“Isn’t she the Third Prince’s mistress? The one from Galate… What’s she holding?”

Commotion erupted first among the nobles’ seats. When they realized Hari held swords in both hands, the ripples grew larger. Insults and curses rained down on Hari, who stood alone in a blue dress. But Hari remained undisturbed.

Starting with the aulos music, she began to move slowly in the center of the massive circular arena. The swords spread wide in both hands, and her light blue peplos billowed like mist with each circular movement. The abundant floral decorations adorning Hari’s arms and legs matched the same blue color.

Laspi.

“Oh.”

Among the priests throwing stones and shouting blasphemy, Doris murmured while resting his chin on his hand.

“What do you think, Your Highness? Is this a rebellion against the ruling nation, or blasphemy as they claim?”

Madalena, who had been watching Hari with slight bewilderment, pulled up the corners of her lips expressionlessly.

“You don’t really think it’s blasphemy either.”

“Well…”

Doris shrugged his shoulders.

“This may not be appropriate to say to a princess who married a Hitais prince, but between the currency circulation issue and seeing how these people squawk about blasphemy and rebellion whenever someone goes even slightly against Hitais authority… it really makes me think. I apologize if you found that offensive.”

Madalena smiled with a slight frown at his apology that contained not a grain of sincerity.

“A blue dress… it does seem quite radical. It could be seen as quite rebellious.”

“Mommy! Rabbit! Just like the cute blue rabbit! So pretty!”

Anasha, recognizing Hari, jumped up and down with an excited face.

“But it truly is beautiful. Both the costume and the dance. I never knew Hari had such talent.”

Madalena, with Anasha sitting on her knee, concluded neatly.

“I quite like it.”

“That sounds rather biased, Your Highness.”

“I’m just expressing my opinion, like you did. I was getting a bit tired of seeing the same dance performances, so someone needs to provoke like this. It increases the spectacle and makes it more entertaining to watch. Don’t you think?”

“Even though Hari’s performance is stealing attention from your own dance? You’ve always done your best to stand out at every festival.”

“That was years ago. I have no desire to stand out here anymore. No matter what I do or how much effort I put in, I remain a foreigner in this strange land and an unsatisfactory princess.”

Doris closed his mouth with an ambiguous expression.

“The conclusion is, I like Hari’s dance.”

“You mean you like Hari.”

“I like Hari too!”

Anasha, nestled in her mother’s arms, chirped while flapping her arms. Madalena showed her agreement by planting a kiss on the forehead of her precious daughter whom she had nearly lost.

Margharita’s sword dance dominated the opening ceremony performances.

The blue amidst the red captivated attention powerfully. The curved blades flashed under the blazing sun, and the sea-blue dress unfurled like a flower bud, revealing golden lace. The sword dance resembled a beautiful sandstorm. Flowing gently then swirling fiercely. Each time the sharp blade flashed through the sand particles scattering like foam, the audience gasped in awe.

There were no exceptions—King Mempion with his hardened expression, Antor in his half-dazed state, and Selina in shock.

Achilleon’s gaze remained fixed on Hari from beginning to end. His smile deepened as the commotion grew.

It all matched his expectations. The sight of priests babbling nonsense about disrespecting Hitais and writhing in outrage. The empty-headed nobles making a fuss—all situations within his range of expectations. If anything defied his expectations, perhaps it was the woman’s dance, too beautiful to look away from.

The golden ornaments made clear, ringing sounds with each light step Hari took. The heavy sound of crossing swords followed. The harmony of all these sounds made Hari even more dazzling. Achilleon’s hand tightened as he gazed at the woman blooming like a flower in the sand. Her expression remained solemn, and her hand movements careful yet uninhibited. That strange atmosphere made the ritual seem like a sacred requiem.

The audience became completely enchanted, and Achilleon acknowledged the weapon the woman wielded. And that it gradually, quickly stirred his heart.

His Adam’s apple moved slowly. He grabbed a cup of water from the tray. Even after wetting his throat, the thirst didn’t disappear.

It was then that he noticed Antor, standing with his mouth agape.

“Seduction? Wouldn’t that work?”

What an irrelevant answer. What man wouldn’t fall for that woman? Swallowing a curse, Achilleon kicked a stone with his toe.

“Ack! What the—”

Antor’s cry drowned in the aulos music.

‘I try not to hold personal resentment toward Your Highness. It’s also true that I can be safe by your side.’

For the first time, he reflected on the woman’s words. Perhaps they were sincere.

‘I won’t betray you. I won’t run away, and I won’t try to seduce you.’

But could those words be true as well?

Blue laspi scattered from between the layers of the woman’s dress. The flowers Margharita scattered into the air caught fire one by one and flew toward the distant sky. Achilleon stared at the silver blade hidden behind those brilliant flower petals.

What are you thinking now? Do you want to stab me with that sword?

‘I am your person.’

I don’t believe those words, Margharita. Now I can’t cut off your legs if you run away, nor cut out your tongue if you try to seduce me, nor behead you, no matter where you go or where you hide.

I intend to catch you. Somehow find you and—

Just as his thoughts reached that point, the music stopped abruptly. The blade came down, and the woman’s dance ceased. Margharita stood alone in blue amidst the shower of flowers burning like stars. When the petals fell softly like sand particles from a subsided sandstorm, a breathless silence followed.

“Ha.”

At the moment a gasp escaped simultaneously from his lips and from Antor, who was leaning forward, thunderous cheers shook the arena. Achilleon remained in place for a long time amid the applause that deafened the ears.

For a long while, until the woman left the arena across the ashen flower petals after a brief bow.

* * *

“That was quite im-pressive.”

Clap, clap.

Hari paused momentarily at the sound of applause coming from behind as she prepared to exit the tunnel.

“You tore up the stage completely. You, Hari?”

“…”

“Achilleon was too harsh. To settle for a single copper coin for such a precious treasure. Haha. At least gold would be fair.”

Antor stood at the end of the dim tunnel. The sunlight entering through the narrow entrance faintly illuminated his silver hair.

“…I greet you, Second Prince.”

The sound of slow, heavy footsteps approaching echoed. Antor, who stopped two steps away, softened his domineering gaze.

“Thanks to you, I enjoyed the show. A slave performing a sword dance… how refreshing. I should commend Achilleon’s taste.”

A gold coin flipped on his hand and fell back into his palm.

“Thank you for your high praise of my humble skills.”

“Excessive modesty differs little from arrogance. Everyone couldn’t take their eyes off you. At first, I thought it pathetic how they all became entranced by such a trivial display. But at some point, I became no different from those fools.”

His eyes curved gently as he lavished praise. Unlike Achilleon with his distinct features and strong impression, Antor had features of gentle curves. His eyes looked kind, and his pale lips curled upward, giving the impression of a smile. His snow-white hair and matching white attire created an atmosphere of a virtuous saint. His large eyes narrowed thinly like a snake’s, and his pupils showed ash-gray like deep pools. When he smiled broadly showing his white teeth, dimples formed on one cheek just like Achilleon’s. Except for that, not a single resemblance existed between the two brothers who shared blood.

“You’re worth at least this much.”

The gold coin that flew from his hand landed in Hari’s palm.

“Shall I give you more?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I can treat you better than that guy. You should choose someone who appreciates your value. Don’t you think it wastes your potential to rot beside Achilleon, valued at just one copper coin?”

Their eyes met, and Antor smiled faintly. His greedy gaze traveled over Hari’s body like a snake. The festival dress for the performance was designed to burn with the flower petals. Wearing a peplos shortened to above the thighs, the woman danced as flexibly as a deer. Antor swallowed and tore his gaze from the curved body covered in white flesh. Even the woman’s bare feet, soiled with dirt, provoked desire.

The woman, understanding his meaning, gave him a quiet look. Antor, hiding his impatience, shook his pouch heavy with jewelry. While he could take any woman he wanted with just his power, dangling bait provided more fun.