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“How much do you think this could go for, Emma?” I ask, petting the generous overskirt that is cut down the center to reveal gold ruffles.

Emma analyzes the dress critically, her eyes tracing appreciatively over the excess fabric gathered around the exposed shoulders.

“This bit seems to shimmer more than the others, your highness. Is it-” she cuts herself off, but I already know the answer.

“Is it gold dust? Yes,” I reply proudly.

“Then just that bolt of silk on your shoulders alone could go for 1,000 gold. And these rubies, even cuts, yes, those will fetch a decent sum as well. As long as you don’t ruin the embroidery, the gold thread could buy you a house. Not a nice house, but it would be a house,” Emma analyzes with great speed and precision. Her eyes carry the familiar twinkle they get when she’s near money.

I feel tears prick my eyes at the thought of wearing an outfit worth over 10,000 gold coins. The life of a poor, rich kid is not an easy one.

.....

“It’s a shame,” I murmur, baring allowing myself to touch the evening dress lest my sweaty fingers ruined it with one touch. “What are the odds of, you know...”

I give Emma a knowing look in reference to the time I sold the ugly dresses the empress had sent me for the Spring Ball and made a pretty penny for my troubles. Someone in the room coughed uncomfortably, alerting me to the fact that the dressmaker and her associates were still within my oversized dressing room.

“Ah,” I say, barely managing to hide my embarrassment. “You have all truly outdone yourselves. This is a masterpiece, a very expensive masterpiece. I shall cherish it well. You have my thanks.”

“You look splendid, your highness. Like a precious doll,” Marie sings praises that feel sweet to my ears, unlike the ones my attendants occasionally say to win the favor of a princess.

I spin from the mirror beaming. “Thanks, Marie. Can you do my hair?”

I was assigned a hairstylist, but I still prefer it when Marie is the one who touches my hair. She smiles warmly in return and can see that she is touched. I’m a simple girl, I appreciate those who are sincere to me. Taking Marie’s hand like the child I technically am, I allow her to lead me to a chair where she slowly works her personal brand of magic on my head.

Ribbons upon ribbons of dark green are woven into my hair, which has been pleated into a crown braid. But I don’t revile the look as often as I do. Does this mean I’m going to start playing with the dolls Marie still not so discreetly leaves on my bed and windowsill? No.

A knock sounds on the door. Emma lets them in, revealing a very familiar-looking courtier carrying a blood-red pillow. But this time, he’s brought friends, 10 other courtiers trailing in after him. A maid gives a quick introduction, but I haven’t forgotten about royal treasury quite so soon.

The past insolence and disdain are gone as if they were never there, their faces are nothing but respectful as they introduce the imperial jewels I now have permission to wear. The dinky circlet I was once offered can’t hold a candle to the bejeweled confections resting on the pillows. Tiaras glisten brighter than the afternoon sun, a pair of earrings shaped like teardrops have been fashioned out of pearls the size of my big toe.

Yet somehow, I manage to tear my eyes away and look to those who brought the goods here.

“What’s your name?” I ask politely, looking him in the eye.

I’ve learned a little more about how the palace works and although he wears a discreet uniform, those in charge of the royal treasury are all nobility. With a weasel-like face and dark brows that hang heavy over his eyes, I doubt he is a high-ranking one. But within the palace, connections are everything.

He clears his throat eagerly. “Phillip, your highness. Phillip Laroche.”

My eyes nearly fall out of my face, so wide have they opened. He’s Ms. Laroche’s half-brother? Thinking of the stern woman’s constant frown and bullet-like pointers, I cannot see any resemblance between the two of them.

“Mrs. Laroche! You are her kin?” I ask with false excitement.

Phillip looks nervous but he nods, pleased as can be that there may be a connection between us. It is clear that whatever inbred genes and ignorance plague him passed over my etiquette teacher. But he has seen and heard what the rest of Radovalsk’s elite have. The ravaging of the once-proud Vernice family. The mysterious ability that both the emperor and the Holy Church have high opinions of. And the sudden move from the supposedly cursed Rose Palace to the west wing where the empress traditionally resided.

“Yes, your highness! She is my younger sister. Half-sister,” he adds, testing the waters by initially separating their relationship a little.

I let my smile widen. “Oh! She was my governess in the past. I remember her quite fondly. Do pass on to her my greetings.”

“Of course, your highness. It would be my absolute honor! She has spoken fondly of her days in the palace, I’m certain she misses you very much,” the baron says, fabricating lies with his oily mouth.

I smirk inwardly, but I do want Mrs. Laroche back. She will serve as a good shield to Empress Katya’s “etiquette lessons” and many noble girls by my age have a permanent governess by their side to teach them how to maneuver through high society. Of course, typically their parents would arrange one for them, but I’m accustomed to doing such things for myself.

“It would bring me great happiness to meet with her once more. I am young and have much to learn,” I reply in a humble manner.

The pearl earrings draw my eyes once more and I nod towards the silent servant carrying them. Marie takes the delicate jewelry and waits for me to finish my indirect invitation for Mrs. Laroche to return to the imperial palace.

All the while, the baron chuckles foolishly and grins as if he’s just won the lottery. In a way, we’ve both won. He gets a foot in the door in terms of making a connection with me and I get a potential insider within the royal treasury. Now I have to wait and see if he is useful enough to get his sister back in employment.

If he is, then perhaps there is more sense lying under his daft face than there appears to be. I suppose that would make him just like this gorgeous capital of Radovalsk. Underneath its dizzying wealth and the marvelous wonders told throughout the empire hides an ugliness the romance webnovel barely scraped the surface of. An ugliness I’ve only just begun to dip my toes into.

I don’t marvel at the scenery as I’m escorted to the ball nor do I scoff at the differences between my first ball and second ball. Rather than wandering in as I did for the Spring Ball, I’m being personally led to the designated area where the imperial family members may rest and watch the ball from afar.

Loud laughter first greets my ears within the dim yet sumptuous hallway I’m being led down. I don’t hold Marie’s hand this time, but she walks near me, her presence comforting a part of me that I didn’t realize needed comforting.

The ball is aswing when we arrive into the light-filled balcony above the ball, where we can look at those below and they too can look up at us. Julian slouches in his chair, looking bored as ever in a crisp military suit displaying all his honors. Augustus sits at the center of the balcony beside Emperor Helio. Their heads are bowed together, but I am not sure if they are speaking with one another. Both Empress Katya’s and Julia’s chairs are empty. However, by the time I arrive at the chair clearly designated for me a little further to the side, I can see the entire floor below and the missing persons below on it.

“Greetings, Father,” I say demurely, curtseying before him. His cold golden gaze I’ve inherited meets mine for a few seconds before he nods in response.

Augustus has a cryptic look in his eyes and I wink at him subtly before turning to go to my seat. I can see that my actions in his tent still stick with Augustus to this day. I’ve scarcely sat in my seat before I see Julian scooch his chair over to where I am.

“How do you do, dear sister?” he asks nonchalantly, ignoring the stink eye I throw his way.

“Hello, Julian. Or should I call you by a better name, Traitor?” I ask in return, calmly overlooking the dance floor of swishing ballgowns and overflowing champagne glasses. Eager glances from tittering young ladies are continuously thrown towards the box we reside in, but I’m not silly enough to assume their attention is directed towards me.

“Hey, I’m not-” Julian says, taking offense to my new nickname for him.

“Not what?” I interrupt sharply. Taking a deep breath, I lower my voice. “You entered the dungeon without me.”

I can see in his eyes he isn’t too apologetic and Julian confirms that. “I had to take the chance. We were about to be caught. Would you prefer if we hadn’t even had the opportunity to determine what the Traveler knew?”

“We?” I scoff. “You mean, you. And it sounds like your opportunity was a successful one.”

Julian nods happily, more pleased than a cat that got the cream. “Naturally.”

Hearing confirmation that he got to speak with the Traveler leaves an even worse taste in my mouth. His brush with death does not seem to have frightened him. If anything, my princely brother looks even cockier than before. I feel as if I’m looking at a stranger, his face not carrying any of the prior concern we had over whether the transmigrated weaponsmith had any blueprints or revealed any other key secrets.

Did he not find out anything useful? Or more concerningly, did he find out and now wishes to keep the information to himself?

“Tell me, what or who did you meet down there other than the Traveler? Who put you in a coma?” I veer away from my verbal beat down, the shift to a calmer tone visibly startling Julian.

A shivering servant refills Julian’s glass of wine, sweat dripping down their head due to their proximity to the emperor. They were practically running as they hurried away from the balcony.

“If I knew, I would be rallying some strong men to get revenge.” His mood darkens but Julian answers right away, seemingly eager to put the argument away behind us. “Why? Did you try to heal me?”

“That’s the thing, I did try. But I couldn’t, no matter how much energy I used it just rebounded back and made me throw up. That’s why I need to know what happened in the dungeon,” I say gently, framing my inquiry from another angle.

“Winnie,” Julian says suddenly, a flash of several emotions running through his eyes. He knows something. But the same shiftiness that allows him to overlook his mother’s transgressions fills his aura. “You know I won’t tell you.”

He may be 14 years old physically, but I can see every bit of the cunning of a middle-aged adult within him. And now that I see it, I don’t know how I ever viewed his appearance as innocent when he was knocked out in a coma. The window to his emotions in his eyes shut off, I can see nothing but coldness and my own unsmiling reflection in Julian’s gaze.

He sees this world as a game. And I now I suppose whatever weak conscious allowed him to get along with me initially has finally worn out. In a way, I’m grateful, because any inkling of doubt or guilt at what I will do to Julian go out the window. So I play the first move of my intricate game.

“Julian, everyone thought you were going to die. Everyone,” I tell him flatly like I’m reporting the weather. “The staff in the palace were beginning to prepare your funeral rights.”

The impact of my words pierces Julian’s cool demeanor.

“N-Nonsense! I heard that my odds of waking up were quite good. The imperial doctors were the ones who cured me,” he sputters, before quickly regaining control of himself.

From his end, it must have seemed so, since he just took a nap and woke up in his bed. However the Duvernay family’s willingness to let him die, I want him to dig it up himself. So I leave just that little seed of doubt and rise from my chair, weary of the disappointing conversation. I was an only child and my only insight into what having a sibling was like were Saturday morning sitcoms and my friends whining about theirs. But I think in a way I was beginning to see Julian as a sibling.

The words I told Julian not so long ago about how in wealthy families relationships are superficial have come back to slap me in the face. But looking at Augustus who keeps throwing sheepish glances in Julian and I’s direction, I know that all hope isn’t lost. Don’t I still have another brother to work with, one who’s supposed to be the male lead of this world?

“If you say so,” I sing tauntingly in the face of Julian’s mild outburst. I shrug at him, allowing a knowing glint to shine in my eye.

My vague words are all I leave behind as I retreat from the upstairs balcony without another word, the threads of Julian and I’s tentative friendship unraveling with each step and rewinding into a noose around Empress Katya’s neck. I don’t bother to say goodbye to the emperor as I make a speedy exit to the ballroom floor where unbeknownst to me, the real evening entertainment shall soon begin.