Her brothers seemed not to have arrived yet. Normally, the Crown Prince of the Empire—and her half-brother—Gares would be standing tall in the banquet hall's center or upon the second-floor dais, surveying the hall below like a sovereign.
And at his side, always, was Aila, radiating elegance and poise.
But tonight… perhaps Aila Roem Gwirta won't be appearing at all.
Talia chuckled softly as she lifted a silver goblet from a small round table.
She remembered the image of Aila collapsing in the middle of the banquet hall, her face drained of all color, and felt a cruel satisfaction bloom in her chest. The way she had vomited wine across the marble floor looked almost as if she were spilling out her very heart.
If only I could truly make it so.
With the sharp tip of her polished nails, Talia scraped against the goblet's surface, producing a shrill, grating sound.
As she recalled the sight of her half-sister convulsing on the ground, she remembered what she had prayed for:
Just die, Aila. Please—never open your eyes again.
"Your Highness."
Lost in her shadowy thoughts, Talia turned her head toward the voice nearby.
A man stood neatly dressed in deep green ceremonial robes, one hand pressed over his chest. His face was familiar.
After a moment, she recalled: he was a figure who often appeared at gatherings her mother hosted. She could not remember his name clearly, only that her mother had once addressed him as Count Serian.
"It has been a long time, Your Highness. You grow more beautiful by the day."
Bowing, the man brushed his lips across the back of her hand. The touch left her with the unsettling sensation of a damp worm crawling over her skin. But Talia forced a smile.
"Did my mother ask you to keep me company?"
"The Empress is always concerned for Your Highness," he replied diplomatically.
"But even had she not requested it, I could not resist speaking to you. Look around."
He leaned close, whispering as though revealing a grand secret.
"Every man here has his eyes on you. Like me, they all long to approach, kiss your hand, and drown you in praise. But they swallow their desires, fearing the Crown Prince's disfavor."
"And you do not?"
"I have already long since earned his hatred," he said with a sly smile.
"Which makes tonight a blessing in disguise. For it is why I was granted the honor of attending to you."
Talia disliked men who pressed in with excessive attention. No—she despised them.
But enduring hundreds of sharp gazes alone was worse than having a convenient shield at her side.
So she accepted his escort with the air of bestowing charity.
"And what did my mother say? 'Please save my poor eldest daughter, doomed to wander like a black sheep'?"
"Her Majesty instructed me only to ensure that Your Highness fully enjoys the evening."
Talia suppressed a derisive laugh.
Count Serian guided her toward the stage near the balcony.
"And she told me to make certain you shine more brightly than anyone in this hall."
The dancers retreated reluctantly, glaring as if their performance had been disrupted. But the count ignored them, bowing low before her.
"Will Your Highness grant me the honor of this dance?"
Talia eyed his soft, uncalloused hand with distaste. She had no desire whatsoever to touch a man she barely knew. But the sharp whispers and sidelong looks from the crowd stirred her defiance.
They'd prefer if I simply vanished. Or stayed quiet in some corner, pretending not to exist.
But I won't.
She placed her hand in his. At once, he drew her close and guided her across the floor with practiced skill.
Though she normally loathed physical contact, even Talia could not help but admire his mastery. Count Serian knew the steps flawlessly and had the rare talent of making his partner shine.
Talia had always loved dancing, but never had her movements felt so graceful. And it wasn't only her imagination.
As the count spun her expertly, she saw it in the crowd: hundreds of eyes following her every turn. The same nobles who had always scorned her, unable now to look away from the imperial bastard child they had once despised.
Talia felt a surge of triumph. In the past, when she appeared in public, people had stolen glances while pretending not to look—expressions steeped in disdain and wariness.
But tonight was different.
Tonight, they looked at her the way they looked at her mother Senevier—with fear tangled with fascination. She felt their gazes cling to her like threads, wrapping tightly around her body.
For a fleeting moment, she was Senevier: the most powerful, dangerous, and beautiful creature in the world.
But her sweet victory was short-lived.
The music cut off abruptly—the true stars of the evening had arrived.
"His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Gares Roem Gwirta, and Her Imperial Highness, First Princess Aila Roem Gwirta, enter!"
At the steward's booming proclamation, the two imperial siblings strode into the hall with majestic poise, descending the marble steps.
And in an instant, Talia was forgotten.
Count Serian offered a rueful smile and guided her toward the terrace laden with wine and food.
"Such a pity to have our delightful moment interrupted."
He spoke lightly, perhaps trying to ease her mood, but she heard none of it.
Her burning gaze was fixed on Aila.
Clad in a pristine white gown, she looked as radiant as ever, as though her recent humiliation had been erased from memory.
Standing gracefully at her brother's side, smiling sweetly, Aila stoked a fire of rage deep in Talia's stomach.
She studied them relentlessly—Aila and Gares—each feature carved in ivory, framed by raven hair and emerald eyes.
Regal dignity and pride exuded from them. A majesty that neither Senevier nor Talia could ever possess.
Senevier, the viper who once dragged a young emperor, hailed as the "Sacred Sovereign," into the mire of scandalous adultery. And Talia—nothing more than the filth that viper bore. Even if Senevier birthed a dozen imperial sons, that truth would never change.
Talia quietly watched as her half-siblings basked in admiration. When she turned back toward the tables, she caught sight of the nobles who had been gazing at Aila and Gares now sneaking glances at her, exchanging subtle looks.
Every nerve in her body tensed. She wanted to gouge out their eyes.
Do not compare me to them.
She forced her face into a mask of indifference, though her fury nearly burst from her chest.
Then the man at her side whispered again, oblivious to her mood.
"It seems the two intend to ignore Your Highness entirely. What will you do? Will you go to them first and offer greetings?"
She shot him a venomous glare.
Amused, he smirked.
"Isn't that why you came here tonight?"
Talia bit her lip.
Indeed, she had come to ruin their perfect evening. To inject discord into their moment of universal adoration. And that was exactly what Senevier would have wanted.
Steeling herself, she seized her wineglass and turned toward her siblings. Then, with resolute steps, she began to cross the hall.
At that moment, Varkas Laedgo Siorcan appeared in the doorway.
Talia froze in place.
Her heart thundered wildly, as though ambushed without warning.
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