" he spoke, tightening his grip on her hand. "Why can't you see how much I love you ?"

His last sentence came out with a stutter, but the message was clear. He loved her, most earnest and passionately.

Catarina reeled away from him in shock, horrified by his sudden proclamation of love. After all, one does not simply go to the opera and suddenly have a royal prince proclaim his true and unparalleled love to them.

             "And why can't you see that I don't?" she retorted, cruelly and coldly.

            "Your Highness, there is no room in my heart for you, from that night at the academy until now, there had never been, and there never will be !"

And then, she went silent.

       Her explosive temper had dissipated, and now her mind went blank. She had never meant to utter those unnecessarily harsh words, but the deed was done.

Julian stood still in front of her like a statue, his face perfectly void of emotion, but those amber orbs of his were filled with true heartbreak. She felt his grip on her hand weaken, and softly, he let go of her.

        The Crown Prince smiled at her, though his weak smile barely his eyes. "I see," he stated, attempting his best to maintain cordiality. "I apologise for being a disturbance to you."

        "Your Highness, I-" Catarina tried to say something, but she was swiftly cut off by Julian.

        "I shall not bother you any longer. Have a pleasant night, Lady de Fontaine."

Although his words were perfectly pleasant, his tone was far from amiable.
          It was as if he had turned into a creature of ice, and his heart was simply a stone, hard and unfeeling. He spun on his heels and briskly walked off, leaving her alone on that cold balcony.

            She knew that she should be happy for finally having the courage to tell him off, to let him know that she will never accept him in her life, but all she felt in her heart was pain.

          At first, it was dull and throbbing, but it gradually became unbearable, as if someone was continuously stabbing her chest with a red hot sword.

Her dark eyes flickered towards the door that led back to the royal box, the direction where Julian had vanished to.

          "I shouldn't have said that," she murmured softly. "I didn't mean to.. Oh, I shouldn't have said that..."

Perhaps the saying is true. Everyone makes mistakes in life. Some little, some big. Some forgettable, some complicated. And then, there are some mistakes that we would regret forever.
 
     And perhaps, this is it.

She mournfully let go of the metal railings she had been clutching on earlier and let herself fall onto the marble flooring. The wind was cold and stung her skin unceasingly, but she could not care less.

She could imagine how relieved her father and Rafael would be when they find out that she had chased the prince away from her forever.

Catarina was not the brightest girl out there, but even she could tell that neither her father nor her cousin were too keen on her joining the ceremony and quite possibly marrying the prince, which she found rather odd.

Any parent would be ecstatic to know that their daughter had the chance to rise above everyone else and become royalty, but the de Fontaines were different. They became overly protective and cautious, as if the de Lavilliers were a bunch of murderous demons.

    And now she, the resulting product of their hate and prejudice, shall suffer.