"He saw the hand that will hold it."
Abi stared at me with his stupidly delighted face for a few moments before letting out a soft laugh that blended well with the music.
I didn't know if it was because he was a Jinn or because he had finally shed the metaphorical shell of his long imprisonment, but every sound he made had the odd tendency to draw attention. It was not loud. It was not particularly disruptive either. Still, there was something about it that made people instinctively look over.
How annoying.
I already attracted enough gazes on my own. There was no need for him to add seasoning to the roasted meat.
The Crown Prince, despite the brief moment of interest he had shown in my direction, proceeded with his first dance obediently. He turned toward the lady his mother had subtly chosen and offered his hand with a smile appropriate for the occasion.
The young lady, whose name I vaguely recalled as Lady Evelina of House Rouvier, accepted with an expression that could only be described as a rehearsed blush.
It was not bad. Not convincing enough, but not bad.
She was the daughter of a powerful duke from the central faction. Pretty, graceful, well-trained, and politically convenient. In other words, everything an imperial family would like to parade beside the Crown Prince, provided they did not wish for him to develop anything as troublesome as personal preference.
The musicians guided the hall into a waltz. The dance floor cleared around the pair, leaving them as the brilliant centerpiece of the evening.
A golden prince and a delicate noble flower.
How very picturesque.
How very boring.
I watched them move across the polished floor with a mild smile on my lips. The Crown Prince was a fine dancer. His posture was controlled, his steps precise, and his timing flawless enough to satisfy even the strictest etiquette tutor.
Though, I have to say, his performance lacked sincerity.
That was not a fault, by the way. Sincerity in court was far rarer than Elder Class aura beasts. At least aura beasts had the decency to be honest when they intended to rip someone apart.
Humans smiled first. That's far more troublesome.
"He's looking this way again," Abi murmured beside me.
"I noticed."
The Crown Prince had indeed glanced toward my side. It was subtle, done in the brief turns and shifting angles of the dance, but not subtle enough to escape my eyes.
He did not stare outright. That would have been rude and politically foolish. But once every few measures, his gaze would sweep over the crowd and land near where I stood.
Not directly at me every time. Sometimes at Abi. Sometimes at the space between us. Sometimes, when he seemed certain no one else would notice, at my face.
It was quite an interesting sight.
From where I stood, it seemed he wanted to speak, yet could not. His hands were tied by his role, by the eyes of the court, and perhaps by the very people who arranged this first dance for him.
A prince was never truly free in a ballroom.
A prince was a jeweled bird taught to sing on command.
I raised my glass slightly, not enough to toast but enough to acknowledge that I saw him.
The Crown Prince's steps nearly faltered. Nearly being the operative word.
To his credit, he recovered without embarrassing his partner.
Abi clicked his tongue in admiration. "Not bad. The imperial puppy has training."
"He is the Crown Prince. If he tripped during his first dance, I would begin mourning the future of this empire immediately."
"You were not already mourning it?"
"I am still composing the funeral speech."
Abi's smile widened. "That's really thoughtful of you."
"I am nothing if not gracious."
The dance continued. Around us, whispers bloomed in tiny poisonous clusters.
I caught fragments as they passed.
A son and a brother.
No mother in sight.
The East. Konstantin blood.
May be a hidden marriage.
A barbarian concubine or a northern woman.
I kept my smile steady.
Truly, imagination was one of humanity's greatest blessings and greatest crimes. They barely had crumbs and yet they were already baking a whole cake. A bad one at that. If they were going to drag my name into scandal, the least they could do was season it properly.
A hidden marriage? How uninspired.
A barbarian concubine? Offensive and bland.
A northern woman? At least that one showed effort, considering Spiro's pale complexion before my blood had made itself at home in him.
But still. If The Lady of the Crimson Quill was present, I hoped she was taking notes on how not to write rumors.
As the first dance drew to its end, the Crown Prince guided Lady Evelina into the final turn and bowed with polished courtesy. Applause followed, light and elegant. The emperor looked pleased. The empress looked satisfied. Lady Evelina looked as if she had just secured three seasons' worth of bragging rights.
The Crown Prince smiled and then excused himself.
That, too, was normal.
The first dance was merely ceremonial.
Afterward, the heir could step away briefly to greet important guests, speak with officials, or simply breathe away from the suffocating bouquet of expectations.
Naturally, his movement was noted by everyone pretending not to watch.
I also pretended not to watch. I was significantly better at it than most of them.
"He left rather quickly," Abi said.
"So he did."
"Are we following him?"
"Of course not. That would make us look eager."
"Are you not eager?"
"I am opportunistic. There is a vast difference between the two."
Abi opened his mouth, most likely to say something unnecessary. Fortunately, a small commotion nearby saved me from having to hear it.
A young lady in pale green had stepped backward too quickly after being brushed by another noblewoman's elaborate skirt. Her heel caught on the hem of her own gown. Her eyes widened, and the glass in her hand tilted dangerously.
A faint splash of red wine began to arc through the air.
The direction?
Straight toward a visiting ambassador in white ceremonial robes. Such a truly tragic trajectory.
Not because of the ambassador, though I supposed diplomatic embarrassment would be unpleasant.
No, the true tragedy was that the wine was of decent vintage and did not deserve to be wasted on white fabric.
I moved before thinking.
It was not a dramatic rescue. There was no sweeping motion worthy of a bard's song nor a heroic leap across the ballroom.
I merely stepped forward, caught the lady lightly by the elbow, and with the same motion, took the glass from her fingers before it could properly betray her.
The wine trembled inside the crystal but did not spill.
It was a neat save. It was both efficient and elegant but absolutely accidental.
The lady stared at me with round eyes, her face draining of color before flushing a shade close to the wine I had just saved.
"Y-Your Excellency," she stammered. "I... I apologize. Thank you for saving me."
Saving her? Hah.
That was an overstatement. I had merely prevented a minor social incident.
But if she wanted to be thankful, who was I to reject the feelings of the masses?
"It is nothing. Please be more careful, my lady," I said gently as I handed the glass to a passing waiter.
Her blush deepened.
Wonderful. Now I had done it.
Several people nearby witnessed the event. Fans lifted. Eyes gleamed. Mouths began to itch with gossip.
I could already imagine tomorrow's headline.
The Grand Duke of the East Protects a Wilting Flower.
Terrible. Absolutely terrible.
If that Crimson Quill woman dared write something so tasteless, I would find her printing house and buy it.
Not destroy it. Buy it. The price of it was but mere change.
Then I would replace all her ink with scented water until she learned to respect literature.
The young lady curtsied again and retreated with the assistance of another woman, still flustered enough to stumble a second time.
Thankfully, I was no longer within range to become involved. I had done my good deed for the evening by accident and I refused to be conscripted into another.
Abi leaned beside me with an expression that made my instincts recoil.
"How gallant of you, Duke Skandar."
"Silence."
"You saved a lady in distress."
"I saved the ambassador's robe."
"With such tender timing too."
"It was only a reflex."
"Of course. Your body naturally performs good deeds before your villainous mind can stop it."
I turned to him slowly, eyes cold.
"Abi."
"Yes, dear brother?"
"I will stuff you back into a lamp."
"You already destroyed the lamp."
"I am wealthy. I can afford to commission one."
He laughed. The kind that had 'punch me in the face' as a subtext.
I took another glass from a passing tray to give my hand something to do other than attempt violence against a transcendent being. Again, I did not drink it. There were many useful rules in life, and one of them was never to consume anything offered too freely in a palace.
A moment later, a waiter approached me with a tray of crystal flutes. His expression remained perfectly trained, his eyes lowered, his steps smooth.
At first glance, he was ordinary.
At second glance, he was palace-trained.
At third glance, he was someone carrying a message.
He stopped just close enough to offer a drink.