Barely a day had passed before an imperial messenger—a black Everbloom cattle dog with a perfumed piece of parchment attached to his neck—delivered Mydea’s official invitation to the Empress’ masquerade ball. None of the tea parlor’s staff impeded the messenger’s coming and going, and it strode out into the city’s streets without fear. Deep in the seat of imperial power, it was a grave crime to obstruct the Empress’ orders in any way, and that included delaying those who carried her words.

No animal was as respected in Aelisium, save the guardian geese.

“Yours arrived so quickly,” Lady Abygail of the House Principal Abelle said across from her.

“It’s hardly a contest,” Mydea said, unfurling the parchment, and the pleasant smell of citrus waffed from it. She wouldn’t consider the stoneborn Heartlander a friend per se, but their interactions at Princess Mirah’s party and the days after had been cordial enough. “Yours will arrive any moment now, I’m sure.”

“Kind of you to say.” Abygail blew at her steaming cup before taking a sip. From their table on the balcony, they could overlook the bustling Street of Spellweavers as ladies and gentlemen hurried for their final fittings. Even prior to the Empress’ announcement that morning, the stoneborn already knew a ball would be taking place and each had made arrangements as they saw fit.

“If every ball sees so many gowns made, the seamstresses of Aelisium must be the richest in the Empire,” Mydea said.

“Even compared to those in the Pleopolis?” Abygail asked.

Mydea stirred some of House Holt’s honey into her hibiscus tea. It was garnished with mint too, which according to the server was how the Bloomlings liked to drink it. “House Pleonexia’s deep mines make it the wealthiest in the Empire, but they alone cannot outspend the nobility of the eight eminent regions,” she said.

“That’s true enough, I suppose,” Abygail said. “Have you decided on your dress for the ball then? You haven’t visited any of the shops this morning, so I can only assume you’ll be wearing something you brought.”

Mydea nodded. “It strikes me as far too easy to be recognized if one purchases a dress for the occasion. There are eyes everywhere in Aelisium.”

“Many girls wouldn’t care quite so much about keeping their identities hidden.”

“That’s rather the whole point of the masquerade ball, isn’t it?” Mydea said.

Abygail shrugged. “The purpose varies for everyone.” Her close-set ruby eyes, only made more evocative by the dark powder applied around them, crinkled. “For those keen on marriage, it might be better to have it discovered sooner rather than later.”

“There is a proper time for all things,” Mydea said. “Giving up your secret too quickly makes you easy, not alluring. The art of suspense is sadly lost on such people.”

“Then by going to all this trouble, doesn’t that mean you wish to be courted? By Mister Tomas perhaps?”

“Hardly,” Mydea said. “I go to such lengths because I enjoy the game.” She’d only ever attended masquerades while in the Thalassian Athenaeum, and there was no challenge to be had there when one had spent years studying and studying with the attendees.

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“Perhaps we may even recognize each other at the ball, though I doubt I’m as proficient as you.”

“I shan’t make it too difficult for you,” Mydea said.

Abygail rested her round face on a hand as she leaned forward. “Is that a hint about your dress?”

Mydea nodded. “It will be eye-catching.”

“That’s quite unlike your usual preference,” Abygail said. “Your attire so far has been respectable, if subdued.”

“It is not good to show your hand too early,” Mydea said. If she were to show the best of her dresses immediately, as many ladies would, then she would not even necessarily stand out among the throng. No house involved in the trade of pegasi would be poor, but neither could Kolchis afford to employ an army of spellweavers to keep her newly clothed for months on end like the wealthiest lords and ladies.

Besides, a gorgeous dress like her mother’s required a suitable event to debut in. She’d been too young to wear it when she still attended the athenaeum, and the fashion of the far north tended towards the austere. A masquerade ball hosted by the Empress herself was the perfect occasion.

"I look forward to seeing your dress then," Abygail said. "May even the skyborn be dazzled by the sight of you!"

"May they be dazzled by the both of us," Mydea replied with a courteous smile. "What of your plans? You haven't tried very hard to seek out Tomas these days, but is there another prince you've your eyes on?" As a principal vassal to the Envees of the Heartlands, a lady of House Abelle would not likely be picked as an imperial bride unless the Empress’ youngest daughter, Princess Bethany, had no designs on the throne herself. She was also the only imperial daughter to ignore Mydea rather than scheme against her.

Was that from a lack of ambition? An oversight? Or perhaps the fate of House Kolchis did not matter to the Heartlands? With a shared border, it was obvious why Princess Lille and the Everbloom might meddle with the Deeplands, but that wouldn’t explain why Mirah and the Dunelands were getting involved as well.

Mydea had yet to uncover what exactly made her the subject of interest for so many of the skyborn, but it was undeniable now that they were interested.

“I don’t dare dream so highly,” Abygail said.

The Heartlands are still playing to win then, Mydea thought idly. It really was too early for anyone to walk away willingly from the greatest of prizes, and the Empress ought to have many years in her still.

“We live in a castle on a cloud now,” Mydea said. “Where else can we dream highly, if not here?”

“It is precisely because we are on a cloud that one cannot go too high,” Abygail said. “After all, the higher you are, the greater the fall.”

“It’s good to be sensible,” Mydea said. Too many of the young ladies forgot marriage concerned both affection and alliance, instead of the former alone. “If not to become a lady-consort, then perhaps you seek to become a lady-in-waiting?” It was no small commitment for a family to place one of their own next to a skyborn—a most public declaration of allegiance second only to marriage itself. Much like the imperial consorts, a lady-in-waiting could have the ear of their mistress at all hours of the day should the need arise.

“It would be ideal,” Abygail said. “Besides, it would be an excellent excuse to remain a guest of the Empress and one will never lack for suitors when standing next to a princess.” The skyborn could only take one spouse while vying for the Starlight Crown, and those seeking closer ties would naturally look to those close to the House Imperial. “Do you seek the same thing as I do?”

“Would that I could,” Mydea said. “It’s a great tragedy for the Deeplands that we have no skyborn scion to back.”

Abygail set down her cup of fine bone porcelain—the runes keeping it perpetually warm incorporated within the very design so masterfully it would be invisible to the untrained. “There are other choices. The Empress has four children and two nephews.”

It would commit my house to a side prematurely, Mydea thought. At a time when Kolchis’ place in the Deeplands was still uncertain, and Lord Pleonexia remained uncommitted himself, it was a most dangerous throw of the dice. “I do not gamble when I do not have to.”

Abygail smiled, remembering her words from Princess Mirah’s tea party. “So you’ve said.”

There was barking to be heard, and Mydea tilted her head to see a spotless hearthound and its fluffed tail bound up to Lady Abygail. “Your invitation, I presume.”

After retrieving the message and skimming through it, Abygail nodded and stood. “I must take my leave now. A good day, Lady Mydea.”

“To you as well.”