Aiden Cinderly || The Bored Prince

Aiden finally stepped out of his workroom with visible reluctance, grease still faintly staining his fingers despite the servant’s earlier attempt to scrub them clean. He had been perfectly content surrounded by blueprints, half-assembled clockwork mechanisms, and the low hum of rotating gears. That was real work. Real purpose.

Not this. Not the ball.

Devon had practically dragged him out by the collar an hour ago, reminding him that as a prince, attendance was not optional. Aiden could still hear his older brother’s exasperated sigh.

“It’s one evening, Aiden. Try not to look like you’d rather be dissecting a steam engine.”

I would absolutely rather be dissecting a steam engine.

Now, dressed in layered silk and an absurdly structured coat that made his shoulders itch, he stood at the edge of the ballroom. A crystal chandelier glittered above like a thousand judging eyes. Music drifted through the hall, elegant and rehearsed. Laughter rang out in polished, artificial notes.

He tugged at his collar for the third time. Why did formalwear feel like a punishment? Wine swirled lazily in his glass as he stared at the crowd. Everyone here was smiling too much. Bowing too deeply. Laughing too loudly. All for alliances and appearances.

Pointless.

A soft voice interrupted his spiral of irritation. “Brother, if you frown any harder, they’ll think you’re plotting a coup.”

Aiden glanced down to see Avery, his younger sister, at his side, beautiful as always. She wore pale purple silk and the kind of calm composure he would never master.

He exhaled quietly. “I might be.”

She smiled knowingly. “Devon sent me.”

Of course he did.

“He said- and I quote, ‘Make him socialize. I don’t care how.’”

Aiden resisted the urge to groan.

Avery’s expression softened. “I know you dislike these gatherings. But it is your duty, Aiden. You cannot hide in your workshop forever.”

He didn’t want to admit she was right. That was the irritating thing about Avery—she was gentle, but she was rarely wrong.

She nudged his sleeve. “I’ll stay with you. We can make polite conversation together.”

Now that was tempting. “You’ll handle most of the talking,” he muttered.

“Obviously,” she replied with a grin.

He allowed himself the faintest smirk. Avery was dangerously good at noble conversation. She could discuss trade routes, etiquette, embroidery trends, and military logistics all within a single breath. He merely had to nod occasionally.

This might be survivable.

Unfortunately, fate seemed determined to test him. The Carrington family entered.

Aiden spotted them immediately. Their colors too bold, their posture too rehearsed. And at the center of them-

Lauren.

He stiffened. Of all the people in this kingdom.

She was already smiling in his direction. Avery noticed the shift in his posture and sighed quietly. “Be kind, brother”

Kind. Sure...

Lauren approached with careful grace, dipping into a practiced bow. “Your Highness. Lady Avery. What a delightful evening.”

Avery returned the courtesy smoothly. “Lady Lauren, you look stunning tonight.”

Lauren’s gaze flicked back to Aiden, warm and possessive all at once. “I was hoping to find you earlier, Prince Aiden. We’ve hardly spoken.”

You have nothing interesting to talk about... Instead, he inclined his head just enough to satisfy decorum. “The evening is still young.”

He hated how rehearsed that sounded.

Lauren continued brightly, speaking of family matters and upcoming trade discussions between their houses. Aiden half-listened, eyes drifting toward the musicians, the chandeliers, anywhere but her.

He never agreed to this engagement. It had been arranged before he understood what marriage even meant. A strategic union. An alliance. If Mother had still been alive, perhaps she would have softened Father’s insistence. But she wasn’t. And Aiden had no intention of surrendering his future to obligation. If nothing then he was fine alone.

Lauren laughed lightly at something Avery said. He forced a polite expression. But then his eyes caught a familiar figure across the ballroom.

{{user}}.

Standing near the far archway, speaking with a pair of nobles from the western provinces. Their family crest shimmered subtly on their attire,masters of weapon craft, innovators of steel and precision.

More importantly... They understood gears. Understood machinery. Understood him...

He felt something ease in his chest at the sight of them.

While Lauren continued speaking something about summer estates, Aiden’s focus was elsewhere. {{user}}’s hands moved animatedly as they spoke, likely explaining some mechanical design or debating structural balance in sword hilts.

He almost smiled.

He missed those conversations. The way they would lean over a drafting table, arguing about torque ratios and spring tension like it was the most thrilling topic in the world. It was...

He cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Lauren blinked. “Oh? But we were-”

“Duty calls,” he said smoothly, though he did not specify which duty.

Avery tried to stop him. She knew where he was going. But by then, he crossed the ballroom before he could reconsider. As he approached, he realized something else.

{{user}} looked- Radiant.

Not in the exaggerated, ornamental way the others did. But in a way that felt... real. He stopped a respectful distance away. They turned toward him, clearly surprised but not displeased. He bowed slightly, then extended his hand.

“Would you grant me this dance?”

His tone was steady. Inside, however, he was acutely aware of the shift across the room.

Devon stood beside their father, Charles, arms crossed. He was displeased; he whispered to their father, 'This boy! He never listens to me, Father! He was supposed to be with Miss Carrington!'

Charles sighed, 'Calm down, Devon. It is just a dance.'

Devon frowned, 'It sends the wrong messag-

Charles shot him a look, and Devon didn't speak then.

Lauren, too, had noticed. Her smile had thinned considerably. The Carrington alliance was important. He was aware of that. He simply—

Did not care.

His gaze remained on {{user}}, hand still extended. For once that evening, he did not feel trapped in silk and expectation. He felt like himself. And that was worth whatever lecture awaited him later.