The marble hall was heedy with the scent of high spirits. They were already on their third round of oaken barrels by Daphne’s count, and Prince Hadrian only served the finest vintages for his masquerade ball—Ambrosia, Grandgrove Gold, Darkland Red, and even strange concoctions of fruits and spirits. Liveried servants patrolled the room, carrying silver trays of morsel-sized art, ensuring that no one would want for food tonight.

Meanwhile, men and women waltzed to a grand, old melody. One pair in particular had captured a crowd by dancing upon the large fountain in the center of the room, their every step heralding an early onset of frost on the water beneath them. Judging by the quality of their clothes and the magic on display, they could only be stoneborn, though not even Daphne with her eyes could tell who was who for certain. Until one formed a dao principle or was born to a bloodline, one’s qi did not take on a unique flavor.

It was this uncertainty over the dancing pair’s identity that made their display acceptable. From what Daphne understood, petty displays of cultivation were frowned upon as wasteful, much like how an old monster wasting his time on a junior disciple was deemed wasteful.

She leaned against the balcony’s railing behind her, staring up at the moon, full and bright on this night. Tracey was off to the side, waiting on her. She was a guest too, but she had little in the way of friends and with her foreign complexion, even a toad in a well could perceive her true identity.

“What are you doing out here?” asked a man half a head taller than herself. His eyes were a striking silver, like the prince’s and so he could only be the prince.

Daphne curtseyed, but Hadrian waved her off. “None of that now. You’re not supposed to know who I am. That’s the whole point of the ball.”

“Your eyes give it away,” Daphne said.

“Of course they do,” Hadrian said, sighing. “The eyes of Synder Starbright always shine through.”

“Is there no way to hide it away?” Daphne asked.

He shrugged. “Not easily. Perhaps if I stole someone else’s face, but that has its own difficulties, Lady Daphne.”

“You’re not supposed to know who I am,” Daphne repeated. “That’s the whole point of the ball.”

“You’re not exactly trying to hide it, are you?” Hadrian said, tipping his head towards Tracey. “Your servant stands out.”

Tracey bowed her head. “My apologies, my lady.”

“It’s done with,” Daphne said. She was a crane in a flock of chickens after all. There could be no hiding her beauty in a crowd like this, for a gem always reveals itself and cannot help but catch the light. “Give us the balcony.”

Tracey bowed again, and left the pair of them alone.

“I’ve heard,” Hadrian said after Tracey had left, “that you’ve entered the tournament.”

Daphne raised a brow at him. “Is that so surprising?”

“It certainly clashed with what I’d heard whispered about you. Would the lady forgive me for believing such things?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. I like gossip,” Daphne said. “I find out so much about myself that I never knew.” There were still quite a few gaps in her recollection, for there were things not written in any book, nor could be shared from hystor to student. Listening in on the maidservants when they thought no one was around was a valuable source of information for example.

Hadrian waved a manservant down, and acquired from him two tall, slim glasses of Grandgrove Gold. He handed one to her, and for a moment, Daphne considered the drink. Was it laced with aphrodisiacs? As they said, nothing could be done once the rice is cooked.

“It was my mother that told me I ought to consider your hand,” Hadrian said.

Princess-Consort Pauline, Daphne recalled from her readings, was a sister to the current Lord Eminent of the Everbloom. That alone might have been enough if he were any other man, but he was aiming to be the Emperor, and as far as she could tell there was no first wife in the Seraglio, what they called their Imperial Harem. When combined with the fact that it was the consorts who raised the children, Hadrian’s ascension would mean there would be no heir the Everbloom could back without reserve among the next generation, hence the need for an Everbloom wife.

His odds of winning were good too. After all, Hadrian was a hero. More than that, the Everbloom had achieved many breakthroughs after centuries of state cultivation, such that the size of its army cores was indisputably the largest among those in the kingdom realm! More than a match for any two kingdoms on its own.

So this is a courtship, Daphne thought, peering at her drink. And what was a courtship without aphrodisiacs?

“Do you want to marry me?” Daphne asked.

“What I want is to be Emperor,” Hadrian said simply.

How cold! He would use her pure yin body to enhance his cultivation and take the Emperorship that way. “How pragmatic.”

“Its politics. If I want to win, I must be practical,” Hadrian said.

“You are not without choices though,” Daphne said. While she was obviously a beauty among beauties, there were others who might compare to her in looks and standing. Victoria came to mind, but even House External Woode could find a branch daughter suitable for the prince if asked.

“I’m not,” Hadrian said with a nod, “but your family is by far the best one. My sister Lydia is my largest rival, and she draws her support from the Heartlands.” It went without saying that House Greenglade was the largest of the Everbloom’s southern houses and charged with defending against any attacks from the Heartlands. “So let me ask you this: do you want to marry me, and why?”

“I do,” Daphne said. “As to why? It’s simple. I wish to live among the clouds and look down on this world. I want to live in the Imperial Palace.”

“How practical,” Hadrian said.

She smiled back at him. “It’s politics.”

“You don’t care that you’d have to give up your inheritance?” Hadrian asked. “There’s no need for you to risk yourself in power struggles if all you wish to do is exercise power. You have the luxury of being an only child, and have no siblings with which to compete with for heirship.”

“My inheritance is a small matter. How can it compare to the ordering of an Empire?” Daphne asked.

“It will be dangerous,” he warned again. “There are many who would prefer one of my siblings. Not that my odds are not good, but it is not certain.”

“We are stoneborn,” Daphne said. Every arrogant young master and jade beauty knew that, one day, they might face a hero, a real hero. “We already lead lives of danger as a rule. What is a little more for the prize on offer?” If she succeeded, she would have access to the greatest treasures of this realm. Surely her cultivation could only benefit. Besides, it was the fate of any hero to have enemies, just as it was the fate of antagonists to be ants in agony. Adversity could enhance one’s cultivation.

“There can be no backing away once you are committed,” Hadrian said.

She almost scoffed, but gave him face and kept her expression schooled. “How would you describe Syngian the Sage?” she asked instead.

“Wise,” he replied without hesitation.

“To me, he is arrogant,” Daphne said with great admiration.

For the first time that night, Hadrian looked surprised. “That’s not an answer I’d usually hear. Are you saying he isn’t wise?”

“He is that too,” Daphne said, “but arrogance is the highest virtue, and he embodies it.”

“What a unique perspective,” Hadrian said. “Do go on.”

“We worship him as a god now,” Daphne said. “The Divine Syngian has reached the realm of the heavens, an immortal! Man is man, the gods are gods, but for a man to become an Emperor, a god even … does that not require some ambition? Can a man ascend to such heights without the arrogance to defy his mortal fate and cast off those threads?”

“I suppose not,” Hadrian said slowly.

“Of course not,” Daphne said. “Arrogance is what separates us from the strawborn. It is the mark we bear plainly on our souls. So believe me when I say that I have only the highest respect for the Divine Syngian, and for you.”

“To arrogance then,” Hadrian said, toasting.

They drank. He was even polite enough not to spike her drinks with any aphrodisiacs. Already marriage to him was looking better than to a regular hero.