4

  Mask of a Prince

  A RAPPING ON THE DOOR startled Aurelius out of his accidental slumber. His head shot up from its pillow—which wasn’t much of a pillow as it was a disorganised pile of papers on his desk.

  The prince blinked a few times to rid the sleep from his eyes, then squinted at the double doors to his study. “Come in,” he said, voice hoarser than expected. He cleared his throat, rubbing his neck, and reached for the glass of water nearby.

  Door swinging open, Mira Soreva stepped inside. She wore a simple light blue gown—not as extravagant as that of a noblewoman’s yet it suited her beautifully. However, contrasting to her elegant dress, the aide was far from pleased.

  “Your Highness!” Mira snapped with the exasperation of a nagging mother. “Why are you sleeping hunched like that? If it wrinkles, you’ll have to change. A prince of the empire cannot attend an imperial ball in a wrinkled suit.”

  Aurelius lounged back, yawning, and stretched his arms, resembling a lazy house cat. “How long was I out?”

  “Frankly, not long enough, but you don’t have the time to sleep for longer,” she said, “so please wake up, Your Highness; we have fifteen minutes to reach the east wing ballroom.”

  Aurelius nodded with a sloth’s enthusiasm and pushed himself up from the plush chair, yawning again. Running a hand through his formerly-styled hair, he gave the assortment of documents on his desk a once-over as he reached back in his memory to recall what they were for before collecting each sheet, shuffling them together, and moving the neat pile to the centre of his desk.

  “What are they?” Mira asked.

  “Old case files,” said Aurelius. “I was trying to avoid falling asleep by reading something interesting rather than tedious.”

  Mira chuckled. “And how did that work out for you, my prince?” she teased. “Did you find anything?”

  Shrugging, he walked round the desk to the full-length mirror. “Just laughable hypotheses to occupy my thoughts with.”

  Mira stood beside him while he straightened his clothes and tried to fix his ruffled hair. “Exactly how laughable?” she asked.

  He sent her a look through the reflection.

  “Humour me, sir,” she said, then gestured him to face her. “And allow me—watching you is frustrating.”

  When he obediently turned, she undid his tie to redo it from scratch. Aurelius cracked a smile at the way her brows furrowed and bottom lip jutted out slightly as she focused.

  “I promise to fill you in later,” he said. “All I can say now is I need a request sent to Captain Quilen for that Hailassan killer’s blood sample. We should leave before the nobles kick off the usual gossip channel behind my back.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.” Tie fixed, Mira delicately dusted off Aurelius’s black-gold imperial suit. She stepped back to admire her handiwork with a smile. “I’ll hold you to that promise.” Her gaze met his. “Shall we, then?”

  Returning her smile, Aurelius offered his arm. “We shall.”

  As they made their way to the east wing, Aurelius couldn’t help but mentally plan how his entire evening ought to go if he wanted to get enough sleep before his rescheduled train ride to Veneficia the next morning. He became so lost in thought, brooding to himself, and didn’t realise when they’d reached the ballroom.

  Mira needn’t utter a word. The moment the footman’s gaze landed on Aurelius, his eyes widened and he hastily turned to address the ballroom, blowing his herald trumpet.

  “His Highness the Empire’s Shining Moon,” the footman’s voice boomed, “Grand Duke of Ouranos, the Second Prince Aurelius vel Tsyrenov has arrived!”

  In an instant, every single pair of eyes in the Grand Hall were on the imperial family’s entrance.

  Adorning a serene smile upon his princely mask, Aurelius descended the staircase, his hand trailing the white-gold marble texture of the banister as he scanned the crowd of guests for someone in particular. Mira kept her distance, following two steps behind—as a mere aide rather than a partner, it wouldn’t be appropriate to stride alongside her prince.

  At the last step, Aurelius thought, Here they come. And the corner of his lip twitched to restrain a grimace.

  Squawking and chittering, dressed in their lavish and gaudy gowns of various vibrant colours, the birds of the ball came flocking over to him, curtsying, within seconds. Aurelius was almost impressed by their speed.

  “Oh my! Good evening, Your Highness!” cried Lady Thyrra vel Eiarys of Ouranos—a woman older than the prince, whose House was out of luck and fortune, forcing her to grovel at the imperial family’s feet. “I must say, this is most unexpected but it’s so wonderful to see you, Your Highness.”

  “Truly a pleasure,” Aurelius said with a fleeting smile, though his attention floated elsewhere. Over Lady Thyrra’s shoulder, he spotted the person he was searching for. “Now if you’ll excuse me…”

  Alas, his escape was not easily granted.

  Before he could pass the noblewomen, they thwarted his efforts and formed a “blockade” in his path. Aurelius’s gaze—which betrayed a flicker of his irritation—shifted to Lady Thyrra. He struggled to formulate a polite response out of the words “piss off” circling his mind.

  “Lady Thyrra, perhaps you cou—”

  “Prince Aurelius!”

  Aurelius knew who it was at once but he wasn’t even allowed a second to turn around. That someone bounded up from behind him and slung an arm around his neck, laughing.

  “I thought you’d be on the train to Veneficia by now, Your Highness,” said the newcomer. “Did you change your mind or did someone change it for you?”

  Looking at the dashing young man glued to his side, a sense of relief flooded Aurelius, his tensions easing. “It’s good to see you too, Samun.”

  “Count Dasoia,” Lady Thyrra huffed; arms crossed, chin raised indignantly. “Don’t you think your behaviour is highly inappropriate?”

  “That’s all right,” Aurelius said. “I’ve grown accustomed to the Count’s brazen nature.”

  Samun smiled innocently. “You heard the prince, Lady Thyrra.” He glanced at Aurelius. “Your Highness, might I be brazen again and save you from these lovely ladies?”

  Lady Thyrra’s mouth curved with a contemptuous smile. “Save him?” she scoffed, glaring down her pointed nose. The other ladies beside her looked anxious. “Count Dasoia, what are you implying?”

  Samun laughed. “A jest, my lady; I mean to say our dear prince must be flustered surrounded by such beautiful women,” he said with an apologetic smile. Paired with that perfectly handsome face of his, it was an arduous task for anyone to remain upset. “I’m terribly sorry, but I do have to steal His Highness away for a moment.”

  Before she could think to protest, Samun had already turned the prince around and guided him to a secluded area by the windows, Mira trailing behind them.

  “Careful, Samun,” Aurelius said, facing the stars glittering upon a clear tapestry of night. “Your disdain was painfully obvious.”

  Samun rolled his eyes, leaning back against a marble column. “Haven’t you heard?” he asked, folding his arms. “House Eiarys was declared bankrupt a few days ago. They’re barely clinging to the remnants of their riches.”

  Aurelius hummed. “Is that so?” he said thoughtfully. “Her family must be pressuring her to marry; thus, she’s lowered her sights from my engaged brother to me.”

  “In this lord’s humble opinion, she’s still setting her sights far too high,” Samun muttered, then flicked his wrist to wave away the topic. “At any rate, why the change of plans? You rarely cancel trips.”

  Aurelius visibly deflated.

  Mira—more of an observer than a participant in the conversation—noticed his change in mood, and readily answered, “It’s Prince Adrastos’s doing, my lord.”

  Understanding bloomed in Samun’s dark eyes. “Of course.” A disapproving click of his tongue. “I should’ve known it’d be that selfish juvenile brat—”

  “Count Dasoia,” interrupted an older woman who’d just approached; Semele Vairnes, the very person Aurelius had searched for. “You should be mindful of your words in the imperial palace.”

  Samun jumped from the column, straight as a rigid board. He nervously cleared his throat and shuffled to Aurelius’s side.

  Semele must’ve been one of the few—if not the only—Dasenli natives at the ball. She once held a noble (even royal) title but now attended as the Imperial Mage and a professor of Sarosé Academy. Despite House Vairnes having had their titles stripped, Aurelius bowed respectfully in her presence.

  “Professor Vairnes,” he said, smiling. “I was hoping we’d meet.” He elbowed Samun in the side.

  “Ack!” The young Count copied his bow of respect. “You could’ve just poked me,” he hissed under his breath at the prince, who blatantly ignored the complaint.

  Semele bowed her head to return the formality. “It’s been a while, Your Highness. I was expecting to speak with the Prospect Crown Prince this evening, but I heard he’s departed for Néro? For what purpose?”

  “A leisure trip,” Aurelius said distastefully, as if the words themselves were bitter.

  “Néro?” Samun brightened, having something to bring to the conversation. “Speaking of that fish-rich port, there’s been talk going round that the Black Steel Mercenary docked about a week ago.”

  Semele frowned, adjusting her glasses. “I did not hear of such rumours. Is your source trustworthy?”

  The young Count held a hand to his heart, a pleasant smile dancing on his lips. “I’m a lot of things but an amateur is not one of them, Your Reverence,” he said sweetly. “I wouldn’t be mentioning it if my source wasn’t credible.”

  The Black Steel Mercenary… How long had it been since Aurelius last heard that name? Two years? Three?

  “Has Ylana heard yet?” Aurelius asked.

  “No, and you’re mad if you think I’ll be the one to—” Samun’s gaze drifted as he spoke and, upon spotting someone over Semele’s shoulder, cut himself off short, scoffing. “Speak of the devil, look who’s arrived.”

  Aurelius followed his eye to find that the marquise herself had indeed made her arrival. “Ylana vel Esterova,” he mused. “She’s always fashionably late to these things.”

  “That’s because she knows anything of interest only happens an hour into the festivities,” Samun said, fixing his cuffs, straightening his suit. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I must return to the throng and track down a certain Count Nodarsky.” With a flourish, he threw his coattails behind him and left.

  “Why is he so dramatic?” muttered Aurelius.

  Semele laughed. “You’ve certainly chosen an interesting character as your confidant, Your Highness.”

  He rolled his eyes. “That loon is not my confidant.”

  If anything, he was more—his confidant, his bloodhound for hunting society gossip, his dearest friend. But Semele Vairnes had no business knowing that.

  She smiled. “If you insist.”

  Knowing he hadn’t convinced her, Aurelius sighed. “Shall we talk outside? It’s a bit crowded here.”

  With a nod, the professor followed him to the gilded crystal doors of a nearby balcony. Aurelius held the door open, yet didn’t immediately follow; instead, turning to Mira, he quietly said, “Ensure our privacy.”

  Mira nodded.

  Shutting the door behind him, Aurelius joined Semele at the balustrade, admiring the scenery. Night sky void of clouds, the balcony overlooked a vast imperial courtyard depicting a masterpiece of serenity and loneliness. A light breeze rustling dark topiaries, a tranquil pond, and pretty flower beds that weren’t as vibrant as they could be.

  “How are Feyria and Dominic?” Aurelius broke the silence. “Is the year’s end treating your family well?”

  “Oh, they’re fine,” said Semele. “As always, my dear Fey is too busy with her plants to be concerned with much else. Nic, on the other hand, has been taking interest in the academy.”

  Being an alumnus of Sarosé Academy himself, Aurelius perked up. “Is that so? He’s fifteen, isn’t he? Does he plan to take the enrolment exam?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Semele’s smile was faint; melancholic. “You know it isn’t so easy, Your Highness,” she said, gazing out at the courtyard. “He may be my son but he’s not full aiuren. Sarosé is the most illustrious and prestigious magical institution on the Etrian continent, making it old-fashioned in its ways.”

  Aurelius’s initial delight fell into a frown. Admittedly that issue had slipped his mind, but he knew her words to be right. Even he, with his mixed blood, was only accepted because his father is the Emperor. A fallen noble clan stood no chance.

  “My professor’s on the board of directors. I’ll speak with him when I visit Veneficia tomorrow,” he promised. “There must be something we can work out.”

  Semele shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist,” Aurelius said earnestly, gripping the balustrade. “Dominic is a bright boy. He at least deserves a fair chance.”

  Semele released a small sigh. “There is no dissuading you once you’ve set your mind to something, Your Highness.” She managed another weak smile. “You’ve had that shining determination since you were a young boy.”

  “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “But”—she fixed the glasses on the bridge of her nose—“my children is not the reason why you wanted to speak with me in private, is it?”

  At that Aurelius straightened his posture. “Indeed. There are two matters I’m curious about, Professor Vairnes.”

  She gestured for him to go on.

  “How is the situation up north?”

  Semele had just returned from the Kiotral territories where, under the Emperor’s command, she’d been tasked with repairing their army’s fortress barriers. Officially, the Nriesa Battalion was again defending the northern domain from barbaric warlords. Unofficially, Aurelius knew they were actually subduing an army of insurgents who’d broken out of Askerci Prison.

  The professor grimaced, as if she expected that question but hoped to be wrong. “Frigid and miserable,” she said quietly. “But you must be concerned for your eskan venar. I assure you he’s doing quite well—last I saw of him, anyway.”

  “I’m not worried about the Grand Knight; he’s capable of keeping himself alive,” Aurelius said. “What I am concerned about is the state of my empire.”

  A knowing smile appeared on her face, hazel eyes twinkling. “My empire?” she echoed. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Your Highness.”

  “Am I?” Resting his arms on the balustrade, Aurelius looked out at the gardens—grey and sullen, it didn’t look the same as when he was a child despite the gardeners’ best attempts. “It’s true I’m no longer the prospect crown prince, but I am a son of House Tsyrenov nonetheless.” He turned to Semele, a harsh glint in his golden gaze warning her not to test his authority nor patronise him. “So, as an imperial prince, I inquire of you—what is the situation? How are our men and their morale?”

  Clearing her throat, Semele looked away. “The insurgent forces are ferocious but their resources and numbers limited. They’ve been heavily relying on the difficult terrain and the handful of dominant drakoni among them to hold out against our soldiers.”

  Why fight a losing battle when they could hide deep in the northern mountains, gathering their strength and biding their time? Could they be waiting for something? Aurelius decided it best to keep his faint suspicions to himself.

  “The Grand Captain says the insurgents will have no choice but to surrender or die,” she continued. “He claimed it’ll be over by the next Standstill.”

  Aurelius didn’t doubt that claim. Not only was Q’ai Syun Derevoir the greatest swordsmaster he’d ever encountered, but he was an eskan knight. A celestial descended from the realm of Moreira. He’d fought in wars centuries before Aurelius—or even the Emperor—was born. A rebel uprising was nothing new to a master like him.

  “That brings me to my next question,” said Aurelius. “When is the next Standstill?”

  “My predictions place it on the day of the Rising Sun Ceremony, though it’s subject to change,” she said. “This year’s Standstill feels weaker than four years ago. It should last only a couple hours at most.”

  Aurelius kept his expression untroubled, but underneath his heart trembled. The last time an imperial event coincided with a Standstill—a grave tragedy struck the nation.

  “I see.” He tried to mask his unease. “Does my father intend to postpone the ceremony then?”

  “That”—her eyes met his, a polite smile upon her lips—“I’m afraid I do not know, Your Highness. You must ask His Imperial Majesty yourself.”

  With a burdensome sigh, Aurelius nodded. He thought as much. Professor Vairnes might be the Imperial Mage, one most knowledgeable on the Standstill and other praziu-related phenomena, but that didn’t mean the Emperor would inform her of his plans. After all, he was a man who did not even trust his flesh and blood.

  “If only it were easier for his own son to arrange an audience with him…” Aurelius muttered under his breath.

  Semele had opened her mouth to respond, puzzlement twisting her expression in a frown, when they were interrupted by a loud crow.

  “I said I demand that you step aside, Soreva!” Lady Thyrra snapped at Mira, who remained unfazed, blocking the door. “I’ve an urgent matter to discuss with His Highness, and if you do not move, I’ll have you—”

  “You’ll have her what?”

  Aurelius had just gripped the door handle and was surprised to find that, though he shared the same thought, the question hadn’t left his own mouth. Rather, it was a lady with ink black hair styled in an up-do and a stare colder than any automaton in the Imperial Steel Factories. Marquise Esterova positioned herself between the aide and the troublemaker, crossing her arms.

  “Punished? Fired?” she guessed. “How in Moreira do you plan to achieve that, Lady Thyrra? Last I checked, Miss Soreva is under Prince Aurelius’s employment”—she turned to Mira—“are you not?”

  Mira bowed her head. “I am, Your Serenity.”

  The marquise turned back to Lady Thyrra and lifted a brow, silently provoking her. Aurelius thought it time to step in, lest the ladies create a front-page scandal. He shuddered at the thought.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, stepping out to stand beside Mira. “Why am I hearing talk of my precious aide being dismissed?”

  Lady Thyrra’s eyes widened at the sight of him. “Y-Your Hi–Highness!” she blurted, dipping in a clumsy curtsy. “This servant, she was talking back a-and just being plain rude! I didn’t mean—”

  Aurelius set his jaw. “For starters, Miss Soreva is not a servant; she is my aide. I expect her to be treated as such,” he said calmly. “Secondly, if my aide were to follow any ridiculous order over my own, she’d be doing me a disservice, Lady Thyrra, don’t you agree?”

  “O-of course, Your Highness!” She nodded hastily. “Certainly I didn’t mean for her to disobey your orders, sire; see, I didn’t know what her orders were. It– it was an honest mistake, honest!” As the lady rambled on, she noticed the attention they were gathering and her face began to flush, tightly grasping the sides of her gown.

  Aurelius felt some pity. “Is that so? Then this was just a misunderstanding, I take it?”

  His gaze wandered to the forming crowd of spectators. Whispers spread through the sea of guests like a wave. He briefly wondered what far-fetched rumours and assumptions they were cooking up this time.

  Lady Thyrra looked up, nodding like a wobbling doll. “Yes, sire! A simple misunderstanding, my deepest apologies.”

  “Very well.” Aurelius held his hands behind him. “You should go have a pleasant rest of your evening, my lady.”

  “Run along now, Thyrra,” said Marquise Esterova, shooing her away.

  As Lady Thyrra curtsied to them both, she shot the relaxed marquise subtle daggers, then scurried off, head bowed in embarrassment. The spotlight of curiosity centred on them soon dissipated with her exit.

  Aurelius poked his head out to the balcony where Semele still watched the stars, having paid their theatrics no mind. “Professor Vairnes,” he said, “let’s talk again another time.”

  Semele respectfully inclined her head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  Aurelius returned inside to face the marquise who was busy fussing over his aide.

  “—a horrible wench, really, don’t mind her,” Marquise Esterova was saying. “But you must stand up for yourself, Miss Soreva.”

  Mira smiled politely but said nothing.

  “Your Highness, good evening.” As if just noticing his presence, the marquise gave a belated greeting curtsy. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to Veneficia?”

  Aurelius was getting tired of that question. He sighed. “Good evening, alira Ylana. Thank you for helping my aide avoid a scandal.”

  “Evading the question I see, and it’s more that I helped you avoid a scandal of your aide quarrelling with a noblewoman, no?” Her lips quirked knowingly. “That would surely worsen the rumours that Miss Soreva and Your Highness share a…special relationship.”

  Mira cleared her throat. Aurelius coughed. Though it wasn’t true, he felt flustered hearing it from the shameless marquise’s lips.

  “At— at any rate, have you heard the news?” Aurelius blurted.

  He’d wanted to change the topic and could only think of the Black Steel Mercenary’s return, but upon seeing Marquise Esterova’s expression of confusion, he regretted it instantly.

  “What news?” she asked.

  “You haven’t then.” Aurelius opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again as he discovered a route of escape. “I suggest you find Samun and ask him, I don’t quite know the details.” Excusing himself, Aurelius gave a slight bow and, holding Mira’s hand, dragged her away to the tables.

  After a moment, Mira cleared her throat again. “Your Highness, my hand,” she whispered. “You should let go before unseemly rumours sprout up, it may damage your reputation.”

  Aurelius scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said quietly. “My reputation can survive a few hits, you don’t have to worry about that.” But, despite his words, he did stop by an empty table looking out at the dance floor and released her hand.

  Mira stepped back to maintain a “safe” distance between them, holding her purse in front of her. Even if she wasn’t a noblewoman by blood, Mira’s bearing and elegance outshone most—if not all, in Aurelius’s humble opinion—of the ball’s gossiping crows.

  “Did your talk with Professor Vairnes go well?” Mira asked.

  Aurelius sighed. “It went about the way I expected,” he said, adjusting his suit cuffs. “I thought of asking if she’d seen anything like what happened in Lelis but her expertise doesn’t lie in toxicology, and I don’t yet have evidence to present her with; thus, it’d be pointless to bring up.”

  “From what I’ve gathered her daughter studied medicine and botany in university,” Mira said. “She may be of use if the situation escalates further.”

  Crossing his arms, Aurelius nodded. “And it’s a bonus that she doesn’t partake in society gossip,” he added. “Be sure to send her a cordial letter sometime soon. I may be well-acquainted with her mother but we should form direct relations as well.”

  Mira retrieved a notepad and pen from her purse to jot down the reminder. Meanwhile, looking over her shoulder, Aurelius surveyed the crowd of fanning ladies for a potential dance partner to silence the troublesome rumours concerning himself and his trusted aide.

  One would assume it’d be simple for a prince of his stature to secure a dance partner, but it wasn’t as simple when he had to take into account the kind of women his father might try forcing him into a marriage with. Aurelius’s shoulders fell as he exhaled his disappointment. Why must I even overthink this?

  “I’ll have a care package delivered,” Mira said, having written the reminder down. As she tucked the pen and paper away, she glanced at the prince’s empty hand. “Would you care for a drink, Your Highness?”

  “Hm?” He looked to her, puzzled as he’d been lost in thought. “My apologies, Mira, what did you say?”

  Mira cracked a smile. “Your habit of daydreaming somehow makes you all the more endearing,” she mused.

  Aurelius blinked, heat rising to his face. “P-pardon me?”

  She let out a light chuckle. “I asked if you’d like a drink, my prince.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, sure,” he said, surprised by his own flustered state. He cleared his throat to compose himself. “I am quite parched now that you mention it.”

  Mira nodded, an amused smile tugging at her mouth. “If you’ll excuse me then.” She bowed her head, then left to fetch the prince a beverage.

  After she’d gone, Aurelius shook his head and, collecting the flustered pieces of himself scattered about, corrected his posture before anyone could notice.

  For once, he was completely alone—well, as alone as he could be in a ballroom full of people. But he knew the peaceful solitude wouldn’t last. It was only a matter of time until someone approached him, whether it be for a dance or a favour. His gaze swept the hall again, half-heartedly searching for a dance partner; however, his attention was instead stolen by two familiar knights chatting by a column to his left.

  As always, Raen Harstead and Elyon Vakalyn stood out like a pair of sore thumbs. Unlike the rest of the Imperial Guard, they weren’t pureblooded aiurens. Raen was half vugeord, and Elyon—in the eyes of the purists—was even worse, being a vugeord-agathodaimon hybrid with not a drop of aiuren blood in his veins.

  Raen stood out considerably less than his counterpart. Cropped brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a Hailassan tan—his only “attention drawing” feature were his pointed ears. While Raen could blend in if he slapped a hat on, Elyon didn’t have that privilege. With a glance anyone could see he was of daimonkind. Shoulder-length white hair, half-down half-tied in a bun, accompanied by a pristine silvery dark complexion. His facial features were sharp but narrow, from his nose to his mono-lid eyes. Among the crowd of aiurens, his appearance was uncommon; more like that of an East Aresellian prince than a Chronikian prince’s imperial knight.

  As Aurelius silently approached his knights, they were too immersed in their banter to hear him sneaking behind. How unprofessional, he thought, yet smiled at Raen’s loud laughter.

  It wasn’t proper for regular guards to laugh and chat at an imperial ball as they did, but they weren’t regular guards to begin with. They were Prince Aurelius’s favourite hand-picked knights. Their day job was not to guard the ballroom; they only agreed to because their prince would be attending and he hadn’t given them any other orders.

  “—be robbing you blind tonight, El!” Raen was saying, nudging his friend’s shoulder. “You must be daft if you think the prince—our Prince Aurelius—would ever do that here of all places.”

  Elyon dusted off the shoulder Raen touched. “Call it an agath’s intuition,” he retorted. “I am confident.”

  “Confidence?” Raen cackled. “Remember the last time you were confident in a bet we made? Didn’t go so well, now did it?”

  “You tricked me last time,” Elyon said. “You…you swindling dog.”

  “’Scuse you, a little swindle is how us Hailassans say ‘hello’.”

  “Not Hailassans. Just you.”

  “Insulting me will not win you this bet, El—”

  Slinking between them, Aurelius slung his arms over their necks. “What bet?” he interrupted.

  Raen barely suppressed a yell, jumping away. Elyon flinched—due to surprise or Raen’s loudness, one couldn’t say—but didn’t move an inch.

  “Whe–when did you get here, boss?” Raen stuttered.

  Aurelius smiled. “Just a moment ago. I heard there was something I surely would never do? What is it?”

  Raen hesitated.

  Elyon, however, answered without a second thought, “We made a bet on whether Your Highness will ask Soreva for a dance this evening. Raen said you wouldn’t, I said you would.”

  Raen shot him a glare, mouthing “traitor”. Elyon shrugged in response.

  Aurelius crossed his arms, brows raised. “Sounds like an awfully boring bet,” he said. “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could without incurring Father’s wrath for ‘publicly fraternising with a commoner’.”

  Raen nudged Elyon. “See?” he said smugly. “If our prince did that, he’d no doubt be summoned by the Emperor, and that…that is a terrifying thought.” He shuddered.

  Wait. The gears of an idea suddenly clicked in Aurelius’s mind. Since it’s impossible to have him accept my request for an audience under normal circumstances…

  “Actually,” said Aurelius, a sly smile curving his lips, “that doesn’t sound half bad.”

  “I know.” Raen sighed. “I’m making it sound not half ba— wait, what?” He nearly got whiplash with how fast his head snapped to the prince. “Your Highness, what are you saying?”

  Right then, Aurelius spotted Mira at his table, looking around for him, a shallow glass of cognac in hand. He patted Elyon’s shoulder. “Let’s win you some money, El,” he said, and walked off.

  “This is blatant favouritism…” Raen muttered.

  When Aurelius came into view, Mira’s face lit up. “There you are, Your Highness.” She offered the cognac.

  Accepting it, Aurelius noticed the rest of the guests held chutes of champagne. He’d barely eaten and couldn’t handle champagne on an empty stomach. “Thank you,” he said, genuinely grateful, and took a sip. Then he stared into it, contemplating.

  “Is there something wrong, my prince?”

  Making his decision, Aurelius downed a few gulps and set the glass down. Mira’s eyes widened with confusion and surprise.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” she asked again.

  “Everything is fine,” Aurelius said. “I needed some liquid courage.”

  Her confusion increased tenfold. “What do you…” she trailed off when he held an arm behind him and extended her his right hand.

  “May I have this dance, Miss Soreva?”

  At first, she was—understandably—hesitant to accept. There were countless eyes on them. If holding his hand could lead to rumours, a dance would cause havoc among the nobility. She stared at his hand uncertainly, then met his gaze. Those eyes made of pure sunlight that silently begged her to trust him.

  Mira slipped her hand into his, managing a smile. “I’d be delighted, my prince.”