The welcoming ball at the imperial palace was scheduled for tonight. It was not the main coronation ceremony yet, merely the first official gathering for the founding festivities.
A prelude, so to speak. A way for nobles to parade their jewels, measure each other's influence, and spit honeyed poison into crystal glasses.
Naturally, I despised it.
Naturally, I had to attend.
What choice do I have?
If one wished to ruin a farce, one must first step onto the stage.
We returned to the Elysian Estate before sunset. The place had become busier in the short span of our absence. Servants moved about with disciplined urgency. Maids carried folded linens to the rooms. Footmen transferred polished trunks.
The head maid supervised the preparation of Spiro's temporary room, though the child would still be staying close to me until his personal knight was chosen.
Spiro watched everything with quiet fascination.
I noticed his eyes following the servants whenever they carried something expensive. Not with greed but with a certain unease.
It was the expression of a child waiting to be told not to touch anything.
How irritating.
Not the child.
The circumstances that shaped such a reaction.
"Everything in this estate belongs to House Konstantin," I said while walking beside him. "And you are Spiro Altan Konstantin. Do not look at the furniture as if it will bite you."
He flushed. "I wasn't."
"You were."
"I just... Everything looks expensive."
"It is."
His face froze.
I smiled gently. "Which is why you should enjoy it properly. Expensive things exist to be used by those who own them. Otherwise, they are just decorative burdens."
Abi nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Like nobles."
I glanced at him.
He looked proud of himself.
Unfortunately, he was not wrong.
Dinner was served earlier than usual because of the ball. The bluefin tuna my parents had sent became the highlight of the meal. Spiro ate carefully at first, cutting small pieces and chewing as if afraid someone would take the plate away from him. Abi, on the other hand, experienced seafood with the grave reverence of a scholar discovering forbidden scripture.
"This fish is impressive," he declared after his third serving.
"Do not develop an addiction," I warned.
"Can food do that?"
"To weak-willed people, yes."
Abi looked at his plate, then at me. "Then I shall be strong after the fifth serving."
"That is not how strength works."
"How unfortunate."
Spiro giggled softly.
The sound was small, almost startled out of him. The moment he realized he made it, he pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze.
I pretended not to notice.
Some things must be allowed to bloom quietly. Tugging at the petals would only ruin them.
After dinner, I left Spiro under William's supervision and prepared for the ball. As much as I would have preferred to bring the child with me and introduce him properly before the entire Capital could twist the story beyond repair, tonight was not the right occasion.
The rumor had already begun. I was sure of it.
A Grand Duke arriving with a child who called him father in broad daylight was not a matter that could be contained. By now, several noble households were probably choking on tea, wine, or their own imagination.
Good.
Let them choke a little longer.
I would confirm Spiro's identity at a moment of my choosing. Not theirs.
For the ball, I chose a formal suit in midnight black with gold accents. The embroidery was inspired by the shifting dunes of Sonomi, flowing subtly along the lapels and cuffs. A mantle rested over one shoulder, pinned in place by the Konstantin crest. The design was elegant without being loud, dignified without being dull.
In other words, perfect.
I looked at my reflection and nodded in satisfaction.
A villain's first impression must be memorable. Beauty was already my natural weapon, but one must never rely solely on divine favor.
Effort mattered.
The door opened without a knock.
I did not need to turn around to know who it was.
"Abi, I will throw something at you one day."
"What a warm household." His voice rang with amusement. "I feel welcomed."
I turned.
Then stopped.
Abi stood by the doorway wearing deep violet robes that looked like night folded around a flame. Silver patterns curled along the fabric, shifting faintly with each movement. His hair, still silver, was tied loosely, and his amethyst eyes glowed with insufferable satisfaction.
He looked otherworldly.
Annoyingly suitable.
Most irritating of all, he looked like he belonged beside me.
A Konstantin by vow, if not by blood.
"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms. "Do I look acceptable?"
"You look tolerable."
His grin widened. "High praise."
"Do not float in the palace."
"I won't."
"Do not call the emperor poor to his face."
"I will try."
"Do not threaten anyone unless I do so first."
"That sounds negotiable."
"It is not."
He sighed. "Human gatherings are full of restrictions."
"Yes. That is why they are unbearable."
When we entered the main hall, Spiro was waiting near the stairs with William. He looked at me, then at Abi, his eyes sparkling in that quiet way of his.
"Father, you look..." He paused, searching for the right word.
"Magnificent?" I supplied.
Spiro nodded earnestly. "Yes."
What a good child.
"Uncle Abi looks pretty too."
Abi's face brightened with absurd intensity. "Pretty?"
Spiro stiffened. "Is that wrong?"
"No. It is perfect. Say it again."
"No," I interjected before this transcendent being could develop another strange fixation. "Once is enough."
William approached and bowed. "The carriage is ready, Your Excellency."
I nodded and turned to Spiro. "Stay with William. Listen to him. Sleep on time."
"Yes, Father." He hesitated. "Will you come back late?"
"Most likely."
"Oh."
His disappointment was brief but visible. It passed quickly, buried under practiced obedience.
I crouched before him once more and straightened the little ribbon at his collar.
"I will check on you when I return."
His eyes lifted. "Even if I'm asleep?"
"Even then."
For some reason, that seemed to settle something in him.
"Then I will sleep properly."
"Good."
Abi watched the exchange with a look I refused to decipher.
We left soon after.
The imperial palace stood at the center of the Capital, a sprawling structure of white stone, gold trim, and magical lights that hovered like captive stars. It was undeniably beautiful, I could admit that much. The architecture was excellent, the symmetry admirable, the gardens manicured to perfection.
Still, it lacked soul.
It was too polished. Too desperate to appear eternal.
The Imperial Palace was a peacock wearing armor and calling itself a dragon.
Our carriage joined the long line of noble vehicles entering through the grand gates. Crests from various noble families gleamed under lantern light. Some carriages were tasteful. Others were crimes against aesthetics. I saw one painted entirely in rose gold and nearly asked the driver to turn back.
Such visual assault should be illegal.
The moment our carriage stopped before the palace steps, the herald's voice rang out.
"His Excellency, Skandar Aleksandr Konstantin, Grand Duke of Sonomi!"
The conversations nearby faltered.
Beautiful.
Silence was the finest carpet.
I stepped out of the carriage with practiced grace, every movement measured, every expression refined. Abi followed behind me, and I heard the subtle change in the crowd's breathing.
Who was he?
Why was he with me?
Was he the rumored companion?
Was he the child's other father?
I could almost hear their thoughts.
How vulgar.
How entertaining.
We ascended the stairs beneath countless stares. Some gazes were curious. Others wary. A few were openly admiring, which was only natural. I could not fault them for having eyes.
At the entrance to the grand ballroom, the herald announced me again.
This time, the entire hall heard it.
Music softened. Conversations thinned. Heads turned like sunflowers seeking scandal.
The ballroom glittered beneath chandeliers dripping with crystals. Noblewomen dressed in silk and jewels stood with fans half-raised. Noblemen clustered like overdressed crows around political bait. Mages from the towers wore robes that announced their arrogance long before their mouths could. Knights stood stiffly near the walls, and servants moved with trays of wine and delicacies.
The scent of perfume struck me first.
I nearly suffered.
Why must they bathe in flowers that had clearly died screaming?
I kept my pleasant expression intact. My mother's teachings once again saved several people from being insulted outright.
"Brother," Abi whispered beside me. "This place smells like desperation and crushed plants."
"Be polite."
"I am being polite. I left out the worse parts."
I took a glass of wine from a passing servant and merely held it. Drinking carelessly in the imperial palace was for fools and people with disappointingly short lifespans.
Our entrance caused the expected ripple. Nobles bowed and greeted me as I passed. Some attempted familiarity. Others tried subtle probing.
"Your Excellency, what an honor to see you grace the Capital again."
"Indeed."
"We were all surprised by your arrival."
"I'm sure."
"And this gentleman is?"
"My brother."
The nobleman's smile cracked.
"Your... brother?"
"Yes."
Abi smiled beautifully. "Abinatha Konstantin."
The poor man looked as if he had swallowed a spoon.
Good.
Let the Capital suffer indigestion.
We continued forward, leaving confusion in our wake. It did not take long before the nobles rearranged themselves around the newest information. A mysterious brother was already scandalous enough. Add the rumored son, and I could practically feel The Lady of the Crimson Quill sharpening her pen from wherever she lurked.
I wondered if she was here tonight.
If she was, then she better write well.
I did not tolerate poor prose even in gossip.
"Your Excellency."
A familiar voice drew my attention.
Marquess Veyron approached with a smile too polished to be sincere. He was one of those court nobles who made a living by surviving every political season without ever standing for anything substantial.
A remarkable talent, if used for anything other than being slimy.
"Marquess," I greeted.
"I was delighted to hear you had arrived safely. The Capital has been buzzing with all sorts of stories." His gaze flickered toward Abi.
"Though I see some of them may be true."
"Stories are rarely true, Marquess. They are merely convenient."
His smile twitched.
I heard Abi chuckle under his breath.
The Marquess recovered quickly. "His Majesty will be pleased by your attendance. The Crown Prince as well, of course. Tonight is a meaningful occasion."
"Is it?"
A dangerous pause followed, then I smiled.
"I mean, of course. The future of the empire must be celebrated properly."
Marquess Veyron seemed unsure whether he had been insulted. Since he lacked the courage to ask, he merely laughed.
Coward.
After he left, Abi leaned closer. "You are enjoying this."
"Don't be ridiculous. I am suffering."
"Your eyes say otherwise."
"My eyes are beautiful. They can say many things."
"That sounds like an excuse."
"Yes. But it is an elegant one."
A soft chime echoed through the ballroom, signaling the imperial family's entrance.
The crowd shifted instantly. Backs straightened and fans were lowered. Other set their wine glasses aside. Every noble arranged their face into devotion.
How disciplined.
How false.
The emperor entered first, dressed in ceremonial white and gold. The empress walked beside him, serene and composed. Behind them came the Crown Prince, the shining centerpiece of the evening.
The future of the empire.
The imperial puppy, as Abi so charmingly called him.
He looked every inch the beloved heir. Golden hair, clear eyes and a noble bearing that had been polished by tutors, servants, and years of being told he was born to inherit the sun.
The crowd bowed. I did what courtesy required.
But as I lowered my head, my fingers brushed the ring on my hand. Within it, hidden by a small spatial mechanism crafted in Sonomi, rested the vial of Vita's Tears.
The deadliest poison.
The tears of life.
A substance that did not kill by destroying the body.
No.
That would be too crude.
Vita's Tears forced vitality into a body beyond what it could endure. It awakened, amplified, and overfed the life force until the vessel collapsed under the weight of its own abundance.
It was blessing twisted into execution.
A perfect poison for a perfect prince.
Of course, I had no intention of killing him tonight. Although, I contemplated about it. I just changed my mind in the last minute.
Beside, where would be the artistry in that?
A corpse ends a story. I was here to begin one.
The emperor gave the usual speech about unity, prosperity, and the glorious future of Yarina. The nobles applauded with identical smiles. This wasn't something new. The Crown Prince stepped forward and received their adoration with practiced humility.
I watched him over the rim of my untouched glass.
Abi's voice slipped into my ear like smoke.
"So, is that the one?"
"Yes."
"He looks boring."
"Most heirs do before they are ruined."
Abi hummed, delighted. "And how will you use the poison?"
I smiled faintly.
Across the room, the Crown Prince accepted a crystal flute from a servant.
Several nobles surrounded him at once. Ladies fluttered around while young lords laughed. A little too boisterously, if I might add. Advisors lingered nearby with watchful eyes.
Hmm. There were too many witnesses and too many variables. Not to mention, there were also too many chances for a crude move to become an inelegant mess.
Good thing I was not crude.
"Patience, Abi," I murmured.
The first dance was announced.
The Crown Prince turned toward the crowd, searching for his ceremonial first partner. The empress subtly gestured toward the daughter of some powerful duke from the central faction.
Predictable. Political. Dull.
Then his gaze swept across the hall and, for the briefest moment, landed on me.
Recognition flickered in his eyes followed by undeniable interest.
Ah.
There it was.
Opportunity, dressed in imperial gold and walking willingly into the snare.
The Crown Prince smiled.
I returned it with flawless courtesy.
Abi laughed softly beside me. "Brother, I think the puppy saw the leash."
"No," I replied, setting my untouched wine aside.
The music began, soft and elegant, curling through the ballroom like the opening line of a tragedy.
"He saw the hand that will hold it."