In the winter castle on the coast of the western sea, there was the usual hustle and bustle for that time of year. Another big ball was to be held; this time, it was a celebration in honor of spring. The coast of the western sea, otherwise warm and sunny, finally yielded to the gusts of winter from the northern regions, so that everything was white as far as the eye could see. It was not exactly ideal for the celebration of spring. Still, Emperor Vatroslav and his imperial family believed that precisely because of this, the people should be reminded of the beauty and exuberance of spring. After all, the spring ball was held every year at this time, and the emperor did not allow the whims of capricious nature to spoil his plans.

Especially for the celebration, the emperor ordered the most beautiful flowers and the freshest fruits from the south to be brought. He wanted everything to shine and be divinely beautiful. His wife, empress Kaliya, in her time one of the most beautiful women in the empire, indulgently smiled and discreetly changed the emperor’s orders here and there. She thought that her beloved husband, although talented in state affairs, was not very gifted when it came to organizing celebrations. But that’s why she was there. The only bright spot in her rather boring royal life were celebrations, so it is understandable that she also wanted everything to look ravishing. Of course, her concept of beauty was very different from the emperor’s, but it seems that this was exactly what made the two of them love each other so much.

The only one in the entire empire who was not looking forward to the spring ball was their son, Tsarevitch Vladislav. Why, no one knew, but the fact remained that he was now in a black phase, so he tended to be bothered by everything frivolous and luxurious. He had his chambers painted black and took the furniture from the attic of the winter castle, already decayed and worm-eaten. His parents worriedly asked him why he hadn’t brought something newer to the room, because after all, a worm-eaten armchair was more dangerous than some, God forbid, assassin. It was enough to throw oneself on it a little bit harder, and one could break an arm or a leg, and not just those belonging to the chair. Not to mention the worst option of breaking one’s neck. Such a thing would be most inconvenient.

At that, the Tsarevitch told them that he did not intend to sit in it anyway and dragged himself to a tatami mat in the corner by the fireplace.

The emperor then declared that he was beginning to regret his own mortality, because one day he would be forced to leave the empire to such a … son (his exact words are best not to cite, because even emperors, despite being emperors, have quite an extensive vocabulary).

In return, Tsarevitch started to hum a death march, which indescribably angered his parents, so they left, leaving the door open.

Vladislav seriously considered painting the white keys on his piano black, but then he concluded that he would not be able to distinguish the notes on the keyboard, so he abandoned the idea.

And so, in the twilight of his room, he thought about the meaninglessness of life. The sounds of the orchestra rehearsing a waltz reached him. He stopped his ears in contempt. He hated people. When he became emperor, he would ban all balls and build a special castle, just for himself, on top of a cliff, from where he could jump when he secured an heir. And maybe even earlier; he hated waiting, too.

What particularly annoyed him was that he would have to lead the first waltz at the spring ball. He began to play a sad tune on the piano with all his might to drown out the sounds of the orchestra. A few years ago, he had entertained the idea of becoming the most famous pianist in the whole empire, but gave up when he realized he had talent. Emperors, in his opinion, should occupy themselves exclusively with things for which they had no talent at all. Like, for example, his father, who was now engaged in decorating the ballroom.

Another thing he dreaded was the girl he had to waltz with in two weeks. In the past, when he was still young and inexperienced, he liked to carefully choose his dance partners and then twirl them into the garden or onto the ballroom terrace, mostly somewhere away from people, and test his seduction skills on them. But, soon, he saw that they would fall into his arms even if he had behaved like an ordinary piece of driftwood, so he gave up on all that in disappointment. There were only a few things left to happen in his life, and that was to be crowned, to be married to a scarecrow of noble origin, to produce an heir, and to perform his spectacular jump from the cliff.

Of all that, he was most eager about the latter.

He left thinking for later and turned to the servant who had entered and was now patiently waiting for the Tsarevitch to notice him.

“Speak, servant!” he said, trying to give his voice that familiar, contemptuous imperial note. He attributed the fact that he sounded like a crow to a cold that had been bothering him for several days.

The servant coughed and said:

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Vatroslav II, your father, has ordered you to go down to the cabinet of his Imperial Highness for a very important conversation.”

“He said it in those exact words?” Vladislav asked, with doubt.

“Well, it sounded more like–go tell that waste of space to come down within five minutes or else,” said the servant timidly.

“Ah, it’s more serious than I thought. Well, tell his Imperial Majesty that I’ll come down as soon as I’m properly dressed. And then come back to help me with it.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

After some time, Vladislav came down and stood before the earnest faces of his parents. His father scowled.

“We have called you to speak on the occasion of a very important event which we hope will take place soon.”

“It’s not that boring ball, is it?” Vladislav asked, worried.

“No, something much more important,” his mother said with a smile.

The emperor continued. “Tomorrow, your cousin, Princess Lydia, with whom you will lead the first waltz at the ball, will arrive at our court.”

“Wonderful!” Vladislav muttered in despair.

“And to whom we’ll get you hitched,” added his mother happily, to which the emperor looked at her in astonishment. “That is, to whom we shall bind you in holy matrimony,” the empress quickly corrected herself.

Vladislav, who was drinking a glass of water in an attempt to moisten his suddenly dry throat, forgot to swallow out of astonishment, which resulted in an indescribable coughing fit and a spray of liquid that splashed his parents.

“Beg your pardon?” he managed to say when he could breathe again.

“Exactly what you just heard. We intend to marry you to Lydia,” the emperor said firmly.

“But don’t I have the right to choose my own wife? You chose mother, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but fate chose her as my wife, and for you, the soothsayer was drunk at birth, and later, God rest his soul, he died. That’s why mother and I decided to help fate a little, and to spare you the effort of searching.”

“And what if I don’t like Lydia, what then?”

“We sincerely hope you will like her, but if you don’t, we’ll find you another one. Just try not to be too picky, because our patience has its limit.” Having said that, the emperor pointed to the door.

Leaving, Vladislav turned and said:

“You won’t get rid of me that easily!”

Thus ended, all in all, an awkward interview, which resulted in the emperor being completely distracted for the rest of the day, and the empress spending the whole afternoon with a cabbage leaf tied around her forehead.

During that time, Vladislav was desperately trying to think of a way to escape this hopeless situation.

That evening, while Tsarevich, reclining in his worm-eaten armchair, was still trying to figure out how to avoid meeting Princess Lydia, the wind broke one of the windows in one of the corridors of the Winter Castle. This was noticed only in the morning, when the wind had already blown a lot of snow through the opening, causing additional work for the servants. Of course, this was not a particularly important fact, especially not in a world like this one, in which magic was something to frighten naughty children with and where fate was told by senile or drunken seers. But what was important, and what nobody seemed to have been able to remember, was that the corridor and the window in question were in the part of the castle located on the leeward side.

Around midnight, a storm started raging, and freezing rain, carried by the wind, noisily whipped the windows. Vladislav woke up from the slumber he had fallen into. He shivered from the cold, approached the fireplace where the fire was smoldering, and held out his hands to warm them.

At that moment, several things happened—the fire in the fireplace went out, one of the decorative lanterns that hadn’t worked in ages alighted, one of the horses in the stable woke up after being bitten by a very inconsiderate flea, and, to his astonishment, Tsarevich turned and saw a very, very old woman sitting in his favorite armchair.

After recovering from the initial surprise, Tsarevich managed to squeeze in a few comprehensible words.

“Excuse me, why are you sitting in my chair?” he said politely.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I maybe stand on it?” said the old woman and quickly straightened up.

Tsarevich muttered something to himself that sounded like “what a nasty grandma,” and then decided to act as anyone else would in a similar situation.

“Tell me what you’re doing here,” he demanded, “or I’ll start screaming!”

The woman smiled.

“You couldn’t scream even if you wanted to. But let me get to the point!” And, saying that, she floated to the other end of the room.

Vladislav really tried to scream and really couldn’t, but that didn’t surprise him much, because he had long suspected that this person was a witch who had come to avenge her cousin, the seer (the same one who had died for unknown reasons after Tsarevitch was born; Vladislav had always thought that the man had died out of fright, when seeing baby Tsarevitch).

Tsarevich whispered:

“It’s not my fault I was ugly when I was little. My own mother barely acknowledged that I was her son.”

“That’s not why I’m here. My name is Matilda. I am the greatest of all the good fairies in this hideous realm.”

Tsarevich breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, if you’re a good fairy, then no problem. By the way, this realm isn’t hideous.”

“I’m here to help you. And, for the record, this realm is hideous. And disgusting.”

“And, in what way can you help me, good fairy Matilda, me, the future emperor of this wonderful realm?”

“Your parents did something against your will, which is not surprising, considering what a disgusting realm they rule.”

“Indeed, they did. But why do you despise this realm so much?”

“That’s why I’m here to help you,” said Matilda. “And I despise this realm, because the people here don’t respect magic at all, which is unforgivable.”

Vladislav’s head was spinning from this conversation, so he said:

“Fine, understandable reasons. Now let’s get down to business!”

“Those were just my words. Let’s get to the point.”

“Well, let’s do it.”

“Of course!”

“So?”

“That goes without saying.”

“What goes without saying?”

“That we should get to the point.”

“Then, let’s get to it.”

“To what?”

“To the point!” exclaimed Tsarevich, running out of patience. Sure, the fairies were useful, but why on earth did they have to be so complicated?

“Ah, so what would you do if you could avoid marrying Lydija?” said Matilda, the fairy.

It felt to Vladislav as though the sun suddenly shone on him.

“I would spend a few more wonderful years enjoying my freedom!”

“That’s what I expected you to say. But, unfortunately, I can’t provide it for you. You see, your parents want to marry you so badly that changing their wishes is impossible, even for a fairy like me.”

Tsarevitch shrugged his shoulders sourly, declaring that he hadn’t had much hope to begin with. “So, what can you change then?”

“One important thing. I can get them to let you choose your future wife.”

“Uh, thanks for nothing.” Vladislav sighed.

“In your present situation, that’s more than enough. And, to sweeten the deal, I will tell you what that drunken seer didn’t manage at your birth—your destiny.”

Tsarevitch, although he did not believe in fortune-telling, still felt a strange chill creep up his spine. Struggling to appear more composed than he felt, he said:

“Very well, let me hear that amazing piece of information!”

The fairy cleared her throat and began:

“He was born for love, though glory calls his name,
And all who know him are drawn to his flame.
Yet joy never comes without a hidden scar.
After the bright morning, darkness waits afar.

Oh, let him take caution, though strong he will be,
For shadows hide horrors that no one can see.
Turn from steel and fire, from water and ice,
Give your heart to love—the sweetest sacrifice.”

While the fairy was saying this, Tsarevitch thought he saw the reflection of a girl in a white dress in the mirror on the wall. But it only lasted a moment.

“There, that’s all,” said the fairy. “I have to go now. Sleep well.”

She smiled and disappeared.

Tsarevich soon fell asleep and dreamed the strangest dream in his life—a dream about a young woman in a white dress whose face he did not see, about monsters he would kill, about seas he would cross, all to win her heart.

The following morning dawned gentle and calm, as if the night had never happened, and silenced even the usually lively court. Vladislav awoke, dazed, wondering whether last night’s adventure had been the result of poor digestion or too much wine. Somehow, he pulled himself away from the warmth of the fireplace and approached the window, shivering from the cold.

He wondered what the purpose of windows actually was. Only to let cold air into the room? His castle, he firmly decided, would not have a single window. And yet the view stretching across the snow-covered shore all the way to the thin line of horizon separating sky from sea made him change his mind. Nature was the creator of the most beautiful, unrepeatable works. That must be why people needed windows—so they could admire them.

He noticed another useful purpose of windows when he looked at the dark, winding line of the road. Several even darker specks were crawling across the plain. Good heavens, it couldn’t be that monster of a cousin of his! They certainly were not wasting any time.

“Horatio!” he shouted.

The servant, who had been dozing in the antechamber, jolted awake and ran to answer his master’s call.

“Yes, Your Majesty!” he said, trying at the same time to straighten his clothes, smooth his hair, and put on his shoes.

“Horatio, come here!”

At that summons, Horatio burst into the room with one shoe in his hand, smiling in confusion.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated, attempting discreetly to slip the shoe onto his foot. At that very moment, the door he had been leaning on swung open, and Horatio stumbled forward, ending up tangled in the curtains of the prince’s bed. Vladislav sighed like a very unhappy man and said to the page who had entered:

“What do you want now?”

“Your Majesty, Empress Kaliya, your mother, has sent you this message.” With that, the page produced an envelope bearing the imperial seal.

“All right, you may go.”

Vladislav cautiously opened the message, which read:

“My beloved son, your fiancée, Princess Lydia, will shortly arrive at our court. I wish you to appear properly dressed and to welcome her suitably.

Your mother.

P.S. No jokes whatsoever about her appearance, her servants, her hairstyle, her manner of speaking… (the list continued across the rest of the page) … and finally, the decorations of the reception hall.”

The prince sighed once more, even more miserably than before, if that was at all possible, and collapsed onto his imperial bed (which resulted in one of the four wooden posts supporting the canopy breaking, with far-reaching consequences for a spider whose web had been located there). It seemed the fairy had not managed to change anything after all. It had probably all been a dream.

“Horatio, bring me some clothes,” he finally muttered between two sighs.

“At once, Your Majesty,” said Horatio, limping to the wardrobe, since his unfortunate shoe had been irretrievably lost beneath the prince’s bed.

The reception hall echoed with the hurried footsteps of bustling servants. The prince reluctantly approached his parents and greeted them.

At that moment, something strange happened—his parents froze and looked toward the window, a cold wind whistled through the room, leaving an uneasy chill behind, and the prince thought he glimpsed the smiling face of Matilda, the fairy. But the very next moment, his parents cheerfully resumed chatting, and everything was as it should be.

The page announced the arrival of the royal family. Empress Kaliya turned to her son with a smile and whispered:

“Don’t look so gloomy. Vatroslav and I have thought it over and decided that you should choose your own wife, after all. It will be wonderful! You shall choose her at the spring ball in two weeks. All the girls will wear masks, and the one with whom you dance the first dance will become your wife. That way, fate will be best satisfied. Now welcome Lydia properly. And smile, for heaven’s sake.”

The prince looked at her in astonishment and then smiled, as requested. So, Matilda had not been a dream. And best of all, she had kept her promise. Now he only had to hope he wouldn’t end up with some monster. And not a princess. They were the hardest to get rid of.

Vladislav, feeling tremendously happy, awaited Lydia’s arrival. The doors opened, and King Rovin and Queen Lisa were the first to enter. He thanked them most ingratiatingly for coming.

Then, Princess Lydia entered.

Tsarevich was studying his fingernails when she approached, and he casually lifted his gaze toward her.

At that moment, he made a tremendous effort to stop his eyes from bulging in astonishment. Before him stood the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life—and he had seen many.  She curtsied, and a black curl fell across her forehead so lovely that Vladislav, gazing into her eyes, forgot to return the greeting.

The emperor cleared his throat, and the empress discreetly nudged Vladislav, so he came to his senses and took Lydia’s hand. Afterward, the royal family withdrew to their chambers to rest until dinner, and the prince retreated to his rooms at the speed of light and threw himself onto the bed (which once again tore apart the newly spun web of the aforementioned spider, who then decided to move elsewhere).

He was enchanted!

He was astonished!

He was hopelessly foolish!

What kind of reaction was that? He was behaving as though he had never seen a female being in his life. One pretty girl, more or less. Big deal.

What Vladislav did not want to admit to himself was that he could hardly wait for dinner time to arrive.