It’s dangerous to snigger at the court’s royal ball; indeed, it’s death if you’re overheard. Consequently there were no signals for the Prince to pick up on when he inadvertently asked a passing scullery maid for the last waltz. How he could have missed her ill-informed nouveau riche fashion sense and her, erm, not very small feet is a matter for conjecture, but some historians suggest he had mislaid his royal contact lenses.
Surprisingly, nobody was particularly perturbed when the two of them later tumbled together between the royal bed-sheets, apart from the shoeshine boy charged with cleaning her commoner boots.
Written in response to the visual prompt at Rochelle Wishoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers.