The balcony offered a view that could only be called breathtaking. From where Juvia stood, she could see the ocean waves rolling in and out against the shore, the town of Magnolia glowing with warm windows and lantern light, and ducks, geese, and swans slipping from the pond to settle into their nests among the reeds. Yet, for all its beauty, she found her gaze returning again and again to the sky above. The stars shimmered and scattered across the heavens like a thousand pearls resting in the depths of the sea. They twinkled with a quiet brilliance, as if the night itself were breathing. Juvia thought, with certainty, that nothing in the world could possibly compare to such a sight.

But Gray disagreed. To him, Juvia was far more lovely than any star. She wasn't just beautiful—she was unlike anyone he had ever met. The noblewomen Lahar had once introduced him to had been prim, polished, and predictable, every word and gesture carefully rehearsed. They were elegant, yes, but hollow in a way he could never quite ignore. Juvia was different. She was sincere. Unafraid of being herself. There was a quiet joy in her presence, something modest yet alive, as if she carried warmth even in stillness. And when she looked at him, he could feel something in her gaze—an unmistakable kindness that reached him where few people ever had.

Somehow, he knew she had begun dancing earlier not for to shift the focus away from him, to soften the laughter that threatened to follow his voice. She had understood his embarrassment without a word being said, and instead of judging him for it, she had simply chosen to help in the only way she could. Gray didn't have the words to explain what that meant to him. Only that it left his chest painfully full in the best possible way.

"I want to thank you for that," he said.

Juvia tore her gaze away from the view and looked at him, confused.

"For making everyone forget about my lousy singing," he explained. "Where I come from, music is a way of life. People are judged by how well they can sing. But I can't sing at all. I don't know why—there's just something wrong with my throat. It cracks."

For a moment, his confidence faltered, and embarrassment crept back into his expression.
Juvia reached out without hesitation, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. The simple gesture steadied him more than he expected. He gave her a small smile, one that seemed almost disarming in its warmth.

"My mother once told me something," he continued, as if gathering himself. "Music doesn't just come from your voice. It can also come from your feet."

Juvia blinked at him, clearly puzzled. In response, he took her hand in his.

"Do you like to dance?" he asked.

She hesitated. She didn't know how to answer. She had never danced before—but she had always imagined it.

"Do you know how to dance?" he added.

Juvia shook her head.

"Then don't worry," he said gently. "It's easy to learn. I'll show you."

Before she could second-guess herself, he lifted her hand slightly while still holding it, and slid his other arm carefully around her waist. Juvia gasped softly at the sudden closeness, startled by the unfamiliar warmth of his touch.

"Dancing is a special kind of song," he said softly. "One you can't hear—but you can see and feel."

Juvia's nerves tightened at first, almost like a knot in her chest. She was afraid she might make a fool of herself again, afraid of stumbling or disappointing him. But when she looked up and met those intense yet gentle eyes, her fear faded as if it had never been there at all. In its place was a quiet certainty—she only wanted to follow his lead.

Soon, music from the ballroom drifted out into the night air, spilling across the balcony like a soft current. Gray guided her into a waltz.

He moved with an effortless grace, each step precise and fluid, as though the rhythm lived inside him. To Juvia, he wasn't just dancing—he was telling a story. She could see his "heart-song" in the motion of his feet and the ease of his turns, as if his entire being had become melody, lyric, harmony, and rhythm all at once. Compared to that, every voice she had ever heard felt suddenly small.

Especially when she felt the steady warmth of his arms around her.

At first, she stumbled—once, then again—stepping awkwardly onto his foot. Each time, Gray only gave her a reassuring smile, as if it meant nothing at all.

"It's alright," he said gently. "Everyone does that when they're learning."

Under his guidance, something began to change. Her steps grew lighter, more confident. The floor beneath her no longer felt solid in the same way; it was as if the rhythm itself was carrying her. When she turned, it almost felt like she wasn't touching the ground at all. Her smile brightened, and her eyes shimmered with joy. She was dancing. Dancing beneath the moon and stars, with him. It felt like a dream too delicate to be real.

"You see," Gray said as they moved, "dancing is a language that's felt instead of heard. It says more than any voice ever could. And every step brings you closer to being understood."

Together they glided across the balcony floor, moving as one. Cheek to cheek, step for step, heart to heart—letting the rhythm speak for them where words no longer needed to. To Juvia, it was a lifelong fantasy finally brought to life, so beautiful she could hardly believe it was real. To Gray, it felt as though they had always known this dance—and simply remembered it at last.

For the rest of the evening, the prince danced with no one else. He never once let go of her hand. And whenever another partner approached to invite him, he would only smile politely and say, "This is my partner." Not even the royal princess of Lazan City, radiant in all her splendor, could draw his attention away from the quiet, lovely little mermaiden at his side. With her, he forgot every other woman—forgot even the one whose voice still lingered like a shadow in his dreams.

It was a fact that pleased Ur greatly. It was the happiest she had seen him in a long time. Gray smiled in a way she had nearly stopped believing he ever would again—open, unguarded, alive. Something in him had softened, as if a long-frozen part of his heart had finally begun to thaw. This girl was something special. Ur could see it plainly now. She was warming his icy heart, bringing light back into his eyes and color back into a face.

Watching them together, Ur couldn't help the thought that rose quietly in her mind. Perhaps Juvia hadn't simply entered his life by chance.
Perhaps she had been heaven sent to heal him—to fill his world once again with laughter, warmth, and something dangerously close to joy.

The Sultan on the other hand was furious. In his mind, the prince had not simply overlooked his daughter—he had openly, almost insultingly, abandoned her company in favor of some common girl. How dare he devote hours of attention elsewhere, as though the royal princess of Lazan City were of no consequence at all? It was an affront. To him, to his daughter, and to the dignity of his entire city.

"I don't believe he meant any insult, Father," Lucy said later that evening, trying to keep her voice calm.

"He ignored you for three hours," Jude replied sharply. "Three hours—and not a single word to you? I have never heard of such disgraceful behavior. If I had ever treated a princess like that, I would have been thrown in prison."

"With all due respect, Father," Lucy said, her tone tightening slightly, "you embarrassed him first. You insisted he sing in front of everyone, and it turned out he cannot sing at all. And then everyone laughed at him. They laughed at a prince."

Jude frowned.

"You say his behavior toward me was inexcusable, but what about how everyone treated him?" she continued. "If our people had laughed at you like that, you would have had them beheaded. Which, in my opinion, is a disproportionate response—but you see my point."

There was a pause.

"Well," Jude admitted grudgingly, "I suppose I may have crossed a line there. I'll apologize to him tomorrow morning. But he had better apologize to you."

"I'm not offended," Lucy said quietly. "And to be honest... I'm not sure we should even be here."

Jude's expression shifted.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you see the way he looked at that girl?" Lucy asked. "He looked at her like she was the only beautiful girl in the world."

"Nonsense."

"He did, Father."

"You are a thousand times more magnificent than her."

"Not to him," Lucy said. "In his eyes, I don't think I compare at all. What if he loves her?"

"He doesn't," Jude said firmly. "He is simply being compassionate."

"Forgive me, Father," Lucy replied gently, though her voice carried quiet certainty, "but I think this might be one of those moments where you could be mistaken."

Jude bristled slightly. "Are you saying I am wrong?"

"I mean no disrespect," she said. "But please... hear me out."

Lucy knew she was treading on knives by speaking to her father in such a manner. In their realm, to suggest that the sultan might be wrong could easily lead to severe punishment—even for his own daughter. But Jude, for all his strictness and pride, was not a cruel man. He loved his daughter more than he valued his ego.

"Very well," he said at last. "But mind your words carefully, my daughter."

"Love isn't something that can be measured or studied," she said. "It changes. It's complicated. None of us truly understand how another person's heart works. I just... I don't want to pressure Gray into marrying me, especially if his heart already belongs to someone else. I don't want to take away someone's happiness—or end up with a husband who might resent me."

Jude listened in silence, considering her words.

"I see," he said finally. "There is some wisdom in what you say, and I will keep it in mind before I make any final decision. But you are mistaken if you believe he loves that mute girl. According to the kingdom's reports, he has given his heart to an imaginary maiden he believes saved his life. A girl who does not exist. Therefore, no harm can come from this marriage."

"I suppose..." Lucy murmured, though she did not sound entirely convinced.

"You've had a long day," Jude said, his tone softening. "Go and rest. Things will look clearer in the morning."

"Yes, Father."

She offered him a respectful good night and withdrew—but she did not go straight to bed.
Instead, she stepped out onto the balcony of her room. She often did this when her thoughts grew heavy. Looking up at the stars always seemed to quiet her mind, as if their distant light could untangle what her heart could not.

Tonight, however, the peace did not come easily.
Too many questions lingered. Would Prince Gray truly be a suitable partner for her? Had she made a mistake in coming here at all? And who was the mute girl living in the castle alongside them—and why did she feel so strangely familiar?

But most of all her thoughts drifted to Natsu.
The memory of him surfaced unbidden, warm and persistent. The way he smiled. The ease of his laughter. The strange comfort she always felt around him without quite understanding why.

"What happened to him?" she wondered silently. "Is he angry with me for deceiving him? Could we still be friends? Will I ever see him again? Why do I keep thinking about him more and more?"

She had no answer for that yet. Only time would give it to her. And time, as it would turn out, was already moving far closer to bringing Natsu back into her path than she could possibly imagine.