Page 6 of The Cinderella Prince

I stood at the bar in the furthest, most intimate corner. Before me was a sea of bodies. People moved around, fetching drinks to their tables, passing over the cleared area left for dancing. Some even danced, but most only tapped a foot in the rhythm of the lesser-known samples of the era, swung their hips, or bopped their heads.

My drink of choice was an elderflower spritz with an extra shot of peach schnapps, which the queen running the place had recommended. I was still on my first one when the light-headedness tickled me.

As one song melted into another under the careful mixing of a girl wearing a mix of eighties and punk aesthetics, the atmosphere warmed up.

Although my gaze kept darting to the front door as if I expected someone—truly, I had no reason whatsoever to expect or look forward to a dark-haired, well-built guy I had only ever seen once in passing; that was preposterous—I also scanned the crowd filling the bar. Some of the wall lamps were still on, shedding enough light to reveal the colorful people gathered here.

My whole life, I had been kept from the commonalityof such affairs. In college, attending parties among people closer to my class and status had denied me the experience of simply enjoying myself at a party. Half the time, appearances had been more important than what I felt about the entire affair.Duty always comes first, Alexander said in my imagination.But that is not something you ever understood, little brother.I could even picture the flexing of the muscles in his face as he clenched his teeth. It was like he clung to his duty by his teeth and nails.

He wasn’t the only one I thought of when I thought of the palace. Father’s stern, uncompromising features lending strength to our small, proud nation floated before my eyes, too. Even then, amidst their critical stares and their droning, there was something good. There were Sophia and Maximilian, my younger siblings and the mischief twins of the palace. Well, Maximilian was the prince of chaos these days when I was off duty, while Sophia slowly grew more serious and controlled.

My gaze went over the crowd again. Close to twenty-five years of living on this planet, and I hadn’t had a chance to be just another guy at a bar until tonight. Young men danced with one another, girls made out in shadowy corners, and more than one drag queen glided through the thickening crowd.

Was there a clearer image of freedom? Not one person here worried about the burdens of duty that would weigh them down tomorrow. They simply existed in the moment, in the movement, and lived more in a single night than I had in a year.

As the beat quickened, I found myself tapping my foot and moving my shoulders, albeit awkwardly, to the rhythmof the music. Lights dimmed, and lasers pierced the air and whisps of artificial smoke. The disco ball sparkled brightly, breaking the lights and spinning at a slow, steady pace.

The front door opened, and a couple more guys entered. My heart stumbled, but it was nobody familiar.Why isn’t he here?But I pushed that question aside. I was on the very edge of becoming eerie even to myself. That guy was nobody I knew. To be this eager to catch a sight of him one more time freaked me out, but not enough to hold my gaze firmly away from the door.

And when he entered, shoulders swinging to catch the beat before the door shut behind him, I glimmered as brightly as the disco ball. A pool of white light passed over him from a swirling reflector, and I realized his hair wasn’t as dark as it had been earlier today.He was sweaty from the heat and effort, hair matted and face glowing, I thought. Now, he was in his best, most presentable edition. As he moved through the crowd, his aura beamed like a beacon. He danced like his life depended on it, greeting people along the way between the front door and the bar. It seemed to me he knew every single person in Neon Nights. Except me.

My pulse quickened as the beautiful stranger stood three feet away from me, his hands tapping the bar to match the music. He waited until the bartender looked at him with a bright smile.

I couldn’t hear the order over the music, but the two shifted slightly toward me as the bartender began mixing a drink.

“Where’s Mama Viv?” the handsome one asked. Truth be told, the bartender was handsome, too, but everyonepaled in comparison with the one. His eyes were so warm yet so penetrating. It was like everything he looked at was the most important thing he had ever laid his gaze on.

“Upstairs, getting ready,” the bartender replied.

“Oh, that’s alright, then,” my guy said.

“She was looking for you earlier, Tris,” the bartender said.

My heart leaped. I had a name to put to those naughty, disobedient locks of dark. Tris. It suited him nicely, but I wondered what it was short for. Tristan, no doubt. As I formed his name in my mind, he appeared complete before my eyes. Now I hoped to God it wasn’t Tristopher.

Tris received a mason jar with a swirly straw; the crushed ice filling the jar was glowing lemony yellow, looking slightly radioactive. He picked it up, his arm flexing slightly. I was in heaven right there and then. Wearing a white ribbed tank top tucked into dark grey pleated pants, he rocked a unique and ever so slightly vintage style. His bare arms were the bane of my existence, sculpted muscles rippling from his forearms to his round, bare shoulders, and when he turned to me on his way to the crowd, his expressive, wide-set eyes met mine. In an instant, I memorized every last detail about him. The medium-length hair parting in the middle and repeatedly falling over his eyebrows and eyes, his strong jawline and pronounced cheekbones giving him the chiseled look, and the tiny pout to his full lips. Every single detail took my breath away.

“And now, my fireflies, give us a ‘Yes, Queen’ for the mistress of this den, the true American royalty, our Matron, Lady Vivien Woodcock,” a male voice boomed from the speakers as if announcing a boxing champion.

Tris spun away from me, losing himself in the crowd closer to the stage at the far end of the bar. Lights beamed in the direction of the stage, where a school piano pressed against the wall. A tuxedo-wearing girl sat before it, her back turned to the crowd, and the immense and captivating presence of Lady Vivien emerged from the shadows. She climbed the stage, then brought the house down with a rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” To my infinite surprise, Lady Vivien did not lip-sync but sang and danced her soul out in the three minutes that followed. Accompanied only by the piano, this one song alone was worth my escape from Verdumont and the price I would eventually have to pay.

And when thefirefliescheered for an encore, Lady Vivien raised her hands dramatically and spoke into the microphone. “Welcome, fireflies, to Neon Nights. This evening, the world ends. This evening is the last evening we are on this Earth. And what do we do when we face the long night? We sing, my darlings, and we dance, and we ‘don’t go gentle into that good night.’”

If there was something I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams, it was a drag queen quoting Dylan Thomas while announcing that the world was going to end. Additionally, the cheers from the bar that followed those words were ten times more than I would have expected.

What bohemian heaven have I entered?I wondered. But my time for asking questions and wondering about my past choices was at an end. The world was apparently ending, and all we had left to do was dance.

Tristan

Mama Viv’s hands rested on my shoulders, her long acrylic nails resting on my bare skin. She pressed a kiss to my cheek after I had praised her performance.

“Tell me now, where is Roman? I haven’t seen him all day,” Mama Viv said. She must have known about the youth center, and she must have known Roman would join the protests.

“He’s not feeling like partying,” I said. “It didn’t go well.”

Mama Viv waved her hand as if to tell me she understood every last intricate detail. “Shall I send him cupcakes? I happen to have a few left.”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

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