.

.

.

Ariyoshi Michiko, 19, Ethotaur

Do you remember? Do you remember the last time you did this?

Mika stood at the top of the stairwell, hand frozen on the handrail. Her dress pooled on the stone steps as she stared down at what awaited her. Just a floor below, the chattering voices of the congregated Selected floated up to her.

She didn't. She didn't remember the last time she'd done this. Certainly not since she moved out of her family. Before, then. When? An event. A dinner party, or maybe a ball. Something her mother had organized and then strong-armed her into attending with a single cold hand on her skin that made her burning resistance putter out, replaced by unfeeling compliance.

Smile painted on in lipstick, shoes cramping but elevating, hair styled into ornately braided masterpieces. Sparkling at the throat and wrist and ears—in the corner of her eyes so everything was hazy-bright. Yes, hello, I'm Rin Ariyoshi's daughter. It's lovely to meet you, too.

"Stop," she said out loud, giving herself a hard pinch on the back of her hand. "Cut that out. It's not like that anymore."

Wasn't it, though? Here she was, back among high society, dressed to the nines to please someone else, spending a night playing nice among people who probably hated her before they'd laid eyes on her. What were they whispering about her? The Ethotaurian, the girl who shaped emotion like clay. Rin's daughter, one of the Ariyoshi's.

Mika's knuckles whitened as her grip tightened around the railing. There was no use speculating about it. They would say what they said. They always did. With a deep breath, she began descending the stairs.

The din hushed as she entered. Mika could feel the dissecting stares of the other Selected on her as she glided through the crowd, shouldering her way through the girls in a manner that was just barely polite. She didn't care about any of them, not those annoying Alundish girls or that stupid priest girl with her stupid cards. She only cared about one person.

Sereia Jour was standing to the side, one hand on the pendant around her neck. Her eyes stared blankly out, her expression schooled into one of disinterest, but Mika could see her thumb rubbing circles on the back of that glass pendant.

"Sereia Jour," she called out in Ethotauric, eliciting a sharp turn from the girl. "How are you faring out here all by yourself?"

"Never been better," Sereia said coolly, tilting her head speculatively. "You're Julliet's friend, aren't you? She told me to find you when we got there."

"I looked for you on the train, but I guess I missed you," Mika said, shrugging. "I know I was your sister's friend, but it seems like we should stick together out here, don't you think?"

"I'm inclined to agree," Sereia admitted. "You've probably noticed that they don't like us much here."

"Yeah, no shit," Mika scoffed. She turned to give a scathing glare to the girls watching them talk, and they glanced away, whispers growing even more fervent. Sereia listened to the proceedings with a pinched mouth.

Mika caught sight of her furrowed brow and realized what was happening. She offered a nonchalant hand to Sereia. "You should see us, Sereia, we're a matching set. Looks like the stylists put us in that trademark Ethotaur purple so people know how to avoid us."

"Do you mind?" Sereia asked, already taking her hand.

After a brief second, Mika could feel the faint whisper of another consciousness behind her eyes. Beside her, Sereia sighed, taking in the plum-and-indigo uniform they both wore.

"So they did," she said. "How helpful for the rest of the Selected. Like a warning sign. You're lucky, at least they put you in the nicer dress."

"Maybe I'm the more dangerous one," Mika said wryly. "By the way, did you meet the other Ethotaur girl? Do you know her power?"

Sereia's nose wrinkled. "Yes, but she's not from the central colony. Her name is Alice, she's from the north. So, telekinesis."

Mika simply hummed acknowledgment. There was no question that if the other girl was from the northern colony, she wasn't a friend to them. Just like the southern colonies of death-talkers kept to themselves. Meanwhile, eastern mind-shapers, like Sereia, and the western emotion-singers like Mika were closely politically aligned, merged into the central colony the Primor operated out of. Singers and Shapers could consort without issue, but Talkers or Benders like Alice wouldn't waste time trying to bridge the gaps. They all knew their places.

"Well, who cares," Mika replied, shrugging. "Not like we could understand her through that northern dialect anyway."

From behind them came a tinkling laugh, heralded by a sudden increase in chatter, and both Mika and Sereia turned, curious. Some redheaded girl in a ridiculous dress that looked more like an overturned gold bowl had arrived, with retinue in tow. Mika smirked to herself. Poor, tacky little thing.

"Guess I'm not the only contestant who appears to be blind," Sereia said under her breath, making Mika snicker.

"Queue up, ladies, it's time for your entrance," the princess' secretary called as he hurried over, clapping his hands. "Quickly, now! Move it! The first song is about to end!"

Mika let go of Sereia's hand and she felt the other girl obediently slip from her mind with the loss of contact. Then she hooked a finger around one of the draped sleeves at Sereia's wrist and led her to where the rest of the girls were lining up in a single file. The massive double doors opened in front of them, and then they began to parade into the ballroom.

The rest of the opening was mostly a blur for Mika. The prince spoke, people stared and gossiped, and they drank to the empire. The second the glass had left her lips, the Selected dissolved into the crowd while the musicians started up with a joyful melody.

"Do you think you'll dance tonight?" Mika asked Sereia, whose lips curved into a dry smile.

"Not if I can help it," she replied. "It's hard to be coordinated without eyes."

Mika laughed. "Just borrow your partner's. Who cares, right? It's not like they'd even notice."

"That's not the way of the Order," Sereia said, leveling a flat look at her. "You should know that. Besides, do you think any of the minds out here are actually bearable enough to linger in for longer than a few seconds? Untrained thoughts are the worst."

"Wouldn't know," Mika said with a shrug. "Anyway, I think it's fine. I mean, if they were trained, you'd probably have a harder time getting in."

"I just said that wasn't the way of the Order," Sereia said, voice hardening as her brows furrowed. "This is the surface, Mika, you can't just use your power recklessly, you're going to get yourself and Ethotaur in trouble."

"C'mon, it's just a bit of fun," Mika argued, trying to fight the defensiveness creeping into her voice. "I wouldn't actually hurt anyone. They don't even notice when it happens, there's no harm!"

Sereia's expression was unmistakably disgusted.

"Fine." She smiled, with all the condescension and none of the warmth. "Let me know how that logic works out for you. Wait until you tread in the wrong mind and you get caught. They aren't forgiving about that stuff up here."

"Yeah, I get it, I can take care of myself," Mika snapped angrily. "And just so you know, we're both in this competition. That makes us equals. You don't need to scold me. I'm not your little sister."

She spun on her heel before she could catch Sereia's response, and stalked off in no particular direction. If Sereia insisted on being so high and mighty about her powers, she could go the rest of the night without a pair of eyes to borrow. Served her right for trying to control what Mika did, as if it was any of her business. Why was it that everyone she encountered was so fixated on making her obey their every command? She had more power than most people ever would in their whole lives and she could do whatever she wanted with it. It was no one else's business.

In her blind irritation, Mika became lost in thought and didn't realize she should have been paying closer attention until she was walking straight into a tall, dark figure. She stumbled back, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Pardon," she muttered, already mentally reaching to try and soothe whatever frustration her victim might have been feeling.

"Miss Ariyoshi, we meet again," came the response, and she froze, her power ebbing away before it touched him. Lord Madhavyaditya was looking down at her with unreadable dark eyes, hands tucked behind his back.

"So we do," she agreed, not making eye contact. She wasn't in the mood to scrape and grovel. If he wanted his royal ass kissed, he could find someone else to do it. "Apologies. I'll be on my way."

She made to leave, but before she could disappear into the crowd, he gently caught her shoulder, offering a polite smile.

"I don't suppose I could have a moment of your time," he inquired, eyebrows raising slightly. "Would you like to dance?"

Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach as she stared back at him uncomprehendingly. He wanted to… dance? It seemed like he'd made himself pretty clear in the carriage—he didn't like her. So what was this now? What was the move? Her mind raced trying to dissect the offer. It made no sense. What did he want from her? Was this some kind of twisted power move?

For a brief moment, she debated trying to sway his intention, but then Sereia's words echoed in her head. He'd already caught her once, and let her off with a warning. She didn't really want to know what would happen at strike two.

"I suppose," she said at last, through gritted teeth.

She did the shallowest perfunctory curtsy she could manage, while he bowed ninety degrees and extended a hand, dark eyes glittering with something she couldn't quite decipher.

"I know I might not be the first person you'd want to dance with tonight," Lord Madhavyaditya conceded, leading her through the first steps of a simple waltz.

"I wasn't planning on dancing at all," Mika muttered. Her shoulders were so tense they ached. "But I definitely wasn't expecting you to be the first person to offer."

"I get where you're coming from. The carriage ride was a little tense at the end there," he said with a little quirked smile. "But actually, I wanted to apologize to you."

Her head snapped up so fast her neck hurt. Mika scowled, cheeks reddening. "Is this a joke?"

"Not at all, I wanted to apologize for my behavior back there," he answered, surprised. "Although I stand by the things I said, the manner I delivered them in wasn't appropriate, especially for a first impression. And I failed to acknowledge the cultural differences between the surface and Ethotaur. I should have been more polite, so for that, I'm sorry."

There was a silence for a beat too long as Mika tried to digest that. It didn't make any sense. Why was he being so nice? She must have had something he wanted. But what?

"Well," she said slowly. "I guess I forgive you."

"Great," he said, beaming. "I just want us to get off on the right foot."

That felt like the last straw.

"What's the deal with you?" she blurted out before she could think twice.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I don't get it," she snapped, ears hot. "Why are you being so nice? I'm not going to apologize for what I did, okay? Or whatever it is you want from me. I'm not going to suddenly be your best friend because you apologized."

"I never asked you to," Lord Madhavyaditya said, eyes darkening. "And I'm not here to get anything from you. I just said what I wanted—I want us to get along."

"Right, because the girl from Ethotaur is the first person the heir to Prithvi would want to befriend," Mika laughed mirthlessly. He opened his mouth to reply, but she steamrolled on. "Listen, it's been real great, but I'll save you the time and effort. I don't need your pity, or your fixing, or whatever. My power is mine and I'll use it how I please. Don't waste your charity on me. Have a good rest of your night."

"Miss Ariyoshi, please just—,"

She pulled away from him then and ducked through the rest of the still-dancing crowd, weaving through couples and trying not to cause any collisions. Enough was enough. She needed to get some air.

Mika pushed through the balcony doors, breathing in the way the freezing night air crashed over her. Shutting them behind her, she walked to the edge of the balustrade and leaned over the edge, forearms pressed against the cold stone.

Her magic was awake and seething in the well inside her chest, expanding and collapsing like it was breathing. She breathed in unison with it, savoring the way it seemed to spread like icy lava through her whole chest and arms as she inhaled and shrank back to the well within her ribcage as she exhaled.

As her eyes slid closed, she gradually became aware of a disturbance on the fringes of her consciousness; the psychic equivalent of a polite knock at her mental doors. Warily, she peered out.

Hello, Sereia said in her head. Do you mind?

Why don't you just come out and find me if you wanna talk so bad? Mika thought snippily. I know you know where I am.

I wanted to have this conversation on your terms.

Mika snorted to herself. Great. Now you've got me. What's your point?

Let's not bicker. Neither of us can afford to have fewer allies than we already do, Sereia responded, her mental voice ghosting around Mika's mind. I apologize for crossing the line. I just wanted to protect Ethotaur. These foreigners already think the worst of us, let's not give them more of a reason to hate us.

...Fine, Mika begrudgingly agreed. Sorry for getting mad. You're right about the allies thing. And Juillet would never forgive me if I got her sister to hate me.

Good. I hope your night proceeds well, Mika. I think I'll head to bed early. All these thoughts are tiring me out.

Mika sighed. Good night, then. I'll see you in the morning.

She felt Sereia's mental presence fade out, and her shoulders slumped. Wells. Why were so many people apologizing to her today? It was such a strange feeling.

"Long night already?" a voice from behind her suggested. Mika's shoulders stiffened and she spun around, arms already crossed over her chest.

"Great, another unwanted extra bothering me when I'm clearly trying to be alone," Mika drawled, eyes narrowed. "I don't get why you people keep following me."

"Must be your magnetic charm," Melissandre replied balefully, crossing her arms. Mika realized for the first time how tall she was standing up and mentally seethed at the height difference. "And actually I was just stepping outside for a breath of air. Trust me, I was not seeking you out."

"Right, well, you've had your breath. Now—" Mika made a shooing motion, "—be on your way. I'll spare us both the delight of your company."

Melissandre didn't move, just cocked an eyebrow. "You know you're really doing yourself a disservice by being so unpleasant. The only person you're hurting is yourself."

"Not true," Mika countered. "Based on recent feedback, I've been hurting plenty of other people along the way, thank you very much."

"It's so strange," Melissandre mused, tilting her head.

"What is?"

"You're so prickly," she answered. "You seem to have no grasp of the consequences your recklessness brings you."

Mika's shoulders bunched at the reminder of her failed card reading, face growing hot.

"I have a perfectly fine grasp of consequences," she snarled, hands curling into fists. "You're the one who's reckless. Keep poking the Ethotaurian who can manipulate emotions, I dare you. See what happens."

"I think I will," Melissandre replied coolly. The level blankness of her stare was chilling as her voice dropped to an amused purr. "I'm not afraid of you, you know. I'm about to be a High Priestess of Coranzorre. Do you think I've earned that title lightly?" She leaned in closer, eyes pitch-dark. "Do you think we're even playing in the same league?"

Something in the air had changed. Mika couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but it was huge and scorching-hot and it was coming from Melissandre. The realization clicked as Mika tried to resist the urge to take a step back.

Bloodlust.

It hung thick in the air, reeking of iron and rot. She'd only heard about the stench in rumors, but it was unmistakable now, simmering in the air between them.

Then, as quick as it arrived, it was gone, and Melissandre was offering a brisk smile.

"I'll see you during the competition," she said, turning to go. "And hey, keep trying that defensive child routine. Let me know how it works out for you."

As she left, the strands of pearls and gems draping the skin of her open back glittered in the light of the ballroom. Mika watched her retreating form wordlessly, for once without a snappy comeback.

What was that?

She shivered, recalling the ugly bestial sensation of Melissandre's bloodlust creeping over her skin. Mika wondered why everyone was so worried about mind tricks when this breed of nightmare stuff was walking among them, masked behind elegant jewels and blinding smiles.

As much as it pained her to admit it, Melissandre had a point, just like Sereia. She had to be more careful about who she pissed off. Without knowing the full scale of the abilities of the girls here, it wouldn't be very prudent to go around randomly picking fights. Madhavyaditya alone was already a questionable choice, and she knew Melissandre had been a bad choice. Luckily, she'd saved it with Sereia, or she really would have been screwed.

Rash, ridiculous Mika. Always so sloppy.

The voice infiltrated her thoughts unbidden—so vivid that for a moment she flinched, wondering if somehow her mother had developed the ability to send her thoughts long-distance.

But it was just a memory. Just a reminder of who was waiting for her to fail when she went home. Mika clenched her jaw at the thought.

Just a little longer, then. She'd put up with all the bullshit for just a little longer. Anything to save face—to avoid coming home to her waiting mother and her waiting claws, poised to sink into her at the first show of weakness.

Mika took a deep breath and pressed her cold hands to her cheeks, cursing, not for the first time, that of all the people in the world, hers were the only emotions she couldn't silence.

Liu Lianqi, 20, Haixin

This party was proving to be exceedingly boring, Lian decided, about five minutes into the ordeal.

Her sword-carrying rights had been temporarily rescinded after the train debacle (Lian still maintained she was just exercising caution, but she didn't make a scene about it), and her maids had confiscated said sword from her until after the ball. Of course, she was still carrying no less than three weapons on her person at any given moment, but she did miss the comforting weight of the sword. Covert weapons had never been her strong suit. Certainly, they weren't her first choice in a fight if something did happen. At best, they would buy her some time to get access to a real weapon.

"There she is, that's her," came a familiar voice from behind her. Akira, her mind supplied helpfully as she turned.

"Hey, you must be Lian!" added the girl at Akira's side.

"Akira," Lian greeted politely, bowing slightly. Her eyes swept over the other girls in tow, especially the other one who'd spoken and was now beaming at her. "And company?"

"Yes, this is Nysa, I think you guys are both from Haixin," Akira said with a soft smile.

"Different parts," Lian answered, looking Nysa up and down. That tan, those muscled arms, and that rolling, rural accent—fisherman for sure. "You're from the Islands, right?"

"And you're from the Inner Lake," Nysa responded without missing a beat. "Royal Academy?"

"I was originally from a farming town, but yeah, I've grown up in the Inner Lake for school," Lian replied with a brief nod. She turned her attention to the others. "You. I remember you. The train-jacker."

"Stop saying that, no one hijacked the train," Akira protested. "Celestina, she didn't mean it."

"I'm really sorry about the inconvenience," Celestina whispered, ducking her head ashamedly. "It won't happen again."

Not on my watch it won't, Lian agreed absently to herself. She allowed herself a brief moment to idly fantasize about whipping out the knives stowed up her sleeves.

"And I'm Cyra," added the third girl, her dark eyes shining as she smiled. "We might have met before at an interscholastic event, I went to the Royal Prithvi Academy."

Lian doubted they'd met before—while it was true the Academy often competed with other elite schools throughout the empire, she'd never seen Cyra at any kind of tournament. It probably just meant she wasn't good enough to have competed with Lian and the D1 team from the Academy, and in that case, Lian didn't have too much interest in her. Friends were only fun if they could put up a nice fight. Even Akira had managed to fight off her sword attacks unarmed and unwarned.

"She was helping me pass out the candles," Akira added. "You thought she was a train-jacker securing a perimeter."

That drew a snicker out of Nysa. "You," she said, shaking a finger. "You're funny. I didn't know Academy students had senses of humor."

"I take my duties as a student very seriously," Lian replied, tilting her head. "Do you see our national security as a joke?"

"A little," Nysa quipped with a cheeky grin. "If the nation's security involves wannabe vigilantes accusing Celestina and Cyra of being train-jackers at their own Selection, yeah."

Lian just sniffed and turned away. She hadn't expected an Island girl to understand anyway. Oh well. There was no point in getting worked up.

"Well, what do you all think of the party so far?" Cyra asked the group, glancing around.

"What do you think of the prince so far, more like," Nysa added mischievously, leaning it with a grin. The girls erupted into giggles. "Though it's hard to pay attention when his friends are so charming themselves, am I right?"

"I haven't had the pleasure yet," Lian answered.

"Oh, good, because I'm calling dibs on the lord from Prithvi," Nysa said. "Talk about a tree I'd like to climb."

The girls shrieked with laughter this time and Nysa cackled as Celestina blushed furiously and Cyra put her head in her hands. A mysterious breeze picked up as Akira fanned her face, and seeing them all so flustered made a small smile rise to Lian's lips.

"Just kidding," Nysa assured them, lifting a shoulder. "I know what the Selection's about, and I'm perfectly happy settling for the prince. He's cute, in a sharp way, wouldn't you say? What do you think, Miss Academy?"

"He is… objectively handsome," she said slowly. "But I don't really have much of an impression of him, honestly."

From the very small glimpse she'd gotten of him, she suspected him not to have much of a passion for royal business or the Selection in general, but she needed more time to confirm if that was true or not. Consistency would reveal more about his character than her snap judgments.

"Really, none?" Nysa asked, scrunching her nose. "C'mon, where's the Academy student in you? What about in a fight? D'you think you could take him?"

"The prince would be a fascinating opponent," Lian conceded, tapping her chin. "I've never fought anyone with glass powers before. I hear if it breaks skin, it can interfere with your magic."

"Oh Wells, that sounds scary," Akira said, sobering. "I can't imagine what it would feel like to be without my powers."

"No, I agree with Lian, I think it'd be interesting," Nysa said. "He's supposed to be a great one-on-one dueler—he and his sister both."

"The princess?" Celestina shuddered. "I'd hate to have to duel her. She looks like she could kill me where I stood with the flick of her wrist."

Lian was forced to agree. She wasn't afraid of the princess exactly, but she wouldn't be lining up to fight with her. There was something not quite right with her—an edge that Lian only saw among truly bloodthirsty opponents. It was equal parts alluring and concerning.

"Don't look now," Nysa hissed suddenly, leaning in. "But there's a royal envoy at two o'clock."

A quick surveillance of the scene revealed Nysa's observation to be the approach of Lord Kshatriya of Prithvi and Lord Song of Haixin, both looking dapper in their suits. Lian nodded approvingly to herself, spotting the jade dragon pendant around Lord Song's neck, signifying his rank. Her own Academy-gifted pendant rested at her collarbone, marking her as an honorary courtier due to her enrollment.

"Quick, act casual," Celestina squeaked, shoulders stiffening.

"What am I going to do if he asks me to dance," Nya lamented to herself, squeezing Cyra's wrist tight enough to cut off circulation, while her victim tried to escape her vice-like grip. "I'll faint. Someone will have to catch me. Who's going to catch me? Never mind, he probably will. Oh, mercy me!"

Lian moved a little closer, just in case Nysa really did get weak-kneed. She was ninety percent sure it was a joke, but it would be her second catch of the day if it wasn't.

"Hello, ladies," Lord Kshatriya greeted as they got within earshot. "How are you all feeling tonight?"

"Good!" they chorused.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said with a grin. "I was wondering if I could beg a moment of Miss Cyra's time? For some Prithvian quality time, you see."

"Oh! Certainly," Cyra said belatedly, blinking in surprise. Nysa, Lian noticed in the corner of her eye, was trying very hard not to pout. Cyra accepted his offered hand and they went off to the dance floor without a backward glance.

"What about you, my lord?" Akira asked politely to Lord Song, whose expression was nearly unreadable except for the subtle look he shot at his friend's retreating back, as though he had not planned to be abandoned so abruptly. "How are you faring tonight?"

"Well. Thank you for asking." Just as swiftly as he answered, he turned to look right at Lian and asked just a tad too quick, "May I have this dance?"

Now that was definitely not what she was expecting. Nysa deflated further and Akira subtly patted her hand. Celestina just looked relieved.

"Of course," Lian said, lifting her chin. "It would be my honor."

They stepped onto the dance floor. It wasn't a dance she was familiar with—it wasn't like they had a course on Verelysian dance styles at the Academy—but she was a quick study, and Lord Song led with confidence.

"Liu Lianqi, right?" Lord Song asked, switching easily to Haixinese. Her surprise must have shown on her face because he offered a slight smile. "Ah, your reputation precedes you. I hear you've made quite a name for yourself at the Academy. Captain of the D1 sparring team and ranked 4th in the school overall. That's very impressive."

"Thank you, you're well-researched," she answered evenly. "I'm glad you seem to have heard good things."

"Doesn't seem like there are many other things to hear," Lord Song replied without missing a beat. It took her a moment to realize the meaning of the words, but he was moving on before she could react. "Anyway, I'm, of course, aware of our difference in rank, but I was hoping…we could treat each other as friends at this Selection."

"Friends?" she echoed carefully.

"We are the same age, after all," he offered. "I think it's best to just skip all the formalities and just go by first-name basis."

Lian's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "With all due respect, I don't know if that's appropriate."

"Please," Lord Song said gently. He seemed to search for the words to continue, brow wrinkling. "Despite my—friendship with the prince, I do hope to provide assistance to my nation. I think it's important to be equals here so you feel comfortable seeking my support. Er, you're welcome to call me Anliu, of course."

This was against every rule she knew about how to handle interactions with the Primor's family. However, it was also a direct request from the Primor's son himself. Did that override the rules of courtesy she'd learned? Her mind raced. She couldn't lose face for the Academy by blundering here.

"Very well," she relented at last, trying not to cringe at her own lack of etiquette, "—Anliu. Excuse me if it takes some time to adjust. I don't mean any disrespect."

"Not at all," he assured her. "Try to think of me as a classmate. We did go to the same school, after all."

The statement made her cock her head as she rushed to remember any previous memories she might have had of him. Surely she would have known if they were in the same class, right? "You graduated early," Lian suddenly recalled. "You were two years ahead of me."

"You're early, too," Lord Song replied with a shrug. "Aren't you? Skipped a year, I believe?"

"You skipped three," Lian said, raising her eyebrows. "I hardly think I can compare."

"Skipping three grades on top of being the Primor's son at the Academy wasn't exactly fun and games." The song suddenly changed tempo, and he twirled her neatly before she could stumble. "Skipping any grade isn't exactly fun at the Academy, as I'm sure you can attest."

"It puts a target on your back, of course," Lian admitted. "But that just makes it all the more satisfying to hold your own when people start coming after you."

"I agree," Lord Song said with a smile. "Still, it wasn't easy in the beginning, was it?"

Lian fell silent at that, contemplating her early years at the Academy. Being a farming girl from the Terraces already made her stick out like a sore thumb, and being scouted after causing a village-wide rainstorm (and subsequent flood) basically put her close to the top of every classmate's watchlist. Skipping a grade was just icing on the cake. Yes, safe to say the first few years had been an endless storm of battles to prove herself. But she had. And that was what mattered. The ends justified the means.

What was really strange was Lord Song being so transparent about his own difficulties. How unusual for anyone from Haixin, especially a royal. Wasn't he afraid of losing face in front of her? Right, he was trying to be friends with her, or whatever.

She studied him closely, trying to get a read on what he was thinking behind his perfected poker face. "I suppose it wasn't."

"I don't mean to project my experience on yours, of course, but I personally struggled with it when I was in school. I think...I think we're very similar in a lot of ways," Lord Song said finally. The way he surveyed her with such weight to his gaze almost made her want to fidget. "All of this is just to say that I want you to consider me a friend. I know it's sudden, but this Selection is very important to Haixin and my family. I hope you'll do your best."

"Of course." That was a given. Lian had never not excelled at things she wanted to. This would be no different. But, perhaps inspired by Lord Song's own willingness to be transparent, she softened and added in a quieter voice, "I appreciate your offer. I promise to make use of it."

"That's all I ask," he said. On cue, the song wound to a close, and he stepped back to bow politely. "Best of luck, Lianqi."

That final smiling look he gave her made her stomach tighten in an unfamiliar knot that she would spend the rest of the night puzzling over.

Crown Prince Silas Gaffrey

Silas was grinning to himself as he left the ballroom. He was feeling warm all the way down to his toes and the sweetwater was pleasantly settled in his stomach as he meandered down the hallway, arms swinging by his sides.

All the dancing had brought a sheen of sweat to his skin that had his jacket feeling desperately hot and restricting. He struggled to get out of it, staggering this way and that as his awkward attempts at escape put him off balance.

"Wells, where the hell are the fore cour? Poor four. Four core." Silas laughed at himself and finally managed to shake off his suit jacket, careful to fold it neatly over his arm. "Mads? Fitz? Anliuuu…"

He trailed off as a figure came around the corner, but felt his face shutter as Stelle stepped into the light, the beaded shards of her gunmetal-silver dress glittering.

"There you are," Stelle said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"What?" Silas answered, fighting the heaviness of his tongue. He crossed his arms and tried not to look as tipsy as he felt. "Is there something you need?"

"Just a few things about tomorrow," she said mildly, mirroring his stance. "Training begins at nine."

"Training?" he echoed, nose scrunching. "Wait, so it's true? The Selection is really a fight?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," she corrected with narrowed eyes. "That's certainly an aspect."

"What does that even—? Stelle, c'mon, you're not really making them all fight for my hand like some ridiculous fairytale," Silas groaned. "Be reasonable, what if they don't even know how to fight? What then?"

"Don't worry about that," she said mildly. "I've made arrangements. We'll see how well they can adapt."

"What do you mean, arrangements?" He scowled. "Stelle, what did you do?"

"Nothing." Her lips knifed up in a pleased smile. "I've just had a special guest brought in to train your Selected."

Silas eyed her self-satisfied smirk with suspicion, wracking his brain for what could possibly have her looking so unusually cheery. It must have been something especially nefarious.

He pressed his lips together. "Well, aren't you pleased as punch. Spit it out, then. Who is it?"

"Oh, you'll find out when you see her," she said evasively, examining her nails. "I hope it's a happy reunion, Si. Good night. I'll see you on Friday for sparring."

A thought struck him so quickly that he nearly dismissed it. No. There was no way. And yet, a pit of dread was opening up in Silas's stomach, swallowing him whole. He spun on his heel, feeling sharply sobered.

"Stelle, please don't tell me you've done what I think you've done," he called after her. She stopped in her tracks, and he swallowed, voice catching. "I never want to see her again. If you've brought her back, I won't ever forgive you."

There was a long silence. When Stelle turned, there was something wickedly bright in her glinting eyes.

"Make sure you're at the training arena at nine sharp tomorrow morning," was all she said, her voice soft, but cleaving effortlessly through the tense silence. "And bring your little posse, I think they'll be of some use."

.

.

.

bada~~~ ok FINALLY wrapped up the ball, which means training starts next chapter~! And omg whats this? Thanksgiving break? coming right up? HM hm we shall see if i can get the next chapter out quick!

Thank you for reading it means to much to me! and thank you, as always, to the legend herself, sevenzeroseven, queen of betas, god among clowns.