It was not, however, odd enough to distract her from the miserable irony of her situation. Her secret friend, a man she had grown to like and respect, had turned out to be the prince. And she was here, at his masqued ball, a mysterious stranger wearing a beautiful dress. If this had been a story, she would simply walk inside, dance one dance, fall in love, marry her prince and be happy forever. Except, of course, this was not a story, and she had not gone to the ball to marry the prince but to betray him.
