The ball unfolded like a painted dream. Music rose and fell in slow, glittering waves, and the sea of nobles shimmered with movement, silks brushing against marble, jewels catching the candlelight like sparks.
At the dais, beside the Emperor's throne, Jasmine sat at the long imperial table. A crystal goblet rested before her, untouched. Beside her stood Lilian, her quiet handmaid, who seemed as invisible as a shadow despite her bright green eyes watching everything.
Jasmine's gaze wandered over the vast hall. People danced, laughed, and whispered in corners. But even when their eyes turned elsewhere, she could feel them, every glance, every half-hidden look of awe and curiosity, the way they lingered just a little too long before pretending to be polite.
She had grown used to being stared at. But never by so many at once.
It began slowly at first, one man approaching, then another. And then a stream.
The nobles came in waves.
The first to approach were the older lords, men of high rank and good breeding, their robes heavy with medals and chains of office. They bowed deeply, spoke with rehearsed grace, and praised her beauty with words so polished they felt like glass.
"Your Highness," said one duke, his gray beard gleaming with gold threads. "The Empire itself pales beside your radiance tonight."
"The moon envies your light," murmured another.
Jasmine inclined her head politely to each, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
Then came others, younger men, their compliments less refined.
"My lady, I swear the stars themselves dimmed when you entered," one said, his smile too eager.
Another laughed nervously, lifting his glass. "If I were a poet, I'd write an ode to those eyes, though I fear words would fail me."
Lilian curtsied faintly behind Jasmine, her expression politely neutral. Jasmine said nothing beyond a soft thank you or a nod.
But the nobles did not tire. They came one after another, like moths drawn toward flame.
A baron's wife clasped her hands together. "Such grace, Your Highness! You must allow me to paint you someday. The court artists could never do justice to your likeness!"
A count spoke next, smiling as though charmed by his own cleverness. "If beauty were a weapon, Your Highness, the Empire would have no need for soldiers."
Several laughed at that. Jasmine did not.
Minutes blurred into an hour.
Every compliment began to sound the same, every metaphor of stars, moons, roses, dawns, all blending together into one dull hum of noise. Some nobles grew bolder, their words veering dangerously close to crude flattery.
A young lord, cheeks flushed with wine, leaned too close as he spoke. "Forgive me, Princess, but one could drown in eyes such as yours."
Lilian stepped forward sharply. "My lord, the Princess thanks you for your words," she said, her tone calm but firm.
The young man blinked, then stepped back with an awkward bow.
Jasmine let out a quiet sigh.
By now, her expression had not changed in the slightest. It remained composed, polite, but empty, a porcelain mask of civility.
At last, when another noble began to approach, she rose from her chair.
The sudden movement startled him into stopping mid-step.
"Excuse me," Jasmine said softly. "I need some air."
The noble immediately bowed and stepped aside, murmuring apologies.
Lilian followed as Jasmine slipped through the crowd. Heads turned to watch her pass. Conversations faltered. Her silver gown swept softly behind her, trailing moonlight across the marble floor.
She moved toward the side doors that opened onto the palace balconies, her every step deliberate, graceful, silent.
The night air met her like a balm.
Cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain from the mountains. The sky was dark and vast above the city lights below, the stars half-hidden by clouds. From here, the sound of the ball was distantmuffled laughter, faint music, and the endless hum of voices she had just escaped.
Jasmine exhaled slowly, almost a sigh of relief.
Her shoulders relaxed. For the first time that evening, she closed her eyes.
Freedom, however brief, was still freedom.
She had barely been there for a minute when Lilian, who had stayed a respectful distance behind her, spoke quietly.
"My lady," she said, "if I may… the nobles of your age are approaching."
Jasmine's eyes opened, her brow furrowing slightly. "Of course they are." The obnoxious little brats who called themselves young noble masters.
Turning her head, she saw them through the open doors — a cluster of young men and women, no older than she, moving toward the balcony in a mixture of excitement and hesitation.
Her face twisted ever so slightly in displeasure. "Wonderful," she muttered under her breath. "My worst fears have come true."
Lilian suppressed a smile. "Perhaps if Your Highness would not frown, it might help."
Jasmine gave her a sharp look. "Help with what?"
"With their impression," Lilian replied gently. "If you seem hostile, they will think you are unapproachable. It would be best to appear neutral, at least."
"I do not care what they think," Jasmine said flatly.
"Maybe not," Lilian said, lowering her voice, "but your actions reflect not on you alone, my lady. They reflect on your father, on your brothers, on the imperial family itself."
Jasmine's lips pressed together.
"I know," she muttered finally.
Her frown eased. Her face returned to that careful, distant calm — neither warm nor cold, simply unreadable.
Lilian tilted her head slightly. "A smile would do wonders."
"I am not in the mood for false smiles."
"I know that too."
Jasmine said nothing.
Her expression remained still, almost serene, though a faint glimmer of irritation flickered in her eyes.
And then the first of her peers arrived.
They stepped onto the balcony, the night breeze catching the silks of their cloaks and gowns. There were perhaps a dozen of them — sons and daughters of dukes, counts, and generals, every one of them dressed as if trying to outshine the other.
Leading them was Arlen Valmere, the blond-haired young noble who had spent the last hour convincing himself that he was in love. His friend Leon trailed beside him, already regretting letting him drink so much courage.
Arlen bowed deeply, his hand over his heart. "Your Highness," he said with an easy smile, "forgive our intrusion. The hall felt empty without your light."
Jasmine blinked once, expression unchanging. "The hall seemed quite full to me."
Lilian stifled a quiet laugh behind her hand.
Arlen straightened, smile flickering. "Ah — yes, of course. What I meant was—"
Another young lady stepped forward, eager to interrupt. "Your Highness, allow me to offer congratulations on your birthday," she said sweetly. "The Empire rejoices to see you bloom."
"Thank you," Jasmine said politely.
A third spoke next — the son of a marquess, cheeks pink with nervousness. "Forgive me, Princess, but I must say… your presence tonight has outshone even the chandeliers."
"Indeed," said another, louder. "The stars themselves must envy you, Your Highness!"
And then, as if a switch had been flipped, the rest began to speak too — each one trying to outdo the last.
"The dawn would hide in shame if it saw you."
"Your hair gleams like the night sky itself."
"Your voice could soothe dragons."
"Your skin—"
Lilian cleared her throat sharply before that last one could continue.
Jasmine's patience was wearing thin.
She gave polite nods to each, but her eyes were beginning to glaze over. Every compliment sounded the same, every smile felt hollow. It was as though the entire court had decided to compete in a contest of flattery, and she was the unwilling prize.
Arlen Valmere tried once more, stepping closer than the rest. "Your Highness," he said, his tone softer, "I mean no offense, but none of them truly capture it. Words can't describe what it's like to see you up close. I—"
"—should be careful with your words," Jasmine interrupted lightly.
He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Too much praise begins to sound like mockery," she said.
Her voice was quiet, calm, but it cut through the laughter that had started among the others. A few of the noble youths shifted uncomfortably.
Leon — Arlen's friend — gave a low cough, trying to ease the tension. "Her Highness speaks wisely," he said quickly. "We've been… overenthusiastic, perhaps."
Jasmine tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Perhaps."
For a moment, silence settled over the group. The night breeze stirred the edges of her veil.
Then she sighed — softly, barely audible. "You are all very kind," she said at last. "But I do not wish to keep you from your dancing. Please, enjoy the celebration."
It was polite dismissal, clear as crystal.
The noble youths exchanged glances. Some looked disappointed, others relieved.
Arlen hesitated, as though he wanted to say more — but the look Lilian gave him was enough to silence even his bravado.
He bowed again, forcing a smile. "As you command, Your Highness."
One by one, they retreated back into the hall, their laughter resuming the moment the doors closed behind them.
For a long while, Jasmine remained where she was, gazing out over the city lights below. The stars were faint now, hidden behind drifting clouds.
Lilian stepped closer. "You handled that well," she said quietly.
"I told them to leave," Jasmine said.
"Yes," Lilian replied with a small smile, "and they listened. That's more than most princesses could manage without causing offense."
Jasmine made a faint sound — somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
"Was I truly so unpleasant?"
Lilian hesitated. "No, my lady. You were… composed. Though perhaps a touch cold."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes," Jasmine said simply. "Better they think me cold than something to chase."
Lilian's expression softened. "You'll have to face more of them in time. Suitors, allies, rivals. It's the way of court."
"I know."
Jasmine turned her gaze back to the horizon. Her eyes, in the starlight, glimmered faintly red. "But tonight, I would rather face the cold air than their voices."
Lilian said nothing more.
They stood in silence together, the distant music echoing from within, the night wind curling around them like a living thing.
Inside the ballroom, laughter and dancing continued — the nobles already gossiping, already scheming, already dreaming of what her presence might mean for their future.
But out on the balcony, Princess Jasmine stood alone beneath the clouds, her silver gown shimmering like frost, her thoughts drifting far beyond the reach of the Empire's endless noise.